R A Ruadh

Villanelle for Missy

We do not always see eye to eye              
We are better at feeling heart to heart   
I tell you it is not your time to die

Sedated and too silent in the ICU you lie
Your 105.6 fever crawls right off the chart
We do not always see eye to eye

Keep breathing each breath breathe hello not goodbye
You have what it takes the grim reaper to outsmart
I tell you it is not your time to die

I cannot imagine you unable to fly
So I’m ordering you not to give death a head start
We do not always see eye to eye

Let the humming dialysis be your war cry
If you dare check out early we’ll all fall apart
I tell you it is not your time to die

We’re the love all around and we’re not gonna cry
Keep breathing and beating and show us you’re smart
Though we do not always see eye to eye
I tell you it is not your time to die

Missy is my larger-than-life, stubborn, opinionated, and greatly loved sister-in-law.
Since June 2, 2023, she has been in ICU fighting for her life. Devout Catholic that she is, I figure the tongue-lashing she’s been giving both St Peter and the Devil will ensure her return to the world of the living as soon as, and for as long as, possible. 

Diosa Xochiquetzalcóatl

Merde au Cancer

Her cancer proliferates once again.

Dreaming of tomorrows never spent.

I bleed out my sorrows with a feather pen.

She wakes amidst the lion’s den.

Recalling the many places we went.

Her cancer proliferates once again.

Desperate prayer for healing. Amen!

Re-reading the letters and cards we sent.

I bleed out my sorrows with a feather pen.

Plea bargains with deities, all of them!

Forgiving others. No time to repent.

Her cancer proliferates once again.

We ponder the moment, the where and when.

Living her fullest - a desperate attempt.

I bleed out my sorrows with a feather pen.

Ne regrettes rien de rien! 

Life is not given. It is merely lent.

Her cancer proliferates once again.

I bleed out my sorrows with a feather pen. 

Michelle Smith

Hyggebi

I miss his essence.
It is fleeting in leaves
that grow in all seasons
glow in all colors
and blow in the wind.
A beckoning on my shoulder
a watchful wise owl in a tree
Am I dreaming of komorebi?
Your warmth of your spirit
bakes the rustling fronds on the ground.
With my every step
their crunchiness speaks
to your essential sturdy spines.
Their branches unite
and separate us from different worlds.
The stillness is
a misty watercolor memory
a fleeting moment that I wish
could be reality.

Joe Grieco

LANDING AT LAX, TERMINAL ONE

                                                                             

No one again will count the stalling hours

No one awaits outside your tarmac gate

No one will hold a sign or wear a flower

 

Your flight return has fallen from the tower

Falling for so long she could not wait

No one again will count the stalling hours

 

The flier who once felt heroic power

Deplaning now the weary reprobate

No one will hold a sign or wear a flower

 

Where once came sweetness now the air smells sour

Your flight could be on-time or lost or late

No one again will count the stalling hours

 

There is no welcome-home to greet the coward

Fearful on the jetway of your fate

No one will hold a sign or wear a flower

 

The baggage claim, your carousel, the crowd

The white zone leaves no room to hesitate

No one again will count the stalling hours

No one will hold a sign or wear a flower

Lori Wall-Holloway

Bright Eyes and a Smile to Win Hearts

(For Baby Miles, my great grandson)

Bright eyes and a smile to win hearts

Baby whose giggles and joy can be caught

What a way for my day to start

 

Makes it hard to leave and stay apart

As I watch you bang upon a pot

Bright eyes and a smile to win hearts

 

It’s an enjoyable time when I take part

The strings of love have created a knot

What a way for my day to start

 

Your wonder with the world shows you’re smart

I can see you’re such an inquisitive tot

Bright eyes and a smile to win hearts

 

Committed to teach with wisdom to impart

I’m blessed to see you here a lot

What a way for my day to start

 

Little guy is one of God’s greatest arts

I love to catch your growth in snapshots

Bright eyes and a smile to win hearts

What a way for my day to start

A Dark Valley Points to a Way Unclear

 

A dark valley points to a way unclear

as I start on a dusty dirt pathway

I take deep breaths while battle rising fear

 

Brown sand whirls around and creates a sphere

generating sudden darkness, I wish would blow away

A dark valley points to a way unclear

 

Memories of failures arise and like barnacles adhere

causing the past to forever remain on replay

I take deep breaths while battle rising fear

 

I step into chaos despite what I hear

to travel the road to a new day

A dark valley points to a way unclear

 

Lies distract as they murmur in my ear

Strength arises as I move forward and pray

I take deep breaths and battle rising fear

 

Soft whisper says my journey’s end is near

and to hold the course and not stray

A dark valley points to a way unclear

I take deep breaths and battle rising fear

 

Shih-Fang Wang

Vertigo

 

It is like riding the Merry-Go-Round again 

My distorted sense of balance is all wrong

I am very dizzy with a confused brain

 

