Form Poems

Write 1 form poem (villanelle, sestina, ghazal, pantoum) inspired by week 3 readings of closed forms, on any theme of choice, and post here. If you’re in need of some thematic direction, focus on the body.

9 thoughts on “Form Poems

  1. Ghazal About my all time favorite place: Napatree Point, Westerly RI

    No beach is more beautiful than Napatree
    Water, sand and sky: all heavenly at Napatree

    Been goin there since before I can remember
    Days to weeks, weeks to years at Napatree

    I was younger I would always wonder
    Why we spent all our time at Napatree

    My dad looked at me and simply said with glee
    There is no better place to be than Napatree

    He’d been coming there since he was all but four
    He has always been in love with Napatree

    And never has ever desired to do more
    Than spend each summer at Napatree

    I could not fathom his love for the beach
    when I was a small child at Napatree

    I have grown to love this special place
    This beach is family; sacred Napatree

  2. Morning (Ghazal) love, longing, metaphysical

    Weary and tired of such humdrum days,
    Awaken early – slip in the day’s haze.

    The blaring tone on deaf ears at seven,
    Out of covers and drop into the maze:

    One foot, then two, bare toes on a cold floor,
    Don’t look at the phone, swallow the malaise.

    Eyes blurring over the face staring back,
    Bags beg the pillow, comfort from the craze.

    But I must saunter on, the light beckons,
    Drop down from bed five floors – face the haze.

  3. Water Ghazal

    What would we do and how would we live, without water?
    Pour it in our cups, can’t get enough of the water

    Whenever we eat something, we’ve gotta have a taste
    The pleasure and hydration that we get from water

    In the cup, it’s crystal clear and that is a-okay,
    Just so great that I cannot put it away. Water.

    Sure you can just have your fair share of juice or soda
    But why would you hurt your organs? Just have some water

    Give it a few seconds to go down in your belly
    It will have its effect, just have some of that water

  4. Every evening, my walk home
    Presents me with little puffs of breath
    Visible in the cold air.
    Small clouds billow, soft and white,
    Fogging my glasses. The heat
    A brief respite in scarf and on my face –

    Poor stinging face,
    Far from native home
    Without humidity. Dry heat,
    No heavy liquid breath
    To crystallize in puffs of white,
    Scattered to the air.

    I love the sharp Vermont air,
    Stinging me across the face –
    The silent heavy white
    Of snow on night walks home,
    Just me and my breath.
    Inside at last, a welcome blast of heat,

    Comforting heat,
    Smell of something cooking in the air
    That I, greedy, take in with every breath
    As I shed layers and turn to face
    The happy kitchen of home.
    Soft snow falling, white

    Blanket over the ground, white
    Sifting down like flour on a kitchen table, heat
    From an oven signaling: Finally home.
    There’s something in this air,
    Air that reddens my face
    And makes visible my breath,

    Sharp, stinging breath,
    That brings joy in clouds of white,
    And a chapped face.
    The sleepy return to heat
    From bitter winter air
    Reminds me. Home

    Is warm hands from the heat of a mug of tea, steam curling white,
    Fogging glasses, tickling my face. A chance to take a breath,
    Happy in my little shared home, the beauty of winter floating outside in the air.

  5. Visible in Her Gait: (Villanelle)
    By Michael McFarlane

    God, I can’t see her in this state,
    Final blow to my wretched face,
    Sadness, visible in her gait,

    Quite wrong was I, and far too late,
    And yet, she still carries with grace,
    God, I can’t see her in this state,

    ‘Tis loneliness, must be my fate,
    Could disappear without a trace,
    Sadness, visible in her gait,

    This pit I feel, it is so great
    Although it’s there, does not replace,
    God, I can’t see her in this state,

    On top of you, though too much weight,
    Not you, but I the true disgrace,
    Sadness, visible in her gait,

    Love, love, love: deteriorate,
    Oh how I wish I could retrace,
    God, I can’t see her in this state,
    Sadness, visible in her gait.

  6. Villanelle Response to “One Art” by Elizabeth Bishop

    The art of losing always begins as small;
    Time is lost each second, do not be content.
    New beginnings prefer to come in the fall.

    Mastering this art is a task not too tall
    But blind acceptance equals time not well spent.
    The art of losing always begins as small

    As life goes on, loss is a growing snowball
    Contributing to blocks hard to circumvent
    We must take risks, and trust in courageous fall.

    Loss is a cycle, a continuous crawl
    With grit and greed, possible to prevent
    The art of losing always begins as small

    The time has now come to tear down this great wall
    You live only once, there’s no room for regret
    Best ally is you, don’t stay down when you fall

    Decisions are here, loss attempting to stall,
    Preparation, now at one hundred percent.
    The art of losing always begins as small
    Success is a process, have faith in the fall.

  7. The Ride

    The fresh cold air
    As you pedal along
    The breeze hitting your face
    Everything is forgotten

    Happiness encompasses you
    As you take in the scenery
    Children pass by on there way to school
    Adults commuting to work

    There is nothing like the environment
    Separated from the cars
    But in a lane of your own
    Speeding up to make the next light

    Approaching the city center
    Brought back to reality
    Start preparing for the school day
    There is nothing like biking in Copenhagen

  8. Maple

    I sat in front of a tree
    for the twelve weeks of fall
    semester, watching its leaves yellow
    and brown and fall to the ground
    until it was naked tracings
    of blackened skeletons against

    olive sky above my head against
    concrete, watching tree
    branches creak, morphing molten tracings
    of cotton balls into fall
    shapes—ground
    littered with rust and citrus zest and yellow

    breath, clouding my sight sunflower yellow,
    rises in my chest, swells against
    my ribcage, and I float from the ground
    as the buds of the bloody tree
    hastily flutter, glowing crimson—fall,
    clinging to the tracings

    of relief, I sigh, and tracings
    of words foaming yellow
    in my mouth then fall
    against
    tree
    and ground

    with ears pressed to the ground,
    we listen for tracings
    of trembles—the roots of a tree
    slithering in the earth, yellow
    pebbles rolling against
    cracks in the crumbly fall

    decay comes all at once, fall
    claiming the ground
    with its cast paper, its bricks faded and stained against
    moldy green grout, its pencil yellow
    tracings
    of a maple tree

    suddenly bare against paling sky, I fall
    into the trunk of the tree and to the ground
    and scatter into my tracings of breathing yellow.

  9. Faster than Love: Heartbreak

    How far will you go?
    With my heart in your hand
    Don’t you know
    With You, life isn’t bland.

    My love for you is eternal.
    For your love has made me stubborn.
    This darkness is nocturnal.
    The kingdom of my mind you govern.

    You marry him, yet loved me
    Made me glad to be born
    Now death is my only plea
    Knowing me, not a single soul would mourn.

    Engraved on this bullet: your name
    I can feel you with ease
    I sigh and aim
    Alas, I have found it. You, me my eternal peace.

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