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Erotic Villanelle Challenge

UnderYourSpell said:
I'm an innocent English filly (welll I was until the Bistroites took me in hand to give me some education) I don't know what a vanilla thingy is
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Bistroites? Sounds like a kinda cult ... rhymes with troglodite though ... and marmite ... hmmm ... maybe there's a villanelle panting for release.
 
WickedEve said:
Is that your villanelle? I think I'm going about this villanelle thing all wrong. :D
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Tsk someone said The Snood was fuzzy

darkmaas said:
Bistroites? Sounds like a kinda cult ... rhymes with troglodite though ... and marmite ... hmmm ... maybe there's a villanelle panting for release.
Click to expand...

Not seen many troglodites in there but anything is possible there's a guy ties folks up for fun though
 
La Vilainne Sophie

you take your tonic with a little gin
chinking gently on the rocks
the glass cool moist against your skin

you like your gossip with a whiff of sin
you revel in our little talks
you take your tonic with a little gin

your eyes are wide your wrists are thin
henna streaks through layered locks
the glass cool moist against your skin

act so cruel with innocent grin
you never sweat always outfox
you take your tonic with a little gin

so talk of love but play to win
crack the lid on Pandora's box
the glass cool moist against your skin

uncoil soft the devil within
open coy when Priapus knocks
you take your tonic with a little gin
the glass cool moist against your skin
 
UnderYourSpell said:
Not seen many troglodites in there but anything is possible there's a guy ties folks up for fun though
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Careful now. Even one so gentle as the Homburg could not avoid bruising that delicate yellow skin and then two days later it's banana muffins.
 
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Still fumbling over our feet down here. Honestly, the shift between pentameter and tetrameter was nice and off-balancing like carnival music.
 
PandoraGlitters said:
Still fumbling over our feet down here. Honestly, the shift between pentameter and tetrameter was nice and off-balancing like carnival music.
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Praps we should rename the thread "So you think you can dance."

I'm tall. Can I be Cat?
 
PandoraGlitters said:
You can be anything in Cyberia, Darkmaas. Even clever. ;)
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Ouch.



But on the subject of meter, Turco writes:

"But the poet may vary this basic pattern in a number of ways: by substituting one kind of verse foot for another; by means of enjambment, caesura and elision; by varying the quality and quantity of syllables."

One of the problems with writing villanelles (a Fench form) in English is that in French, rhymes are more likely to be vowels and there are fewer of them. The rhyme aspect is thus easier and the poet can focus more on the message and the metrics. I found this challenge difficult in that the need for metrics and rhyme, and incorporation of the rolling refrain ultimately meant that the message was often compromised. This is not a fault of the form but rather the lack of practice on the part of the poet. I chose to loosen the meter. Your "carnival music" comment was flattering but I'm afraid not, on my part, premeditated.

(The sonnet should also suffer in English but our dear Mr. Shakespeare has put paid to my argumant. Alas I am no Shakespeare even in Cyberia.)

An extreme example of the futility of trying to maintain a meter across linguistic borders is the writing of Haiku in English.
 
Thank you, smart fellow. :rose:
You are most informative.

+ you write good poems.
darkmaas said:
Ouch.



But on the subject of meter, Turco writes:

"But the poet may vary this basic pattern in a number of ways: by substituting one kind of verse foot for another; by means of enjambment, caesura and elision; by varying the quality and quantity of syllables."

One of the problems with writing villanelles (a Fench form) in English is that in French, rhymes are more likely to be vowels and there are fewer of them. The rhyme aspect is thus easier and the poet can focus more on the message and the metrics. I found this challenge difficult in that the need for metrics and rhyme, and incorporation of the rolling refrain ultimately meant that the message was often compromised. This is not a fault of the form but rather the lack of practice on the part of the poet. I chose to loosen the meter. Your "carnival music" comment was flattering but I'm afraid not, on my part, premeditated.

(The sonnet should also suffer in English but our dear Mr. Shakespeare has put paid to my argumant. Alas I am no Shakespeare even in Cyberia.)

An extreme example of the futility of trying to maintain a meter across linguistic borders is the writing of Haiku in English.
Click to expand...
 
I just found this villanelle of mine; I couldn't remember where it was, but it's at Poets Against the War. It's a pretty good one, I think. I guess it could use some editing.

Is it very hot there? Do these people care
past flags and dollars, conference rooms
in fortresses of fountain pens, chilled air?

Beyond the silk-draped windows lie the tombs
of soldiers, lessons resting in the bone,
past flags and dollars, conference rooms

are walls inscribed and figures made of stone,
rifles raised and years surveyed in sightless eyes
of soldiers, lessons resting in the bone.

Your smiles reach out for honor like a prize,
fingers never touching quiet cities, wind, birdcall,
rifles raised and years surveyed in sightless eyes.

The clink of glass and ring of voices mask the fall,
leaves scraping cross the thaw and rock,
fingers never touching quiet cities, wind, birdcall.

Leaves scraping cross the thaw and rock.
Silence. The ticking of the doomsday clock.
Is it very hot there? Do these people care
in fortresses of fountain pens, chilled air?
 
Angeline said:
I just found this villanelle of mine; I couldn't remember where it was, but it's at Poets Against the War. It's a pretty good one, I think. I guess it could use some editing.

Is it very hot there? Do these people care
past flags and dollars, conference rooms
in fortresses of fountain pens, chilled air?

Beyond the silk-draped windows lie the tombs
of soldiers, lessons resting in the bone,
past flags and dollars, conference rooms

are walls inscribed and figures made of stone,
rifles raised and years surveyed in sightless eyes
of soldiers, lessons resting in the bone.

Your smiles reach out for honor like a prize,
fingers never touching quiet cities, wind, birdcall,
rifles raised and years surveyed in sightless eyes.

The clink of glass and ring of voices mask the fall,
leaves scraping cross the thaw and rock,
fingers never touching quiet cities, wind, birdcall.

Leaves scraping cross the thaw and rock.
Silence. The ticking of the doomsday clock.
Is it very hot there? Do these people care
in fortresses of fountain pens, chilled air?
Click to expand...
It's a very good poem, Angie. Evocative, yet the form does not beat one over the head.

But it is not a villanelle. Sorry.

Terzanelle, I think. Nice one.
 
Tzara said:
It's a very good poem, Angie. Evocative, yet the form does not beat one over the head.

But it is not a villanelle. Sorry.

Terzanelle, I think. Nice one.
Click to expand...
Ange, villan or terzan, that is a smooth and liquid elle.
 
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