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

Just another writer trying to stay afloat in a sea of words. Author of several novels. Wannabe mermaid. Mother. Trying to age gracefully with no grace in sight.

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