729 - The Old Soldier

The above photo (or something a bit like it)

was the prompt at The Mag.

The stairs, and their wear, made me think

of old things and repetition.

Sounds like a cue for a villanelle.

The Old Soldier

Fearful of all that lay ahead

And bearing the scars of pointless war,

He climbed the staircase to his bed.

He’d walked amongst the living dead

On a Stygian sea he’d washed ashore,

Fearful of all that lay ahead.

Many had died and many had fled,

Remembering all in this broken corps 

He climbed the staircase to his bed.

But he seldom slept, for the dread

That would drench him to the core,

Fearful of all that lay ahead.

With heavy heart and weary head,

As he had so oft before,

He climbed the staircase to his bed.

He could see the future, so it’s said,

Visions he could not ignore,

Fearful of all that lay ahead

He climbed the staircase to his bed.

.

---

© J Cosmo Newbery 2014

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719 : I Awoke One Day

dVerse had the prompt ‘repetition’, 

with a villanelle as a possible form.  

Ok, here’s a villanelle.
Pity I missed the cut-off by four hours.

I awoke one day

I awoke one day and you were not there

The world, once warm, was now cold and bleak

You’d gone away and I knew not where.

The emptiness overwhelmed, hard to bear

I framed some words but couldn’t speak

When I awoke one day and you were not there

It was natural, I suppose, to feel despair

But it hung upon me, like a leaden sheet:

You’d gone away and I knew not where.

Without your laughter to fill the air

Life was dull, no longer sweet,

When I awoke one day and you were not there

The table now has an empty chair

And meals have lost their sweet mystique.

You’ve gone away and I know not where.

We instinctively feel life should be fair

But the evidence for that is rather weak.

I awoke one day and you were not there

You’d gone away and I knew not where.

.

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© J Cosmo Newbery 2014

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CDLXXXIV - Skinner's Pigeon

There are people out there who constantly check their mobile phone

for messages from that someone special.  Not you?  Nah, me neither.

Be that as it may...

B.F. Skinner, patron saint of poker machine addiction,

studied it all many years ago, using pigeons.

The form is a villanelle; it’s repetitive structure ideal for the topic.

Skinner’s Pigeon

We are conditioned to persist,

For reasons Skinner could explain,

To check for text we may have missed.

Like pigeons fed a random grist

To push a lever for some grain,

We are conditioned to persist,

Freewill is there, some will insist,

But we’re driven by an inner vein 

To check for text we may have missed.

It doesn’t matter how we twist,

The facts are clear and still remain:

We are conditioned to persist,

Always chasing what may not exist,

The need is there within our brain

To check for text we may have missed.

Enamoured, like a lover kissed,

Checking the screen again and again:

We are conditioned to persist,

To check for text we may have missed.

---

© J Cosmo Newbery 2013

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CDI - The Telegram

November 11th.  Armistice Day. 

I chose a villanelle for the main portion of the poem

as it is circular and goes nowhere.

Like our ability to stop fighting each other.

I - The Telegram Boy

He hated his job.  

Hated being hated.

A satchel around his chest carried a sealed envelope.

Sealed.  But he knew its contents.  

Everyone knew its contents.

Paper and gum cannot hide these things.

The War Office did not send telegrams lightly.

Eyes watched him, willing him, begging him to continue past.

But he had to stop.

Relieved eyes watched 

from neighbouring yards,

from behind curtains,

from footpaths. 

People frozen in fear.  

And relief.  

Except for one.  

Who just froze with fear.

The world lost its colour.  

All that could be seen was the boy and his bicycle.

He opened the gate and approached the house, holding an envelope.

Apologetically he offered it, turned and slipped away

into the grey mist of disbelief.

II  - The Politician

They fall for the trumpet’s martial strain,

Ignoring history’s warning cry,

And repeat the same mistakes again.

Blood rushes hotly to their brain

But, never stopping to wonder why,

They fall for the trumpet’s martial strain

Their courtiers paint the quest humane;

But they cannot see that it’s all a lie

And repeat the same mistakes again.

Sold on pictures of a sweet domain,

With babbling brooks and a clear blue sky,

They fall for the trumpet’s martial strain.

It matters not the numbers slain,

So they stoically wave the troops good-bye

And repeat the same mistakes again.

They are living in a different plane

Where they never see the children die.

They fall for the trumpet’s martial strain

And repeat the same mistakes again.

---

© J Cosmo Newbery 2012

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CCCLXXXV - In Absentia II

Two prompts lead to this work:

1. One Single Impression's prompt for this week is 'Absent'.

2. Imaginary Garden with Real Toads had the prompt to use a tercet or villanelle.

This poem started out as a Villanelle but I cribbed a bit on some of the rhymes

(eg: using -ar and -art) and then sliced and diced it a bit, losing the strict tercet shape.

But I still liked it.  So here it is, for all to see:

In Absentia

In the privacy of my heart

A simple truth is starkly cast:

You are not here.  

And yet you are in my thoughts and never far

From first waking, to the last.

