Welcome to Verselove, a place for educators to nurture their writing lives and to advocate for writing poetry in community. We are so grateful to our hosts. Thank you for taking such good care of our poetry. Please let us know how you are doing. And now for today’s host: Erica Johnson.
Our Host: Erica Johnson
Erica Johnson’s 13 years of working with students and a lifetime of writing have shaped her into the passionate writing teacher of 2025. She has dedicated her time to working both with a rural community of high school students in Vilonia, Arkansas and with teachers seeking community through online spaces like Teach Write. When she isn’t gathering words like they were a rock collection, Erica can be found pushing her limits in Crossfit, cozied up on her couch with her dog, Cooper, or planning the next exciting adventure into the unknown!
Inspiration
I am so over winter and ready to see flowers and green again! Did you know that there is a whole language to flowers? For example, my favorite flower, honeysuckle, represents “bonds of love” and another favorite, hydrangeas, means “gratitude for being understood.”
By the time you see this, it will be spring and not only will we see flowers, but also my seniors’ formal poetry unit of study. Although they have already read formal poems like Dylan Thomas’s “Do not go gentle into that good night” it is my plan to do a deeper dive into villanelles and other closed form poems with them.
Process
I started by simply searching for the meaning behind my favorite flowers. Once I had a list, I selected my favorite connection and started work on shaping that into a villanelle. Because it is a closed-form poem it has pretty strict rules about rhyme (ABA) and repetition (the 1st and 3rd lines repeat throughout) – this can be challenging, but I find that is also part of the fun!
If you don’t have time to write a formal villanelle today, don’t beat yourself up! Instead write ANY kind of poem about the flowers that bring you joy and what they mean to you. There are many poems written about all kinds of flowers in all kinds of ways – use these to inspire you as well!
Erica’s Poem
White and Yellow Blooms by Erica Johnson
I am happiest when the honeysuckle unfurls
its tendrils of green lounging in forgotten spaces
dripping with white and yellow blooms like pearls.
If I ask for a dance do you think she will twirl
twining vines together, to be held in the right places–
I am happiest when the honeysuckle unfurls.
Each bloom begs to be kissed by the most gentle of girls
who hide behind the trees or dive into cases
dripping with white and yellow blooms like pearls.
Many celebrate winter as a season wrapped in knits and purls
a scarf woven, meant to bring warmth to our faces.
I am happiest when the honeysuckle unfurls.
Others begrudge summer’s heavy heat, but when the fragrant flower curls
around us, its threading delicate, fine fingers stitching laces
dripping with white and yellow blooms like pearls.
The tips of our fingers, each season we pass whorls
we gather together these bonds of love, these traces
I am happiest when the honeysuckle unfurls,
dripping with white and yellow blooms like pearls.
Your Turn
Now, scroll to the comment section below to write your own poem. (This is a public space, so you may choose to use only your first name or initials depending on your privacy preferences.) Not ready? That’s okay. Read the poems already posted for more inspiration. Ponder your own throughout the day. Return later. And, if the prompt does not work for you, that is fine. All writing is welcome. Just write something. Oh, and a note about drafting: Since we are writing in short bursts, we all understand (and even welcome) the typos and partial poems that remind us we are human and that writing is always becoming. If you’d like to invite other teachers to write with us, tell them to subscribe. Also, please be sure to respond to at least three writers.
My childhood home was lined with cannas, they still stand to this day when I visit. They are some of the most resilient flowering plants that I have ever seen or touched. In fall and winter they die rather quickly, leaving behind dark brown tobacco-like leaves and a tough bulbous base. My dad and I had to chop them down every season, and they always returned with their bright red flowering buds when the sun came back.
Canna, Empress of The Garden
In the depths of dark soils
her bulb patiently awaits
Slender stalks encroaching with toil
spurred upon by winter’s hate
For every year once summer has passed
and her leaves begin to turn
From the base, her bulbs, they must be slashed
to allow for her timely return
And long after her stalk is forced low
when sunrays pierce through the ash
Her bulb will rise up like a phoenix
with a triumphant return from long winter’s past
I felt a strong pull to write about my favorite flower, the sunflower. Strong pollen providers that are often harvested for their beautiful faces.
Dark green and rigid vine
twisting through earthy growth
Whose yellow petals are aligned
’round what bees need the most
For if I were to pluck your stem
T’would be nothing but disservice
your absence lay in presence of them
The Great Sunflower, wouldn’t deserve this
Carson, this is such a lovely ode to “The Great Sunflower”. The rhyming is very effective. The way you describe that stem in the first two lines makes the sunflowers of my long ago gardens come alive again. Beautiful!
Your poem shows the power and beauty in. the sunflower, and the cadence flows so well it is mesmerizing!
Iris was my runaway name, my street name.
Sixteen in Milwaukee, I was first christened.
I no longer need the name: I have valor of my own.
I was fleeing from hardships too secret to share
And when I silently screamed, nobody listened.
Iris was my runaway name, my street name.
Running toward hope, something better, one to care
Away from the destruction to which I was conditioned
I no longer need the name: I have valor of my own.
Iris gave me royalty and courage to spare
I protected my heart and my walls were thickened
Iris was my runaway name, my street name.
Survival by luck and some others’ prayer
A restored vision for my life was provisioned
I no longer need the name: I have valor of my own.
Finding strength, facing truths, I’ve battled and I’ve grown
Through healing, my mind and heart are repositioned.
Iris was my runaway name, my street name.
I no longer need the name: I have valor of my own.
Julie,
You’ve accomplished something special in your poem, which is to tell a story. I have always thought of villanelles as lyrical poems and not as often narrative ones. I see some excellent internal rhyme as well as a reminder of challenges young people face. In that sense your poem illustrates a triumph over adversity.
Love the comeback story crafted here. Thanks for sharing this flower inspired piece about you!
Julie,
Your poem is moving and shows so much strength. The first line hooked me “Iris was runaway name, my street name.” Powerful
I’m more of a free verse kind of girl, so I decided to challenge myself. Thanks for the invitation, opportunity, and a beautiful mentor text to work from, Erica.
The daffodils announce the spring
Yellow trumpets to the sky
Joyful noises around us ring
I love the contrast of brown and green
Low lazy clouds drift on by
The daffodils announce the spring
Robins with red breasts make a scene
Not a single one of them is shy
Joyful noises around us ring
Tornadoes may howl and storms may scream
But when the vernal equinox is nigh
The daffodils announce the spring
Bug may bite and bee may sting
Our souls just the same will fly so high
Joyful noises around us ring
With beautiful crowns, they rise as queens
Lush green arms reaching for the sky
The daffodils announce the spring
Joyful noises around us ring
I am also normally a free verse girl! The villanelle was a challenge but also a fun flex. I definitely enjoyed the celebratory nature of yours! It made me very happy for the daffodils and I appreciated that you acknowledged other aspects of spring as well.