The torture of continuous spin is so inhumane

Everything I see is blurred all day long

It is like riding the Merry-Go-Round again

 

The spinning Earth revolves the Sun in a plane

Is that why my wooziness is so strong 

I am very dizzy with a confused brain

 

I try very hard to practice meditative Zen

But my ears ring a loud-chattery song

It is like riding the Merry-Go-Round again

 

My suffering from vertigo is hard to explain

I feel like been jammed in a throng       

I am very dizzy with a confused brain

 

I wish equilibrium pulled back on my rein

So that my whirling sensation will not prolong      

It is like riding the Merry-Go-Round again

I am very dizzy with a confused brain

 

Thom Garzone

FOR DYLAN'S VILLANELLE

 

I read his words on ocean waves of light

No one could fight, come near to its being

Mend his fate and show this keen insight

 

And for they who come to this marveled height

Great hours spent as though I came seeing

I read his words on ocean waves of light

 

Poets conquer, weld suns and moons to night

led to mountains over forests fleeing

Mend his fate and show this keen insight

 

Frail peace-seekers find thirst in fright

study cold fears dragging courtyards, freeing

I read his words on ocean waves of light

 

Lost souls squander among auras of bright

Blissful seasides and stars agreeing

Mend his fate and show this keen insight

 

Then here I rest over idols of might

unheard, unnamed, and rampantly redeeming

I read his words on ocean waves of light

Amend his fate and show this keen insight

Radomir Vojtech Luza

A Villanelle for God

California you have met your fate

Liberals who do not pray

Atheists who do not open the church gate

I am tired of your plastic bait

Mannequins by the bay

Coming to the altar late

Trying this lovely state

But failing like the month of May

Singing like Bonnie Raitt

Holding my stronger mate

As the crimson sun licks the day

Begging for no more hate

Tourists wanting to be the next Hepburn of Kate

But never stay

Past the date

Celebrating pride cannot wait

If we do not go away

Love satiate

The bible integrate

A Villanelle for New Orleans

I for my hometown cry

It me satisfaction brings

I don't know why

Like Captain Bly

My soul sings

While I eat pie

Jackson Square you are no lie

Your beauty stings

Architecture is a sigh

Red beans and rice from my plate fly

Like English kings

A natural high

Mardi Gras on the sly

Every February rings

For each fun-loving boy and guy

The Saints play football by and by

Every Sunday they throw a fling

Where the haters die

True zealots getting drunk on rye

Reservation Abomination

They command

While you cry

Offering brown sand

What is the name of this band

That does not lie

Only weep when officials steal their land

God did not appear for a hundred grand

But did sigh

Making a last stand

Holding my hand

Jesus lifted me high

I felt like Ayn Rand

There is no magic wand

But a day to die

Like a black gland

I keep my past near like a narrow strand

At least I try

They do not understand

Nor can they demand

Bruce Niedt

Thief of Time

 

I stole a moment, then stole two,

a petty bit of larceny.

I promise they'll come back to you.

 

I had so many things to do;

instead I chose to shake them free.

I stole a moment, then stole two

 

and maybe more—it may be true

I shirked responsibility.

I swear, I'll make it up to you.

 

I need to do this to get through

these days of stress and anarchy.

I stole a moment, then stole two,

 

and soon my time bank would accrue

enough for creativity.

I promise they'll come back to you.

 

Time management I may eschew,

but I wrote you some poetry.

I stole a moment, then stole two;

I promised they'd come back to you.

Odd Couple

He’s so slow and she’s so fast,

They’re opposites, one may presume.

So will this marriage ever last?

Methodical, he’s fly-fish-cast;

She sweeps like a brand-new broom.

His style is slow, while hers is fast.

He’s half-done the night’s repast,

When she clears dishes from the room.

How can this marriage ever last?

He measures twice, with notes amassed;

She’s kitchen-sink and sonic-boom.

He takes life slow; she likes it fast.

Her fuse is short, his patience vast;

They were not knit from common loom.

Why should this marriage ever last?

And how much time together passed?

Sixty years as bride and groom.

She loves him slow; he loves her fast.

They made this marriage ever-last.

(Previously published in the journal Sunken Lines.)

One Dish

(Inspired by my Word spell checker which, while I was transcribing Elizabeth Bishop's "One Art" into a Word file, tried to correct the word "losing's" to "lasagna's".)

The art of lasagna’s not too hard to master;

it can be done with culinary bent.

Good recipes will save you from disaster.

First boil the noodles – if you want them faster,

you may prefer to cook them till “al dent….”

The art of lasagna isn’t hard to master.

Then lay the noodles in the pan, and plaster

ricotta cheese on top (a lot, I meant!).

This recipe will save you from disaster.

Tomato sauce – no jars will pass the muster!

If it’s homemade, it’s worth the time you spent.

The art of lasagna’s not too hard to master.