In the privacy of my heart 

I lament there was the need to part

Life becomes an odd contrast:

You are not here.  And yet you are.

I knew in time you would depart

And couldn’t but be overcast,

In the privacy of my heart.

But there’s always hope in ‘au revoir’,

That separation will not last.

You are not here.  

And yet you are,

Like the light from a distant star

That can be seen but not held fast,

In the privacy of my heart.

You are not here.  

And yet you are.

.

---



© 2012   J Cosmo Newbery

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CCCLXXV - Odd Bird Out

.

 A Villanelle.

Odd Bird Out

You are different, with all that that implies:
You fly independently from the rest
And you always manage to surprise.

You command your own space in the skies
And, as those who care for you can attest,
You are different, with all that that implies.

We all have some facets that we disguise
But there are sides to you few would have guessed
And you always manage to surprise.

To underestimate you would be unwise:
You have a toughness, with which few are blessed,
You are different, with all that that implies.

Beneath a composed exterior lies
A passionate heart that beats with zest
And you always manage to surprise.

Who you really are, I can but surmise
But the truth of it is simply expressed:
You are different, with all that that implies,
And you always manage to surprise.
.
---
© 2012   J Cosmo Newbery
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CCXXXIII - Show Some Care

.

One Minute Writer had a topic "Straw".
I had an urge to do a villanelle, a fairly structured poetic form.


Show Some Care

My back will break beneath the weight,
If you do not show some care;
Stop now, before it is too late.

The ‘things to do’ do not abate
But come to me, as I am there;
My back will break beneath the weight.

What does it matter to miss a date?
Better that than not even there.
Stop now, before it is too late.

Tasks are assigned without debate
And make me wish I wasn’t there:
My back will break beneath the weight

Why rush as a bull towards a gate?
Far better to think, be aware;
Stop now, before it is too late.

As the camel said “Don’t you dare
Put another straw up there.
My back will break beneath the weight
Stop now, before it is too late.”

---
© 2011 J Cosmo Newbery

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CIL - The Three Egg Omelette

.

Once, when my mother was sick, my father said "If she's going, I'm going."
His method of choice was to ignore health warnings.
I have used the Villanelle form for this poem.
.


The Three Egg Omelette

His wife lies in a hospital bed;
The house is empty, cold and bland,
And he fears the future will not be shared.

He free admits to being scared.
After fifty years of holding hands,
His wife lies in a hospital bed.

Demons dance within his head,
Whispering darkly, beyond command,
And he fears the future will not be shared.

The prospect fills his heart with dread,
It wasn’t in their wedding plans:
His wife lying in a hospital bed.

Inseparable since the day they wed,
With a love that few could understand,
Now he fears the future will not be shared.

Ignoring his wife’s cholesterol ban,
He breaks three eggs into the pan.
His wife lies in a hospital bed,
And he fears the future will not be shared.

---
© J Cosmo Newbery
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CXXXVII - The Graveyard

.

Spent a couple of nights at a farm. Like so many farms, it was surrounded by defunct,
but not discarded, farm machinery. I have used the Villanelle form for this poem.

The Graveyard

Anything that comes, forever stays;
Worked to death and left to rust:
The russet bones of bygone days.

Around the bodies, cattle graze
Sharing the enemy: heat and dust.
Anything that comes, forever stays.

Skeletons shimmer in the haze,
Fringed with weeds, skywards thrust;
The russet bones of bygone days.

Metal can fight against Nature’s ways
But fails in the end, as metal must.
Anything that comes, forever stays.

The evening sunlight warmly plays
Across the carcass: rotting and bust;
The russet bones of bygone days.

Broken bodies, held in trust,
The remnants of those who could not adjust.
Anything that comes, forever stays;
The russet bones of bygone days.

---
© J Cosmo Newbery
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LXXXII - Transports of Delight

.

Based on a photo by Reno.

Laura Jayne at Pictures, Poetry & Prose poses a daily writing challenge.
The prompt for this poem was “Gondolas”.
I have chosen to use the villanelle form.


Transports of Delight

Gently they are rocking at evening rest,
Tarped in blue, moored for the night,
These romantic vessels of love finessed.

Coal black ferries to a town possessed;
Venetian transports of delight.
Gently they are rocking at evening rest.

Gondoliers, traditionally dressed
Sing songs of love, of passion bright,
On these romantic vessels of love finessed.

Young women doing what they do best,
Playing Princess to their kneeling knight.
Gently they are rocking at evening rest.

How many a girl has acquiesced
To heartfelt deliveries of a lover’s plight
On these romantic vessels of love finessed?

Sleek confidants to the mating rite —
(Can we, should we, will we, tonight?)
Gently they are rocking at evening rest
These romantic vessels of love finessed.

---
© J Cosmo Newbery
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XXIII - In Absentia I

In Absentia
A villanelle.

The place they once filled is now cold and bare;
What was immutable crumbles away;
It’s hard to believe they’re no longer there.

The glint in their eyes, the smell of their hair,
The feel of their skin, the things they would say;
The place they once filled is now cold and bare

Nothing could have been done to help prepare
For the sadness destined to fill you this day.
It’s hard to believe they’re no longer there.