I can picture the daffodils making their joyful announcement!
Hi Erica,
Thank you for the challenge today. I had a hard time, but I didn’t give up. I will need to practice this form a lot more to feel comfortable with it. I love flowers and never thought to include their meanings and language in a poem, so thank you for this lesson today! Your poem brought me back to my paternal grandmother’s house. My sister, cousins, and I would suck the juice from as many honeysuckles as we could find. Imagining now that there is probably not one child in my class who’s done that.
The White Hyacinth
The white hyacinth bends in morning light,
A symbol of love where silent sorrows grow.
Her petals hold the tears of the night.
In love’s garden, she bloomed pure and bright,
Before he left with no place to go
The white hyacinth bends in morning light.
His scent remains, a sharp and aching bite,
Tender promises whispered in the candle’s glow.
Her petals hold the tears of the night.
He pledged a lifetime of loving her just right,
But love has roots where pain still craves to show.
The white hyacinth bends in morning light.
Pink sends her playful joy, but her bouquet is all white,
A bloom for all the prayers of sorrow to flow.
Her petals hold the tears of the night.
Though spring returns, he’s vanished from her sight—
But through her tears, the flower will comfort her sorrow.
The white hyacinth bends in morning light,
Her petals hold the tears of the night.
© Stacey L. Joy, 4/7/25
I attempted to channel a very close friend who’s begun a cancer battle and she’s doesn’t have the most helpful mate.
Thank you for contributing a verse today! I was floored by the beauty of your poem, especially after you confessed to not feeling confident about it. The rhymes, repeating refrains and the word choice all bring together this longing and sorrow. Good work!
Stacey,
Im so sorry to hear about your friend. You honor them w/ your tender verse. It is masterful. This line illuminates the love you have for your friend.
“Her petals hold the tears of the night.”
Sending healing thoughts and peace to you both. Life can be so brutal. Friends help us through the hard times.
Erica,
This was a FUN challenge! Thank you so much for the inspiration. I’ve read your poem over and over, enjoying each word choice every time. I need to incorporate ‘unfurls’ in conversation tomorrow!
I immediately was drawn to the idea of marigolds representing the grief I have felt over leaving my home last summer.
One last time
I left that arc of marigolds, a picture of my grief
Small and bushy beauties in a neat and tidy line
Growing new roots leaves me in disbelief
Flower season is disappointingly brief
Turns out, so was this season of mine
I left that arc of marigolds, a picture of my grief
The ultimate companion, really just a thief
Deadhead those gorgeous sunbursts, they’ll turn out just fine
Growing new roots leaves me in disbelief
Now I blow on by, fluttering free as a leaf
This little patch of dirt, the only thing that was all mine
I left that arc of marigolds, a picture of my grief
Growing new roots leaves me in disbelief
Jaime, wow. What a poem. I know naming the thing that grieves us is healing, so I hope this poem gives you new hope on “this little patch of dirt” where you find yourself now. “arc of marigolds” sounds gorgeous. And “gorgeous sunbursts” for a description of marigolds is perfect. Carry on, and I hope you plant some marigolds this summer in your new place.
Thanks so much Erica for the invitation to write in praise of a flower that I forget I love…until it’s California golden poppy season again and I fall in love all over again.
On my first day back in the classroom after a week away for spring break, I knew I wasn’t up for the technicalities of crafting a villanelle. Instead I opted for the simplicity and constraint of the etheree: a ten line poem that begins with one syllable and builds to ten in that tenth line.
Ode to the California Golden Poppy
Pop
of gold
on roadsides
California
golden poppies sing
delicate beautiful
dancing in the warm breezes
It’s spring! I’m here! Pay attention!
Carpets of gold ignite the hillsides
pure California sun in a blossom
Kim Douillard
4/7/25
With photo on my blog: https://thinkingthroughmylens.com/2025/04/07/poppy-love-npm25-day-7/
I love the idea of flowers announcing spring, especially
I went with a similar theme for my poem. Also really loved that last line!
I totally get that — which is why I wanted to give everyone a “get out of villanelle free” option! I am glad you took that because in so doing you taught me a new form today! I adore that you began with the word “pop” and then more colors came through like how one flower appears and then more and more — very fitting for a floral poem.
I’m here for the switch from villanelle to etheree, Kim, lol! And I love the command to “Pay attention!” by the “golden poppies” littering the Californian “roadsides.”
Glenda, I read the first half in metaphor, imagining all the people hiding who need to step up and into the inhumanity of our country and then softened to the more literal longing for spring. Such beauty and melancholy in the gaze through panes. Lovely.
I know I know I know that villanelles are hard – especially on a Monday – and that partial poems are ok and and and… and I LOVE closed form poems…and flowers… and Spring… and I’m teaching Hamlet right now, so of course I thought of Ophelia… What I’m trying to say is that this is deeply imperfect, but it is a villanelle and I wrote it & I’m trying to be brave so here it is.
Ophelia
Heaven and earth, we must remember –
while she hands out the rosemary –
not to condemn her.
She had been cold to him since that November
when her father insisted that she be wary.
Heaven and earth, we must remember.
She had closed her chaste treasure to his insistent member;
She had heeded her father and brother, Laertes,
when they threatened to condemn her.
Still, they used her as bait, to inflame the ember
of their suspicion; pretended she might marry
him: Now, Heaven and earth, we mostly remember
her, circled by flowers, their petals dismembered,
as she sinks to her watery grave. Nary
one of the characters dares to condemn her.
Imagine a moment where she shows her temper
Or even one scene where she is primary.
Oh, Heaven and earth, we must remember
not to condemn her.
Amanda,
You are too hard on yourself. First, this poem flows well and hits the rhyme perfectly. I love the emphasis on not condemning Ophelia. And I see this as a cool way to assess students’ understanding of a character, an act, a scene, a soliloquy. Writing a villanelle on a character requires close reading moreso than a test.
Amanda, yes you are enough and you are brave. This is beautiful. It is a villanelle, and you are teaching Hamlet, and now you have something beautiful to show your students. I think poetry writing about characters is such a wonderful way to show understanding.
I agree with Glenda! I appreciated the complexity of the construction and the connection to Hamlet! I really loved the feminism of that last stanza!
Amanda, I just finished teaching Hamlet, and this is great! I love the echoes of the play: “Heaven and earth, must I remember” and her “chaste treasure open.” And I totally agree with you, she doesn’t show “her temper” and doesn’t have “even one scene where she is primary.” Thank you for crafting and sharing this!
Blissful pleasures reach towards the sky
Sweet Pea–you grace my ribcage
Dites-moi pourquoi la vie est belle? Life!
Goodbye news of frigid winter foes
From far away drawing my sister’s rage
Blissful pleasures reach toward the sky
Flowers bloom and sand kisses my toes
Sweet honeysuckle dances on stage
Dites-moi pourquoi la vie est belle? Life!
