Monday, October 28, 2013

View Point

The form of this poem is called a villanelle, and if I recollect rightly, it's an old--as in several hundred years old--French form. 19 lines are required, as you will notice, a strictly circumscribed rhyme scheme. I don't particularly like this form of poetry because I think it's pretty hard to get one right, that is, one that doesn't sound forced, that comes across as natural. And that's not to mention how damned hard they are to write.

So here's my latest villanelle, done on assignment from my little three-person poetry group.



View Point

From way out there I am barely a mote
But stand a universe in the eye of a gnat
And how I see is a matter of rote

That we are the world is our usual note
Few would doubt or question that
But from way out there we’re barely a mote

We don self-regard like a comfy coat
In truth it’s ragged, thin, basically flat
And how we see is a matter of rote

But our vision’s cramped, and it’s no joke
Hiding the plain and simple fact
From way out there we’re barely a mote

We’d rather grasp truths that quietly float
Before our eyes like the Cheshire cat
And how we see them is a matter of rote

The alternative view of self-serving bloat
Renders us miniscule, and that is that
From way out there we’re barely a mote
But I stand a universe in the eye of a gnat.
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