precaution's wise and practical for all

precaution's wise and practical for all

prevention keeps the illnesses at bay

though wisdom's held by few and some will fall

 

no matter, smart or dumb or short or tall

tomorrow's life is kept secure today

precaution's wise and practical for all

 

such wisdom's spread to ears by simple call

and most do understand the words they say

though wisdom's held by few and some will fall

 

will wildly run as if to chase a ball

then trip and crash in breaking bone display

precaution's wise and practical for all

 

a simple rule to keep from being mauled

yet why do some keep wisdom's words at bay?

though wisdom's held by few and some will fall

 

i've feigned to circumvent the wisdom wall

and he who followed has been snatched away

precaution's wise and practical for all

though wisdom's held by few and some will fall

 

(C)2009, Christos Rigakos

Winter's Domain

The leaves are the first to go,

As winter's chill presses on,

Barren trees expect the snow.

On our hands our breath we blow,

Settling in for icy naps,

The leaves are the first to go.

We hear the cawing of crows,

Windows frosted over now,

Barren trees expect the snow.

Chimney smoke curls upward slow,

Telling all we’re safe and snug,

The leaves are the first to go.

We sit and talk, maybe sew,

Under a heavy blanket,

Barren trees expect the snow.

Winter puts on quite a show,

Picture postcard in our yard,

The leaves are the first to go,

Barren trees expect the snow.

©November 14, 2009 / Jerry Pat Bolton

Busy Music

The busy music bends me on my way
in prisoned love denying maturation,
and love’s a rune we cannot shape or say.

I said I loved you when I hadn’t, fey:
you harnessed me in heartstring traces,
and the busy music bends us on our way.

You snared my heart with wordless magic sway,
a witchcraft forged from kissing and embraces,
for love’s a rune we cannot shape or say.

We waltzed like children in a timeless May
til you commenced to conjure other faces,
and the busy music bends us on our way.

Still childish sorcery sends my heart to stay
selfbound within those former loving laces,
for love’s a rune we cannot shape or say.

You are consumed by distance, and today
I exhale my impassioned incantations:
the busy music bends us on our way
and love’s a rune we cannot shape or say.

----------

Although this is ages old, it remains one of my very favorite of my poems. (And yes, this one is also posted on Facebook Notes.) I have only written one other villanelle, and the tight repetition and rhyme scheme make that one read more stiffly than this, the first I ever tried. The busy music referred both to the kind of music I was listening to and to life itself, of course.

©2009 John Randolph Burrow, Magickal Monkey Enterprises, Ltd, S.A.