And where the winter had once froze
Now soil, seed, water engage
Blissful pleasures reach towards the sky
When the pollen pokes and tickles your nose
Celebrate, grab a book you bibliophage!
Dites-moi pourquoi la vie est belle? Life!
Sprinklers whisper secrets from a hose
Let’s share more rhymes, dear sage
Blissful pleasures reach towards the sky
Dites-moi pourquoi la vie est belle? Life!
Love the sprinkler. Sweet rhyming pairs here. Thanks for sharing and multi-ling as well!
Ashley,
I’m here for “bibliophage.” Fun word. And, yes, life is beautiful. Lovely poem.
Wow, this was hard, but I can do hard things. I wrote about my favorite bush, which was also my favorite place to read outside.
Lilacs and Stories
Next to lilacs I would sit
to get lost in a story –
I was never afraid to admit
that in another world is where I fit
for it was easier to worry
next to lilacs I would sit
and cheer for a character’s benefit
Breathing in its fragrance
I was never afraid to admit
that in a bush was a friendly spirit
with its root in Greek mythology
Next to lilacs I would sit
laughing or crying over words writ
I’d wander through a magical journey.
I was never afraid to admit
that my first love was the imaginary
sitting beside a flower so pretty
Next to lilacs I would sit –
I was never afraid to admit.
Love the flow from stanza to stanza. Really sweet connection of reading and flowers here. Thanks for sharing.
I love your poem aout the power of story. I was never afraid t admit it either.
Erica,
Thanks for hosting and challenging us with a villanelle. Quite a challenge!
Your poem brought me right back to the sight and smell of honeysuckle growing on our back fence when I was growing up. Thank you for bringing those memories back!
around us, its threading delicate, fine fingers stitching laces
dripping with white and yellow blooms like pearls.
———————————————————-
For My Mom
You loved daisies’ innocence
Veering from your preference for neat
Breaking free of life’s complicated sense
White and yellow recompense
You welcomed their simple beat
You loved daisies’ innocence
Their colors rhymed with your common sense
Their wildness indiscreet
Breaking free of life’s complicated sense
My days are incomplete
Overcome with your loss’ consequence
You loved daisies’ innocence
So much kindness did you dispense
You helped others without mete
Breaking free of life’s complicated sense
Clusters of inflorescense
Ray florets petite
You loved daisies’ innocence
Breaking free of life’s complicated sense
Sharon, this is a priceless poem for your Mom. I love the line: “Their colors rhymed with your common sense.”
I hear longing in the past tense verbs: loved, welcomed, helped. Thank you for sharing with us your Mom and her favorite flowers today. An incredibly gentle and beautiful villanelle!
Sharon, thanks for sharing your mother’s love for flowers and through that sharing so much about her nature.
“So much kindness did you dispense
You helped others without mete
Breaking free of life’s complicated sense”
The past tense is beautiful. A lovely memory and tribute. Thank you for sharing.
Oh wow, I love “breaking free of life’s complicated sense,” like the clear sense of mother’s love. I love that your mother’s love for daisies was a “veering from [her] preference for neat”—a freedom in flowers. I love that you shared this moving memory and feel honored that you’ve shared of your loss. It speaks to me especially today because I wrote about my mom’s love of a flower, too (that baby’s breath!), perhaps because though she hasn’t died her dementia has me in a place of remembrance of what was.
Erica,
Thanks for hosting and challenging us with a villanelle. Quite a challenge!
Your poem brought me right back to the sight and smell of honeysuckle growing on our back fence when I was growing up. Thank you for bringing those memories back!
———————————————————-
For My Mom
You loved daisies’ innocence
Veering from your preference for neat
Breaking free of life’s complicated sense
White and yellow recompense
You welcomed their simple beat
You loved daisies’ innocence
Their colors rhymed with your common sense
Their wildness indiscreet
Breaking free of life’s complicated sense
My days are incomplete
Overcome with your loss’ consequence
You loved daisies’ innocence
So much kindness did you dispense
You helped others without mete
Breaking free of life’s complicated sense
Clusters of inflorescense
Ray florets petite
You loved daisies’ innocence
Breaking free of life’s complicated sense
Erica,
Thanks for hosting and challenging us to a villanelle.
Your refrain of
brought me right back to the honeysuckle vines growing on the back of our fence when I was growing up. Thank you for bringing that memory back so vividly.
———————————————————-
For My Mom
You loved daisies’ innocence
Veering from your preference for neat
Breaking free of life’s complicated sense
White and yellow recompense
You welcomed their simple beat
You loved daisies’ innocence
Their colors rhymed with your common sense
Their wildness indiscreet
Breaking free of life’s complicated sense
My days are incomplete
Overcome with your loss’ consequence
You loved daisies’ innocence
So much kindness did you dispense
You helped others without mete
Breaking free of life’s complicated sense
Clusters of inflorescense
Ray florets petite
You loved daisies’ innocence
Breaking free of life’s complicated sense
Erica,
Thanks for hosting and challenging is with a villanelle.
Your refrain of
brings me right back to the honeysuckle vines that covered our back fence growing up. Thank you for that.
——————————————————-
For My Mom
You loved daisies’ innocence
Veering from your preference for neat
Breaking free of life’s complicated sense
White and yellow’s recompense
You welcomed their simple beat
You loved daisies’ innocence
Their colors rhymed with your common sense
Their wildness indiscreet
Breaking free of life’s complicated sense
My days are incomplete
Overcome with your loss’ consequence
You loved daisies’ innocence
So much kindness did you dispense
You helped others without mete
Breaking free of life’s complicated sense
Clusters of inflorescense
Ray florets petite
You loved daisies’ innocence
Breaking free of life’s complicated sense
Flowers? What flowers? Haven’t seen in in my part of the PNW.
Growing Soil
Soil grows in bloom-less space
Compost and leaf mold cover remains
Earth hides its flowerless face
No flowers grow in this place
Spring’s arrival lost its way
Soil grows in bloom-less space
Even in valleys petals leave no trace—
Nor desire to burst buried bulbs
Earth hides its flowerless face
I long to see rainbow-hued buds’ lace
Autumn abandoned organic remains
Soil grows in bloom-less space
Will winter cold ever give grace
to tulip crowns still underground?
Earth hides its flowerless face
I gaze through panes for an embrace
from verde stems in the garden outside
Soil grows in bloom-less space
Earth hides its flowerless face
Glenda Funk
4-6-25
Glenda, I want to think that Idaho just “wakes up” later and has its beauty, but, Gosh, your poem paints a grim picture. You say, “Spring’s arrival lost its way,” and I wish it finds it soon. Your villainous villanelle is masterfully crafted: rhymes, rhythm, diction work beautifully to deliver the message. Thank you!
