Villanelle # 7

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In January, I will explore the style of the Villanelle. This form of poetry has a lot of rules. I am normally a rule-breaker, so I take up the challenge of pirouetting across this restrictive dance floor with a degree of trepidation. Villanelle # 7 will call Winter Weary Blues.

My first love is poetry. I played with rhythms as a child as a favorite toy, writing line after line and verse upon verse down in a notebook my mama gave me. The words became undecipherable squiggly lines dancing across the page.  I remember sitting on my Uncle Harvey’s porch, making up poems only I could read. I learned to write real letters after I started school. That’s when my adventure with poetry started. I found myself in a dance with a fickle dancer. As soon as I got the steps right, the beat changed, and the singer sang a different tune. COVID-19 and retirement have given me the gift of time to explore, study, and capture the essence of poetry, making all its different moved on the page.

The rules I followed writing Villanelle # 7

The rules for creating a Villanelle are simple and straight forward. This style of poetry must have 19 lines and five stanzas. The closing stanza has four lines. Also, line 1 gets repeated in lines 6, 12, and 18. Thus,  line 3 gets repeated in lines 9, 15, and 19. There are so many rules and so little time.

Winter Weary Blues.

Ugly grey skies are overhead the same as they appeared yesterday

That’s why this writer is singing the winter-weary blues

And thick clouds shoot droplets of sharp stinging watery spray

There is no escaping this life’s season through a safe passageway

There is no hero on the horizon who rescues

 Ugly grey skies are overhead the same as they appeared yesterday

The deck is stacked against you dealt out to betray

Youth’s deception of being eternal a deceptive ruse

 And thick clouds shoot droplets of sharp stinging watery spray

Frost gathering on the windows make a nasty chilly display

Traces of snow in the air to break up the dark hues

 Ugly grey skies are overhead the same as they appeared yesterday

I miss the fragrance of springtimes flowery bouquet

The sunshine and the sky’s shades of billowy blue

And thick clouds shoot droplets of sharp stinging watery spray

I sit here in the wide threshold of winter’s doorway

Waiting to hear a snippet of summer,s sweet news

Ugly grey skies are overhead the same as they appeared yesterday

And thick clouds shoot droplets of sharp stinging watery spray

Who is Molly Shea?

Molly Shea is an accomplished fictional short story writer from Indiana who writes short stories and novels about a fictional town called Tecumseh.  To read more of her short stories and adventures, click here.

Be sure to follow Molly on Twitter!

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Published by henhouselady

I am the author of Saving the Hen House. I didn't know when I started it would turn into a series. I love to ride motorcycles, the blues, my family, and going on adventures. This old hen rocks.

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