pearls

Afterthought 255—Supplicant’s Villanelle

Posted in villanelle by maggie on 2015/06/14
 

Let Discipline, my teacher, work my skill.
Insanity, ride through chaotic skies
to tame this creature, bend her to my Will.

Collaboration primped her pride until
it hadn't more than cause to criticize.

Let Discipline, my teacher, work my skill
to judge me justly.  Have my Freedom's drill
each rigid rule she lays down memorize.

To tame this creature, bend her to my Will,
her Inspiration's cistern to refill,
may words once loved be those now to despise.

Let Discipline, my teacher, work my skill
to holy Craft devoid of random ill
or selfish end.  Pray dead as living rise
to tame this creature, bend her to my Will.

The wildest wind turns breath standing most still
inside her throat, her tourniquet's reprise.
Let Discipline, my teacher, work my skill
to tame this creature, bend her to my will.


Afterthought 28—Gaslit

Posted in villanelle by maggie on 2014/12/19

Her I've meant no ill
— at her worst she did it for my best.
But if love can't touch her, what will?

Sorry, I've had my fill
of having my friendship second-guessed.
Her I've meant no ill.

I believe. She says I don't. Still …
— I'd give it a rest,
but if love can't touch her, what will?

My bruises? Scars? Gone nil.
Names she called me?  Surely cut in jest.
Her I've meant no ill.

She's my tomorrow's home, with no until
— my unsaid words expressed.
But if love can't touch her, what will?

Rather to kiss than kill:
even an abuser deserves being blessed.
Her I've meant no ill;
but if love can't touch her, what will?

Afterthought 27—Encomia

Posted in villanelle by maggie on 2014/12/18

No word or act you've done is meant for ill —
who tells else traps herself in her own lies.
To yours thrice flow your blessings, as you will.

Every promise made you will fulfill.
Who turns away your honor turns unwise —
no word or act you've done is meant for ill.

No miracle desired's outside your skill —
who mocks can't know the magic in your eyes.
To yours thrice flow your blessings, as you will.

Unfailing — whom you first loved is loved still —
who chooses else accepts false compromise.
No word or act you've done is meant for ill.

The life in you's impossible to kill —
who wishes not finds only empty skies.
To yours thrice flow your blessings, as you will.

Your word stands sure beyond the last until —
who won't accept you's gone before she dies.
No word or act you've done is meant for ill —
To yours thrice flow your blessings, as you will.
 
 

Putting On Weight

Posted in villanelle by maggie on 2012/02/28
 

Oh yeah! At last I'm putting on some weight
quite willingly, each ounce a welcome prize.
This time I'm keeping down what all I ate

and loving it! Give me another plate
and let's shop clothes for future mommy size,
'cause yeah, at last I'm putting on some weight.

I didn't want to. Used to be, I'd hate
the slightest excess load. I'll set new highs
this time - I'm keeping down what all I ate

and will be using it to procreate
our new life as an old love's compromise.
Ah yeah, at last! I'm putting on some weight

and when I drop back down, we'll consummate
my passion. I'll not lose it otherwise -
This time I'm keeping down what all I ate,

each milligram one I anticipate
makes mommy beautiful to daddy's eyes.
This time I'm keeping down what all I ate
and yeah, at last I'm putting on some weight.

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Assume the Best for Us Both

Posted in villanelle by maggie on 2011/12/17
 

My will means nothing without your intent.
I need your wings to exit my cocoon.
Just choose the date, assume you've my consent

for anything you've promised me you'd meant.
Though were it me, I'd promise you my moon,
my will means nothing without your intent

to stretch me to love's uttermost extent.
Stretch me then, your breath my word's balloon.
Just choose the date, assume you've my consent

to push me, pry me, prove me, reinvent
the song to which my heart in you might tune.
My will means nothing without your intent

engaging my step's fall to your's ascent.
I'm at your pleasure, now through coming June.
Just choose the date, assume you've my consent.

I'll wait your coming back the way you went,
if not just yet, then maybe sometime soon —
just choose the date, assume you've my consent.
My will means nothing without your intent.