Tulip crowns still underground was so clever. Thanks for sharing and hopefully talking about flowers helps them grow soon… nice work with this form
I love the line, “Earth hides its flowerless face,” You use of personification throughout is top notch. I can easily relate to your poem, as I’m dying to get busy with the soil.
Wow, Glenda, you’ve crafted a fantastic poem that shares the stark reality of many barren places. I love the language and especially flowerless face and bloom-less. Your voice is full of the desire to see spring bloom! Your poem flows magically!
Wait, so you composed this on an app on your phone!? I love it even more, lol. I need room to “compose,” that, or, I realize the more space I have the more creative droppings that I can collect along the way, lol, on the computer screen, post-it notes, napkins on my desk, etc. (Also, I realize that I’m a bad poet friend, but there was no intentional slighting or ghosting, honest! Have you seen these numbers? I think I just get scrolling fatigue going through all these posts! And, I know, that is totally an excuse and a good problem to have, hence my first thought in this parenthetical!) Now, on to your offering: I loved it. You make this cursed form look easy (which I know is very difficult to do!): “Nor desire to burst buried bulbs” and “Will winter cold ever give grace / to tulip crowns still underground” are so alliteratively and rhythmically pleasing!
Glenda, Your personification was so effective.
“Soil grows in bloom-less space”
Earth hides its flowerless face.”
Through the seasons you were still hopeful.
“Earth hides its flowerless face” is such a haunting line, Glenda. The sense of desolation is real: bloom-less, abandoned, longing. Spring, having “lost its way,” will surely stop, regroup, and retrace its steps to return in all its glory to the PNW, bringing its inherent hope. Incredibly powerful poem! I find this form difficult. Your craftsmanship here is amazing,
Glenda, this is a very appropriate poem for this long winter for you! I love “I gaze through panes for an embrace / from verde stems in the garden outside” And the image of “Earth hiding its flowerless face” is both funny (because we know it’s early, as Leilya said sleeping in) but it’s also a terrifying thought because of climate disruption.
Very very few flowers here, either. SIGH. “Earth hides its flowerless face” sadly speaks to me. I, too, “long to see rainbow-hued buds’ lace.” Great villanelle.
Glenda – The form, it’s repetitions, send a tone that speaks so clearly to the readiness for spring, for a stirring to lighten that view out the window. If ever there were a tone poem, this would be the marker. Looking out the window, waiting for rebirth… I wish for you a daffodil soon. Lovely, my friend. Tonight we’re getting an unwanted freeze…just as my azaleas set to bloom… alas. I’m hoping the sheets I spread over the bushes on the hill will save those blossoms…I lost them last year and the year before with the crazy highs and lows. Fingers crossed. If thye make it, I’ll send you a pic. Hugs, Susie
Erica, your poem is lovely and I am impressed with how naturally it flows, I have been wrestling with the villanelle all day and still struggling, but I did want to read and comment on those who succeeded in finding a rhythmic path…I do know that I could have written something else, but I really want to try a structured form. Thanks for your prompt!
Petunias are your favorite garden flowers
Geraniums their partners in their bed:
Partners, they, ‘neath house’s shady bower.
Time stole the art of planting from your hours;
Instead, you planted notions in my head
Petunias are your favorite garden flowers.
You tried to lock me in an ivory tower
And words and faces grew petunia red,
Geraniums their partners in their bed.
Fond and friendly looks turned into glowers
Surprising few, I took up root and fled
Petunias are your favorite garden flowers.
Petunias symbolize a dual power:
Resentment, anger, soothing, peace, it’s said
Geraniums their partners in their bed.
Now that I have a place that I call ours,
I think I’ll plant some marigolds instead.
Petunias were your favorite garden flowers
Geraniums their partners in their beds.
Wendy,
You tapped into flower symbolism. I love petunias and marigolds because they are both easy to grow here. “you planted notions in my head” says so much. I love the rebellious spirit in your poem,
Even the flowers’ names are poetic. Nice pairing of plants and words. Lovely form.
I like how your poem starts off seemingly innocent, but takes a turn, Wendy. The notion of dual power intrigues me. And the rebelliousness of the marigolds is terrific!
So much to think about in this powerful poem. I keep coming back to “Fond and friendly looks turned into glowers/Surprising few, I took up root and fled.”
How perfectly your lines flow, Wendy! And instead of “the wars of the roses” – this could be “the wars of the garden flowers.” What incredible imagery, too, in the story here…the desire for control, possible betrayal, the breaking away and beginning anew. Extraordinary in every facet!
Wendy, I love the voice in this poem, and the incredible twist at the end. I was especially moved by the third stanza and the contrast between red and white is vivid. The end is liberating for sure. Powerful villanelle!
FLOWERS
Lilac, sunflower, iris treasures.
Choose? I should choose?
Purples, yellows, hues unmeasured;
the color wheels through spring, summer pleasure;
scents arrest, seasons ensue;
lilac, sunflower, iris treasures.
Through unexpected frost they weathered,
determined blossoms, yet winds confuse,
purples, yellows, hues unmeasured;
in bright bouquets, in vases tethered
in flower shops, churches, their light suffused;
lilac, sunflower, iris treasured.
Flowers strong and bold, unfettered,
they give me pause and time to muse
in purples, yellows, hues unmeasured.
It is the unpicked flower in full feather
I love the most, won’t pick, refuse;
lilac, sunflower, iris treasured
purples, yellows, hues unmeasured.
by Susie Morice, April 7, 2025©
Susie,
My flowerbeds feel this line: “Through unexpected frost they weathered,” They won’t even wave a green blade. But it’s the ending that touches my heart. I prefer flower in their unpicked state. It feels cruel to cut them and confine them indoors.
Unmeasured and treasured is such a lovely rhyming pair. Thanks for sharing the beautiful colors here.
Your poem makes me long for flowers in the yard, Susie. I, too, have a hard time choosing my favorite image of those you’ve given us today. I love the idea of determined blossoms.
Susie, your gorgeous poem flows like a beautiful bouquet. Who doesn’t love a lilac, sunflower, or iris, too? I love the sound effects, the s’s, b’s, and m’s. Your poem is a stunning song, full of sound and flowers! Your skill continues to amaze me and I could see you painting these lovely blooms! Gorgeous poem!
Okay, I’m just playing around with flowers. Be gentle, friends:)
At the Graveside of My Favorite Tulips
We gather round your corpse, lying quietly,
struggling with words we wish we could say
as we throw wild roses, haphazardly.
Once you were a vibrant bloom, ruling masterfully
but now you’re grossly molding with decay.
We gather round your corpse, lying quietly.
If only you were the trumpet vine rising victoriously
to protest our grief and join our play,
as we throw wild roses, haphazardly.
A coffin bouquet of lilies glows peacefully
as our tears flow beneath clouds of gray.
We gather round your corpse, lying quietly.
Once our tulips met passionately,
thrilled to dally unafraid.
