Tag Archives: writing villanelles will make you crazy

‘The Great American Novel’

by L.W. Seeley Jr.

last night
before I went to sleep
I wrote it
in my mind
cleverly
using invisible ink
in lieu of
copyright
when I woke up
this morning
the pages
were blank

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train trestle

Hard to Find

This world is worse than cruel, and lags behind
Its men and women chasing after gold –
Today is bleak, and you are on my mind.

I dream deep forests, called from days of old
But wake to car-choked streets and news of deaths.
(This world is worse than cruel, and lags behind.)

Today is bleak, and you are on my mind.
Red lips and dark lines signal, everywhere –
Comfort and surcease are hard to find.

Noise and reason ’gainst each other grind;
Gears catch their edges, stutter, spark and bind.
This world is worse than cruel, and lags behind.

Those dreams of gold shine brightly to the blind
Populace. We run against the times –
Today is bleak, and you are on my mind.

We eat the world in nibbles, to the rind,
Then turn and pitch the skin into the trash.
This world is worse than cruel, and lags behind.
Today is bleak, and you are on my mind.

(August 2014)

Sylvia

There are mysteries deeper than sex,
fathers, mothers and blue-eyes babies
more fathomless than final death
in the void beyond the bell-jar.

The separateness of self, expressed
imperfectly in ink and page’s
ranting villanelles and villains
otherwise, in silence.

Series of blind passages,
passings, passions, pains and labors
circling wearily, trod by rote
in ever-smoother traces.

Illusory escape offered
in knife-gleam, stunning revelation
suffocating clouds are
always about to part.

No one will ever out-write Shakespeare
the Golden Age was before you were born
and even accidental
suicide is just the last
locked door.