In the harsh light of dawn you can but stare;
What burned so bright is now shades of grey.
The place they once filled is now cold and bare

No one promised that this life would be fair
Nor did they warn they would be taken away;
It’s hard to believe they’re no longer there.

Friends look awkward and are afraid to say
It always was destined to end this way.
The place they once filled is now cold and bare
It’s hard to believe they’re no longer there.

---
© J Cosmo Newbery
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XIX - The Poetry Challenge

An Agony in Four Fits and a Poem.

I.
Where the players are introduced to the crowd.

There was a time when there was peace throughout the land
And life was milk and honey
When all things were considered, it was rather grand
And well done eggs were runny.

A fair young Maiden entered this idyll
And hearts went all aflutter
She grabbed their attention and had a fiddle
She melted them like butter.

Like hapless candles fluttering around a moth
The Gumshoe was first to break
He threw down a glove made of the finest cloth
Which the Knight was loathe to take.

But take it he did, their relationship terse;
They waited the Maiden’s decree.
Fidelity was the given task; plus a verse
About some harmless drudge named Lee.


II.
Where the players are jostling for position.

The Gumshoe fretted while the Knight sipped his wine
But others had entered the ring
The smart money moved onto the Rottie, K9
Fidelity already his thing.

But the stumbling block that was causing most grief
Was the mandatory topic, Lee.
“To be writing about him is beyond belief”
Said the Knight. The others had to agree.

Lillie and Lux came to play. “We want to know:
Can we take Lee when it’s over?
The Maiden can go to the cop or Cosmo,
She can even run off with Rover.”

So, dear reader, the lines are drawn, words have been said;
We are slowly progressing the scenes;
Fidelity remains to be hit on the head;
Does anyone know what it means?


III.
Where the Knight writes on fidelity.

The Knight looked down at his blank serviette
And wondered what to write
Help me Sancho! There must be some angle to get
On the others in this fight.

The Gumshoe, said Sancho, will view it felonious
That’s what policemen do.
Perhaps you should heed the words of Polonius
And “To thine self be true”?

Now, the dog of course, is an outside chance
While Percy’s chasing robbers;
But really what woman gives a second glance
To a hairy beau that slobbers?

It was Percy, for Mayden, who started this fight,
A copper for a gal;
Under the circumstances, it sounds right,
If I use a villian-elle.

◊◊◊

The Poem

Lassie.

Curled up beside him close at night,
She was contented as a lassie could be.
And the flame in her heart burned bright.

She adored him deeply, with all her might
In the place that she most wanted to be,
Curled up beside him close at night.

She was pure as the snow is crisp and white
‘Til the day she chanced upon Lee;
And the flame in her heart burned bright.

Her happiness soared to reach new heights
Never before had she felt so free.
Curled up beside him close at night.

She asked with an accent, passingly slight:
Did you say you would marry me?
And the flame in her heart burned bright.

The depth of her love was easy to see;
Some things we learn are meant to be;
Curled up beside him close at night.
And the flame in her heart burned bright.

◊◊◊


IV.
Where the circus leaves town.

Sancho, the poem is writ, our job complete,
We can but win or fail,
And having stayed long enough to compete
It is time to hit the trail.

You have been so loyal, I must thank you so,
You helped me stay the course
Good luck, my man, you are free to go
And, yes, you can have my horse.

There’s nothing so sad as a circus ground
When all the crowd’s dispersed;
The grass is trampled, the bunting’s come down,
But what’s become of those ‘versed’?

Percy is strutting the policeman’s domain
K9 is entering dog shows,
Poor Lee has slipped into obscurity again
Mayden is posing for photos.


[THE END]

XVI - The Dove, Reprise.

The Dove - Reprise

A kind of peace returned to me
Despite my soul being laid bare
The day I set the white dove free.

It felt as if it was meant to be
Released and free, far from my care
A kind of peace returned to me

I held my hands aloft to see
It taking joyously to the air
The day I set the white dove free.

It settled in an old oak tree
As I watched it resting up there
A kind of peace returned to me

It was as happy as could be
Children sang at the country fair
The day I set the white dove free.

Even though it was so hard to bear
I know I'd pleased a maiden fair.
A kind of peace returned to me
The day I set the white dove free.
---
© J Cosmo Newbery
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VI - A House of Cards

A House of Cards

Trust is splintered to so many shards;
How can we know what to believe
When we blithely build a house of cards?

The world can so quickly fall apart;
The price we pay when we deceive;
Trust is splintered to so many shards.

Denying the truth we station guards;
What are we hoping to achieve
When we blithely build a house of cards?

The game can turn and spiral backwards;
At last, alas, we can perceive
Trust is splintered to so many shards.

Empty buildings watch our vacant yards;
Too few trumps remain up our sleeve
When we blithely build a house of cards.

We get no time to mourn and grieve;
We can but pack our bags and leave.
Trust is splintered to so many shards
When we blithely build a house of cards.
---
© J Cosmo Newbery
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