Now subdued, we throw wild roses, haphazardly,
I pray your fragrant spirit goes gently
beyond bountiful gardens, your cold, grim grave
as we gather round your corpse, lying quietly,
throwing wild roses, haphazardly.
Barb Edler
7 April 2025
Whoa, Barbara. This is beautiful and haunting in the refrain. The corpses. Plural. Too many. And the closing prayer had me exhaling at the single corpse. Sending comfort.
Whooof, Barb — This is so rich with grief and that sense that it is all so “haphazard,” this business of living and dying. So difficult to bear. I know your heart hurts. I know flowers die, people die, pets die…it is all just a kick in the ass. Yet, the gathering there is, in itself, not haphazard at all…you go and you do it…even if the edges are all frayed and roses wild and haphazard. I’m always touched by the collision of hurt and sorrow with the strength it takes to examine that very hurt and sorrow. You are stronger than you know. But that doesn’t make you one iota less hurting and less ripped apart. Love you, my friend, Susie
Barb, I loved this and how I wavered between thinking you were talking about an actual person and flowers (I still think it could be both). Lovely job!
Barb,
WOW! There’s a Where Have All the Flowers Gone sensibility to your poem. Like Sarah, the image of corpuses strikes me. And this image of rotting is spectacular:
“you’re grossly molding with decay.”
The futility of trying to stop a flower’s death, a human death resonates in the image of “throwing wild roses haphazardly.” Your poem flows so well, and that is not an easy thing to do in this form.
“Fragrant spirit goes gently” love the combination of themes here – flowers and death. Perfect pair to play with. Thanks for sharing this clever combination.
Barb, such beautiful contrast in your haunting poem. The lying quietly really got to me. And the fragrant spirit. Wow. You can really write a villanelle!
Barb, the grief is really real…and my mind goes in a dozen directions with metaphor. I know you said you’re “just playing around with flowers” but my mind wants to play with “once our tulips met passionately” – whose “two lips”? Although I see from the title that you are mourning your favorite tulips, how they lie ruined and rotting. For the last two springs, my hydrangeas come up green and gorgeous and by summer have turned to brown rot. I mourn over them, especially as I don’t know what else to do but cut them back (being a rather psuedo-gardener). What I feel most here in your villanelle lament is the loss of something that so beautifies the world… the tulips may be corpses, alas, but your poetry LIVES!
Barb, I did get a heads up on “Once our tulips met passionately, thrilled to dally unafraid.” I like what you did there the lips and the dalliance of the flowers. There is an interesting connection between death and flowers in our culture, and in your poem. It’s making me think about those connections. And the haphazardness of death is evident in the throwing of the roses.
Wow! I love the way you’ve woven together the quiet of death and the wildness of roses. I appreciate how you eulogize the tulips and, like others, see other deaths in the midst of the haphazard roses. Thank you for sharing this.
Oh, this one’s HARD . . . but here I go . . .
Katoski Greenbelt Beauty
I love it when the bluebells bloom
They fill the woods with fairy magic
And turn the forest into an azure room.
I cannot handle one more Zoom
meeting. Staying indoors today would be tragic
I love it when the bluebells bloom.
A vase of bluebells would adorn my room
Except it’s forbidden to pick them
And turn the forest into an azure room.
My brain is about to go kaboom
Because I have used up all the rhymes for magic
I love it when the bluebells bloom.
This rhyming scheme will be my doom
I should have chosen a different B rhyme
And turn the forest into an azure room.
Perhaps as I sweep my front porch with a broom
I will reflect on the humility that comes from botching this vilanelle
I love it when the bluebells bloom
And turn the forest into an azure room.
Okay, I tried . . . this is why I prefer free verse, friends. Bluebells really are beautiful, and I liked the first two tercets . . .
Oh, Sheila, your humor is a gift in this poem. I love the imagery of the bluebells blooming and the clear longing to be outside, but the way you’ve referenced the difficult rhyme scheme has me laughing aloud. “This rhyming scheme will be my doom” Yes, I felt that same way today.
LOL!! I laughed out loud REPEATEDLY as your disarming and self-deprecating humor. And your rhyme! You nailed this, Sheila!
Shelia,
I love the contrast between nature and technology. It’s a theme in I Heard the Learned Astronomer. Your repeated line “I love it when the bluebell blooms” has me longing to see a field of them.
They truly are magical– it’s like a giant blue-purple carpet in the woods.
It took a fun turn; when I started reading I was also thinking “oh no…not magic” and then got to your realization too lol. Loved it nonetheless. It has charm. Thanks for sharing.
Sheila,
Having struggled with finding enough natural sounding rhymes for my poem, I loved the humorous meta turn you took.
I’m right there with you, Sheila!
I found this form difficult, as well. I love how you incorporated it into your poem.
Oh, this. is. amazing. I laughed out loud – especially because I chose stupid rhymes & wanted to bang my head against a wall when I was writing today. “I have used up all the rhymes for magic” – hahaha. And still, the bluebells bloom right to the end. Love it.
brightening my world
a spring flora to delight is hellebore
“lenten rose” the common name found
a shy and precious blossom to adore
muted tones in mauve, celery, and more
February’s fertile gifts from the ground
the spring flora I delight is hellebore
pushing through ice, snow, mud, galore
the flower bends prayerfully down
a shy and precious blossom to adore
an early morning ritual with allure
to see dew droplets worn as crowns
yes, spring flora to delight is hellebore
easy to grow, plus deer tend to ignore
five soft petals cupped small and round
an easy, precious blossom to adore
this perennial makes my heart soar
to this dear flower I am totally bound
yes, the spring flora I delight is hellebore
an easy, precious blossom to adore
Beautiful rhymes and I learned something new from this poem! Thank you for sharing.
Well done! My next-door neighbors have hellebore. I should see if they’re blooming yet. I love the line about “deer tend to ignore.”
Maureen, your poem sent me to google—several have today—and the hellebore is fascinating and beautiful! I love your third stanza, especially the first line with the tenacious plant pushing through all fo the tough terrain and then it bows prayerfully. The imagery is powerful! And the flower serves as a great metaphor.
Margaret, indeed, this is a delightful poem in the “shy and precious” and the “droplets worn as crowns”. My heart did soar from your poem today.
Oh my, I love the image of “dew droplets worn as crowns.” How the heck did you write such a lovely villanelle in a day?!
Maureen — By golly, just last week I stood at the plant nursery staring at the hellebores…lenten roses, and I kept thinking how beautiful they were. I’ve never had those in my gardens over the years, but with your poem, I think I must plant some. Thank you! Susie
Loved, loved your religious imagery and color choices, Maureen! A delight to read.
Maureen,
Your poem makes me want to plant this flower and let its do its thing. Perennials make gardening so much easier and less risky. I have two self-cleaning rosebushes that I adore. M y favorite part of the poem is that last verse that sums up your adoration and my desire to know more.