Add layers – make this dinner vaster!

And top with mozzarella – heaven-sent!

This recipe will save you from disaster.

And then I will appoint myself your taster….

To eat it all was never my intent!

Lasagna’s art is not too hard to master;

This recipe won’t look like (Bake it!) a disaster.

Mary Mayer Shapiro

Small Claim Court Judges are a Joke

Henrietta Town Court, Rochester, NY is no justice with Judge Brown wears a crown

Wide open spaces, void of human beings, new land to be settled they came

Henrietta Town Court, Rochester, NY with Judge Pericak is not fair

A small claim court against Sears for a TV maintenance agreement is a down

Ranches, farms, traders the wild west to be tamed

A small claim court against Mr. Tire on West Henrietta road to make it square

Judge Brown laughed with the sears lawyers making it a joke is a clown

Town and villagers filled the land bringing law and order they claim

The car was brought in to be inspected and steering wheel problem repair

Judge Brown dismissed the evidence before him we frown

Business spring up with one room schools libraries caused fame

Jude Pericak said they tried and should be paid caused a tear

Judge Brown made a mockery of the justice system in this town

Stagecoaches brought passengers to a growing town was a game

Judge Pericak said he heard enough I could not plead my case without care

The new frontier had sheriffs deputies to keep peace and safety they claim

Justice to the land became uneven when interpreted by one man whose to blame

Henrietta Town Court, Rochester, NY is no justice with Judge Brown wears a crown

Henrietta Town Court, Rochester, NY with Judge Pericak is not fair

Dean Okamura

Somewhere beyond the night

The sinner repents, implores the light.
Help me in my unbelief,
To reach for justice out of sight. 

Search long in scattered dusts of night,
Bound souls cannot find relief.
The sinner repents, implores the light.

In shrouded silence, drained of fight,
Desires denied by a thief.
To reach for justice out of sight.

With nagging throbs of wrong + right
Maelstrom whirling, calms & if ?
The sinner repents, implores the light.

Weary pilgrims keep faith in spite
Our judges' briefs bring pain + grief,
To reach for justice out of sight. 

Dreaded visions of consuming night.
Every day we turn a leaf.
The sinner repents, implores the light.
To reach for justice out of sight.

 

Patricia Murphy

Villanelle

Villanelle for Nell.  

She was in pain. 

I hope she didn't go to hell.   

She was quite a gal. 

But there was no gain. 

She was swell.  

She was quite a bell.  

There was no drain.  

As there was a dell.  

She was never in a cell.  

But there was a chain.  

And she never fell.  

There was a mel.  

And there became disdain. 

She went onto sell.  

She went onto tell.  

Of the main.  

In her well.  

And all was swell. 

Mark A Fisher

Underworld

(a petite villanelle)

Persephone doesn’t take Death seriously
robed in black resolute and austere
sat upon his bony throne imperiously

‘cause every Spring she comes invariably
the cycle endures for still another year
life continues, despite ends, gloriously

but still extinction comes on pitilessly
yet she herself feels no fear
Persephone doesn’t take Death seriously
life continues, despite ends, gloriously

lost refrain
(a nested villanelle)

listening again to some old song
spinning black vinyl long ago bought
from a generation I almost belong

    memories I thought I forgot
    so many years passed before long
    too many dreams that came to naught

I’m still wishing I could play along
even after so many years I cannot
listening again to some old song

    names and faces I’ve lost a lot
    too many sunset shadows gone long
    memories I thought I forgot

so many things we knew were wrong
so many lives strove against the rot
from a generation I almost belong

    perhaps she was Guinevere and I Lancelot
    it was love, a love gone wrong
    too many dreams that came to naught

as we’re singing “Coming on Strong”
across the sky now comes her thought
listening again to some old song

    but time its lessons have taught
    by mistakes followed headlong
    memories I thought I forgot

it was wrong from the start all along
some made it out but too many were shot
from a generation I almost belong

    who knows how much time I’ve still got
    I’m still continuing my muddle lifelong
    too many dreams that came to naught

listening again to some old song
from a generation I almost belong
    memories I thought I forgot
    too many dreams that came to naught

Jeffry Michael Jensen

SUMMER SWAY PARADE FUNK

Orange is no lemon or lime to me.
The sky is ours for the plucking.
I left the curious cats near our tree.

Someone shoveled sand into the sea.
An archetype blocked out my sleep.
Orange is no lemon or lime to me.

Apples figs apricots are served with tea.
I stumble out of focus filling bags.
The cats form a circle around our tree.

My pale riddles bounce off a knee.
A fool swims out beyond the light.
Orange is no lemon or lime to me.

The lazy moon tumbles into fantasy.
Stars are given edgy names.
The cats curl up under our tree.

The summer sways toward destiny.
Crows talk among themselves.
Orange is no lemon or lime to me.
I left the curious cats near our tree.