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Words So Pretty They’re Sure to Cast a Spell
A stab at a Villanelle
If I were a poet, I’d spin you a Villanelle
stare down its scheme that smacks too much of math
Offering words so pretty they’re sure to cast a spell
I type and mold but still my head can’t tell
If A1 b A2 opens a way to the path
If I were a poet, I’d spin you a Villanelle
The spring plows on without the words to gel
Memories of Bishop, of Auden, do fill a soul with wrath
Offering words so pretty they’re sure to cast a spell
whilst, here, still poemless, as spring did dare to fell
an effort so poor at least may bring a laugh
If I were a poet, I’d spin you a Villanelle
The screen, the keys, my heaven — and, sometimes, pure hell
till finished, if even the final is rather quite daft
Offering words so pretty they’re sure to cast a spell?
I’ve done it — here’s proof — if did not do it well
no version would serve to e’er compare to Plath
If I were a poet, I’d spin you a Villanelle
Offering words so pretty they’re sure to cast a spell.
*written in A1 b A2 / a b A1 / a b A2 / a b A1 / a b A2 / a b A1 A2.
Gae is the author of several novels for readers of all ages, though shelved as tween and young adult. You can read more about her and her books at gaepolisner.com