Such delicate descriptions of precious flowers. Thanks for sharing this beautiful piece.
I loved all of the visuals you created in this poem, and I learned a lot about this flower.
Erica: I love the season’s “whorl” and how it feels in the mouth with “pearls”! Since a villanelle is more than I have time for today, here’s a free-verse flower poem:
Baby’s Breath
The first flower I wore
was baby’s breath in my hair.
I’d never been to a wedding before,
didn’t yet know of flower girls
who’d make me jealous with their
overflowing baskets of blooms.
It was just one sprig
but my mom clipped it
into my everyday barrette
as if it were worthy of the bride.
I was surprised to learn later
that baby’s breath was never the star,
always hiding behind roses or
filling in between iris and phlox.
Still, I always try to see it
as my mother did: a galaxy
of milky stars, bursts
of stemmed beauty.
I am there at the scene, with your mother lovingly clipping the sprig of baby’s breath in your hair. Such a lovely memory and poem – and the image of it being “a galaxy /of milky stars,” I will think of this next time I see baby’s breath. (I adore this flower, too!)
I am so glad you shared this free verse poem about baby’s breath. I am especially in love with the contrast of this “insignificant” flower with the galaxies of meaning it holds for you! Thank you for this lovely example or a free verse floral poem.
Kate, this is beautiful! I love the ending lines that turn this simple flower into an extended metaphor of beauty.
Kate, what a picture you’ve given us — both physical and emotional! This was so beautiful.
Never the star, but so pretty on its own. I love this connection to wedding and bouquets. Thanks for sharing your own form.
Kate,
This is so tender.
I love how you shift from your childhood perspective to, as an adult, trying to see from your mother’s perspective.
Astonishingly beautiful.
Ah…a galaxy of milky stars… You capture the understated beauty of a flower that mostly stays in the background. Beautiful.
Erica, your poem was absolutely lovely! The movement in it was terrific. I love a good villanelle and am headed off to craft one right now…so excited!
Started as flowers, ended as mental health. So it goes.
bouquets
try to Love myself, always in all ways
I affirm, I compliment that girl in the mirror
I buy myself flowers, make my own bouquets
Self-Love can be tough Love some days
But even in times of defeat and tears,
I try to Love myself, always in all ways
Overwhelm can strangle, constricting my airways
But to slow the spiral of Anxiety and Fear,
I buy myself flowers, make my own bouquets
Perfection is not found in others’ dossiers
But even when I wish my typos would simply disappear,
I try to Love myself, always in all ways
Rejection reinforces what Criticism says
But even Desperation laughs when they hear,
“I buy myself flowers, make my own bouquets”
So on the therapist’s mental health surveys
I try to Love myself, always in all ways
I buy myself flowers, make my own bouquets
Rate the statements over the course of the past year:
This poem speaks to me today: We do really have to work to be kind to ourselves. You reminded me, too, about how at the beginning of my high school teaching career I tried to have fresh flowers in the classroom and how the veteran teacher next door said, “Good for you. I always wanted to do that and never did.” That’s one thing I miss now that I teach college and don’t have my own classroom space. Finally, I love making my own bouquets! Buying a bunch of different flower types and seeing what I can do with them is such a creative break and boost for me…
Wonderful villanelle! The message/advocacy for to take care of our own selves is just lovely. These words so true “Self-Love can be tough Love”. I love your formatting of the last two repeated lines, with that check in the box – nice touch!
I really appreciate the way you approached this prompt and made a bouquet of flowers and mental health and self love. Thank you
Ooh, the check boxes in the ending stanza– nice touch! Your villanelle is lovely. And now I want flowers.
C.O., this was absolutely terrific. That last stanza was pure genius.
C.O. — Gosh, this is a really wonderful poem. I love how well you handled the villanelle form and brought that kick-ass ending to such a sweetspot. Really well done. I love also the “making my own bouquets.” I’ve done that a lot over the years…things that make us feel good, so often we are loathe to do, even when they are such simple gestures. Your poem started out great, moved right to a great package. Well done! Susie
Wow Kate, this is a wonderful villanelle ~ it flows so naturally and I love the affirmations!
I love this! I especially appreciate your creative use of uppercase letters to personify the emotions that tend to strangle us.
Wow, this poem spoke to me LOUDLY! So beautiful- wiping my eyes right now. As others have noted, the last 4 lines worked so perfectly. Thank you so much for sharing!
Glad you connected with my work. Thank you all for your kind words. You all inspire me to keep trying new things and write on.
C.O., Self-love is, I believe, one of the most difficult things to do but extremely important. I appreciate the lines: “Rejection reinforces what Criticism says
But even Desperation laughs when they hear,
“I buy myself flowers, make my own bouquets”’ I can hear the condescending tone, but there’s nothing wrong with buying yourself flowers.
Your closing stanza is jaw dropping because of how cleverly you’ve woven in the repeating lines. Wishing you peace and comfort!
Oh, C.O., this is beautiful. Buying yourself flowers sounds like good therapy. I love that you are taking care of “that girl in the mirror.” Here is some truth: “Self-Love can be tough Love some days” Yes, life is not easy. Tough love for oneself is important, and loving yourself when it’s tough too.
Clever use of the survey checkboxes in the last two lines of your poem.
I’m sure others have said how clever your ending is here. It really is fabulous and ingenious to use the check marks. I so wish I’d thought of that. Excellent sentiments, too. I think many in this community can relate to the struggle to love ourselves.
As soon as I saw this prompt early this morning I knew my topic, but I’ve just had a chance to write. This was a good Monday mental exercise. Oh, and for White Lotus fans- no spoilers, which was really difficulat!
The White Lotus (#nospoilers)
By Mo Daley 4/7/25
The white lotus opens, a symbol of purity
Enlightenment promised to those who transcend
But does divine love last an eternity?
For those who live lives less than perfectly
On a change of heart you must depend
The white lotus opens, a symbol of purity
Spiritual awakening may bring clarity
Yet life gives us much with which to contend
But does divine love last an eternity?
Neither divine beauty nor strength a surety
How will we know if we can ascend?
The white lotus opens, a symbol of purity
Live a good life with no perfidy
The choices we make are ours with which to contend
But does divine love last an eternity?
The best we can do is live in verity
And in the end we may be enlightened
The white lotus opens, a symbol of purity
Mo,
This is lovely. The Villanelle really does shape a voice of a poet, I think. I am not sure I’d recognize you in this poem except from the allusion to the show, which I had to look up. What a cool contrast in the formality to the tone of the show and reality of these resort goers– if I am getting it right. Gosh, that refrain is beautiful in the “white lotus opens, a symbol of purity.” Alongside the “ours with which to content.” You should sent the director this poem.
Sarah
Mo,
I like your mix of questions and statements.
