Sonnet & Villanelle

Picture is taken from http://totheshore.files.wordpress.com/2010/04/quillpeninkwell1.jpg, courtesy of The Internet. (I seriously hope I don't get sued for that phrase sometime in the future.) It depicts a quill pen and ink, evoking Shakespearean sonnets. These poems are not quite the same as those.

Neither of the two poems I'm sharing with you today are exactly what their titles imply.

The first, a "sonnet," happens to be not of love, but of anger and even hate. Also, it is (somewhat mercifully) not directed towards a specific person, as many sonnets—be they romantic or accusatory—are. The second, a "villanelle," is written not in villanelle format, but in sonnet format. It too has a dark tone, though it is the lack of emotional articulation ability, rather than the presence, that lends it this. (It was written to be spoken in a play by an android incapable of feeling.) Grouping the two poems together is thus natural—both are melancholy sonnets that do not quite fit the connotations of their forms.

I seriously hope these poems do not upset you all.

Sonnet & Villanelle

I do not care for those who make me feel

my passionate intensity is wrong;

that gentleness is best, not what is real;

that one should not sing out one's angry song;

that natural tranquility should reign;

that ease of life should be the noblest goal;

that mercy should fall down like gentle rain;

that troublemakers should pay their own toll;

that mildness is a measure of virtue;

that speaking is a privilege, not a right;

that each soft lie is better than what's true;

that your deepest beliefs aren't worth a fight.

For even though the peacemakers are blessed,

the ones who thirst for justice deserve rest.

I told myself I'd write a villanelle

of longing minds and hearts far, far away,

but other people's tales aren't mine to tell,

and musings of my own lead me astray.

I hear the ringing of the mournful knell.

I hear the grievers say the world's gone gray.

They talk of hopelessness at each farewell,

I cannot fathom it as well as they.

I don't know how to reach into the well

where all my deepest lusts and terrors lay,

And now I think I've gone halfway to hell

and only inner demons hear me pray...

I told myself I'd write a villanelle.

But other people's tales aren't mine to tell.