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An Ultimatum

Posted in villanelle by maggie on 2011/03/16
An Ultimatum

Permit me form. Permit me beat and rhyme.
Indifference and freedom aren't the same.
A poet who's restricted, there's the crime.

Intention! Purpose! Let my thoughts take aim
without regret, with no guilt, no remorse.
A poet who's repressed, that there's a shame.

As wind drives sun, brings rain, breathes dust by force,
so too does not verse ride that storm within?
Permit my muse to touch creation's source,

to break through walls, to get beneath the skin,
to find the word that tastes blood, touches bone.
A poet who's been muzzled, that's a sin.

And if my song's heard by my ears alone,
then let your ears take mine, your voice my song.
Permit me when I've left to yet be known.

I can't stand off secluded all that long
before I seek your heart, your dream, your time.
A poet who's been silenced, that's just wrong.
Permit my poems to speak out clear and strong.

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A Good Way To Wreck

Posted in villanelle by maggie on 2010/04/21

What's coming headon's what matters when wishing to pass —
Facing the way you're not heading's a good way to wreck.
If you're watching out what's behind, take your foot off the gas!

Remember, force multiplies your acceleration by your mass,
irregardless that what's up ahead still looks like a speck —
What's coming headon's what matters when wishing to pass.

You're not blessed with eyes in the back of your head, alas!
It's what's where you're going you should be trying to check —
If you're watching out what's behind, take your foot off the gas!

Where were you when this was covered in driver's ed class?
Better start doing it right, or you're going to get heck —
What's coming headon's what matters when wishing to pass.

Don't use your brains and you'll land yourself flat on your ass,
none the wiser for wear and a few more cards short of a deck —
If you're watching out what's behind, take your foot off the gas!

Your car'll be nothing but twisted metal and shattered glass,
and you'll break both your legs, both your arms, all your ribs 
          and your neck!
What's coming headon's what matters when wishing to pass —
If you're watching out what's behind, take your foot off the gas!

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History of the Eschar

Posted in villanelle by maggie on 2010/04/05

A voice that slept in subdued silence woke
and tiptoed down the hall to mama's room
to wrap its breath in flame beneath the smoke.

"The scab that clears your throat," her witness spoke,
"Will tell your secret lover's nom de plume."

A voice that slept in subdued silence woke
her daddy's nightmare to her brother's joke
why mama tastes of beer and cheap perfume.

To wrap its breath in flame beneath the smoke
of innocence, her fervent visions stoke
that little light: its how, its why, its whom.

A voice that slept in subdued silence woke
to fuel its fiery trance.  Soft whispers choke—
Their feu de joie serves as their burntout tomb.

To wrap its breath in flame, beneath the smoke
her witness wears her lover's dark gray cloak.
Can any touch so wasted still consume?

A voice that slept in subdued silence woke
to wrap its breath in flame beneath the smoke.

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Cyberjunk Villanelle

Posted in villanelle by maggie on 2009/11/04
Cyberjunk Villanelle

Throw, throw all your poems madly into the virtual jet stream!
It's that or capriciously IM your cyberspace shrink —
Verily, yeah verily electronic publication's but a wet dream!

Post a dry whiskey howl, RSS a stale cigarette scream —
although RL's so viciously real, it's more real than you think.
Throw, throw all your poems madly into the virtual jet stream!

Each rhymed riddle wound through each form makes each threat seem
more maliciously bent on destructively screened ink.
Verily, yeah verily electronic publication's but a wet dream!

HTML zesty life's blood smack, CSS lustful love's sweat gleam —
on the web one fictitiously shits where one's shit doesn't stink.
Throw, throw all your poems madly into the virtual jet stream!

Ah but what might have been, that old poetwannabe regret theme
(in vanity popups repetitously testing our AV prophylactics 😉
— verily, yeah verily electronic publication's but a wet dream!

Would a true master get caught up in so venal a net scheme?
Who cares?  We're ambitiously scoring one more blogroll link.
Throw, throw all your poems madly into the virtual jet stream!
Verily, yeah verily electronic publication's but a wet dream!

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