This is my favorite stanza:
I’m impressed that you were able to reach such philosophical depths within the form a villannelle! And without spoilers!
No spoilers, so I won’t say much but… I love reading this after last night’s season finale!!
Ha! Thank you, Mo! I never once thought about the subliminal meaning of ‘white lotus’ – and I am always looking up flowers and plants for their ‘meaning’…fascinating. I love all your embedded questions, especially “How will we know if we can ascend?” – and I am very impressed that you offered no spoilers. Great Villanelle!
Mo,
Gorgeous imagery. I like not having a direct connection to the show in the poem. I haven’t watched the new season yet. I prefer thinking of the innocent flower and not what it suggests once it opens to the show.
4:26 and I finally sat down to write. I love honeysuckle. I have been known to stick my whole head in its blossoms. That aroma is instant happiness! Thank you, Erica for the villanelle. It’s not a form I use a lot. It made me work and reflect.
I was thinking this morning of my dad who died recently, and I realized he will miss spring this year. I wrote this poem in his memory.
You will miss spring this year
Spring throws colors all around:
Pinks – purples – yellows
Without a fuss or a sound.
The willow gently cascades,
Green hiding place for sparrows.
Spring arrives as winter fades.
You will miss the surprise of spring
The world unfolding green again
The birds from treetops sing.
Magnolias blooms come first,
And then her luscious leaves,
Raindrops soothe her thirst.
Pastels soften winter gray,
All around spring appears
In flowers every day.
You will miss this year’s blossoms
Daffodils, tulips, and forsythia –
You will miss returning spring
Turn your gaze to what heaven brings.
Joanne, I read this poem first, and felt the grief, the longing before I read your intro. We witness his life in these wishes you share here in the absences.Sending comfort.
Sarah
Wow. I love the contrast of “spring throws colors all around… without a fuss or a sound.” That muted display puts me in mind of your dad’s spirit being present without you being able to hear it… but I feel it in the “magnolia blooms…and forsythia.” Really powerful.
Very tender, Joanne; so beautiful that this poem is speaking to your father. I’m so sorry for your loss.
This made me cry. I am especially moved by your continued appreciation of nature even while grieving. Still, the last line truly did me in… a beautiful poem.
Joanne,
Thank you for sharing your poem of grief. I, too, wrote about about grief, connecting flowers to the loss of my Mom.
Your title and your last line hit me the hardest:
Sending peace and love.
Amaryllis Teacher Presents from Government
They may force a bloom, but still I choose to blaze.
I will not bloom beneath your polished shame.
What looks like gift was always gilded cage.
You named me a gift but took my petals away.
They may force a bloom, but still I choose to blaze.
You silence youth and call it saving grace.
The roots are rotting under your build back ways.
You silence youth and call it saving grace.
What looks like gift was always gilded cage.
You bind my branches, claiming it’s for care.
They may force a bloom, but still I choose to blaze.
You silence youth and call it saving grace.
I will not bend, and still I rise from soiled rage.
You bind my branches, claiming it’s for care.
What looks like gift was always gilded cage.
Sarah – so powerful. The repetition builds and builds as does the rage. I love the cadence of this and the images. Your choice of words is superb and your arrangement, amazing.
Sarah, it feels like you are channeling Maya Angelou in this poem. From the first line, the speaker is determined to persist resistance and firm beliefs. When I read: “You named me a gift but took my petals away,” I think about the phrase that is often used (and abused): “Knowledge is power,” and how it’s been manipulated by those in power. Beautifully done!
This is so, so good, Sarah! The message underlying the images, the self as amaryllis, the binding and forcing with flower terms works so well, especially to showcase a stoppage of growth and flourishing. Beautifully done!
Sarah, this is such a voice of resistance and power. The line “I will not bloom beneath your polished shame” absolutely reverberates within me. And I shutter at the truth in “You silence youth and call it saving grace.” Thank you for this.
I agree with Leilya — I certainly heard Maya Angelou in your poem. I enjoy the building rage and for me that contrast of floral imagery with a raging fire! So much to unpack in this poem.
Sarah, this is magnificent. Your extended metaphor illustrates the harm committed by leaders who try to claim they are doing what’s best. My heart hurts for the silenced youth and the way our government is stealing beauty and caging our freedoms. Fantastic poem. I hope you will work hard to publish this one.
Sarah,
This is a beautiful poem of resistance. And your refrain lines are equally powerful and poetic—stunning sounds and images in both. “Still I choose to blaze” is a such a strong statement of agency, will, and defiance.
Oooo, Sarah — This is a doozie! The flower metaphor…the vehicle for such a powerful statement about taking away someone’s autonomy. Doing it for “your own good” kind of patronizing actions…Oooo.. this could go so many directions. But “silence[ing} youth and call[ing] it saving grace” is the real bite. The intensity that the villanelle repetitions bring to this voice is powerful. A poem that oughta be on YouTube, recited with teeth gritting and a snarl. :-). I’m really glad you wrote this today…it is just A-1. Love, Susie
Wow Sarah, this metaphor is so strong and the resulting poem so meaningful. I lost my struggle with today’s villanelle but I am glad I signed on to read and be inspired.
Thank you, Erica, for hosting today. Your description of honeysuckle is glorious: “dripping with white and yellow blooms like pearls.”
I love flowers and am quite spoiled by my husband. There are weeks when I may get a fresh bouquet every day. After 20 years, he is still the same romantic soul.
He Brings Me Flowers
Flowers in a vase on my desk change
Roses, tulips, daisies—each day anew.
He is such a romantic; his love remains.
Monday brought roses, soft, velvety orange,
Crimson edges whisper of morning dew—
Flowers in a vase on my desk change.
Tuesday, white lilies in delicate range,
Blushing with pink in a pastel shade—
He is such a romantic; his love remains.
Wednesday, sunflowers—bright, nicely arranged—
Faces turned skyward in golden view.
Flowers in a vase on my desk change.
Thursday came daisies, a simpler exchange,
Cheerful and plain, but their charm felt true.
He is such a romantic; his love remains.
By Friday, wild blooms of various range,
Stories of longing in each petal’s shape.
Flowers in a vase on my desk change—
He is such a romantic; his love remains.
Leilya, you are a blessed woman. I’m glad you don’t take it for granted. My favorite line is “Wednesday, sunflowers—bright, nicely arranged—Faces turned skyward in golden view.”
Oh my gosh I absolutely adore the romance in these verses — especially with how you use each stanza as a different day of the week! So clever!
I love how this was structured by the flower of the day in your vase!
Leilya, your title is perfect, and I love the repetition of “his love remains”. You’ve mastered the villanelle here and have captured both beauty and loving emotions. Bravo!
What a beautiful poem, Leilya ~ and what a beautiful relationship. Stories of longing in each petal’s shape… a story of love. Just what the world needs. I’m also impressed with how naturally your poem flowed. I struggled with today’s prompt but am glad I signed on to read how flawlessly some captured it.
This is *swoon* I love the days of the week and the love and beauty in this form. Thanks for sharing and enjoy the blooms
Leilya,
He’s a keeper!! I think you should be sure to share this gem of a poem with him so that he knows how much you notice and appreciate his gestures.
Leilya,
What a lovely poem of daily attention and romance.
Love how you selected the structure of a verse for each day’s bouquet.
I feel the abundance of love in this poem.
Leilya, I didn’t remember hearing that about your husband, though I do remember hearing he is romantic. This is so precious! It sounds like you never tire of them, either.
This line makes me curious about all the stories these flowers could tell. “Stories of longing in each petal’s shape.” Beautiful villanelle.
Leilya,
You are spoiled! This is a tour de force through a florist shop, aka your desk. Since “He’s such a romantic,” you better not give him reason to not send flowers.
I am spoiled. When I used to teach in junior high, he would send a bouquet every Monday, and it was small, but always special little arrangement. The entire school knew I had “a secret admirer.” Lol.
Violets bloom where silence keeps its place
In shaded earth, they are faithful, modest, and true
They guard the dusk with soft and watchful grace.
A sunflower does not bow, nor beg embrace
It rises boldly with golden hue
And only wishes the sun to kiss its face.
Not bold like a rose or bright like flowered lace
Forget-me-nots bloom in corners veiled from view
Delicate, friendly flowers that time cannot erase.
A Clematis weaves through every empty space
With clever steps and petals kissed by dew
Its purple stars mingle and retrace.
Melissa, you have created a beautiful bouquet from the flowers you presented in your poem: violet, sunflower, forget-me-not, and clematis. Each one is special and has unique colors and features. Love the description of violets as “faithful, modest, and true.. with soft and watchful grace.” The rhyming works very well in your poem. Thank you!
Melissa, your rhymes work so beautifully and naturally. The rhythm lulls and soothes. I love the bloom choices–the colors and shapes of each, along with the qualities. My favorite are the violets blooming where silence keeps its place. Lovely!
Melissa,
I’m blown away by the beauty of your last stanza:
Love your choice of verbs.
Erica,
Thanks for getting us to tap into our appreciation for nature, specifically flowers. With having recently been to Savannah and Saint Simons Island where azaleas are abundant and with the Masters coming up this weekend, I decided to focus on this beautiful flower. I can tell I am definitely ready for retirement because I really struggled to teach today with this challenging villanelle in the back of my mind. I just want to focus on words and writing and not be bothered with teaching. (Add a winky face, but I do kinda mean it). For some reason I find the villanelle really challenging!
A Path of Azaleas
Its stay is beautiful but brief . . .
the azalea’s color bursts so bright
leaving my awe-filled eyes in disbelief.
The various hues are its main motif–
yellow, pink, orange, red, and white.
Its stay is beautiful but brief.
Blooms framed by verdant leaf
sometimes hidden from sight
leaving my awe-filled eyes in disbelief.
Of its many meanings, love is chief.
A few week’s appearance brings delight.
Its stay is beautiful but brief
Sometimes frost comes like a thief
attacking the beauty with its blight
leaving my awe-filled eyes in disbelief.
May the seasonal beauty never cease;
upon seeing them my heart takes flight.
Its stay is beautiful but brief
leaving my awe-filled eyes in disbelief.
~Susan Ahlbrand
7 April 2025
Susan, love your repeating lines. These the key in a villanelle, and you chose yours wisely and rhymed them skillfully. I, too, struggle with villanelle; the same ABA rhyme doesn’t always work. The thought in your final stanza caught my attention: “May the seasonal beauty never cease,” as if to say that there is time for azaleas, but there is time for mums, and gardenias, and other blooming plants. Thank you.
Susan – I love the repetition of Beautiful and brief – flowers, a mirror for life. You brought that home so eloquently.
Love the rhymes chosen here. Very pretty and delicate poem. Thanks for sharing this form.
Beautiful. I love these flowers too, so much. There were so many azalea bushes around my college campus. It was one of my favorite things about springtime at CSULB. Beautiful poem! I wrote about azaleas too, today. Kind of. I used a lot of words from the spiritual meaning of the azalea website in my poem about some of my family members.
The sunflower…
The new shoot,
It signifies hope.
A hope for the future
A bud appears
The whole world waits in anticipation.
On a bright sunny day,
Your petals open wide.
To display the great beauty found within.
Your petals reflect the sun
As you nurture the Earth’s creatures.
Your presence draws those passing by to marvel,
And to each creature,
You have become
A sustaining source.
But one day,
The seeds have all been taken,
Your bright vibrant petals have now fallen and crumbled to the earth,
Tall you stand,
But a symbol of lifelessness you have become.
People no longer marvel,
And creatures no longer gather,
For now you have learned,
Only for a moment,
You have to live.
For though you last a minute,
Your presence lasts a lifetime.
Oh, how many you have made smile?
A ray of hope,
In someone’s sorrowful day.
How many you have nurtured?
From God’s hand you have fed them.
Amelia, what a beautiful poetic tribute to sunflowers. they are ones of my favorite because they represent my country, and they are so bright and cheerful. I love these two lines, which truly convey the essence of sunflowers: “Your petals reflect the sun / As you nurture the Earth’s creatures.” Thank you for writing and sharing today!
Amelia, each delicate detail appears in this poem as if the sunflower is unfolding, turning its face toward the reader as we turn to admire it through your words. It is a beautiful ode. Thank you for honoring one of my favorite flowers.
My Favorite stanza has to be
“People no longer marvel,
And creatures no longer gather,
For now you have learned,
Only for a moment,
You have to live.”
Not only does this speak to the sunflower, but to the reader as well — a lesson that is hard to swallow!
I enjoyed the challenge and your mentor prompt. Sometimes you write and it comes out, well, it is born on its own terms. I did not keep the perfect rhyme scheme but did a hybrid of my own. I am unsure, but I am also brave.
high spring
flowers are so provocative, slutty in their soft dress
stirring bees to a throaty buzz and the poets hard pine
I, too, am turned on by promise and soft caress
cults of flower freaks frolic and fling
spring-stirred and frenzied, like tulips or a rose of Jericho
fevered with seduction, sedition- fevered with spring
there is so much to learn about lust and the lilac
how purple-soft gazes slick the stamen
glaze over reason and quake like magic
how nature and metaphors forever blend
how smooth wet petals pulse desire and life
how roses apologize- a god scent, godsend
how pleasure peaks a springtime high again, again
I am blown away by the imagery in this hybrid structure you created! The opening stanza was quite sultry and it only increased from there — lots of playing with words and I appreciate that.
What a sexy poem. Can I say that? Loved it. Very seductive and heightened in senses of all things flowers. Thanks for sharing.
Villanelle is the villain of the day.
It has such little brother energy,
a poetic form that reeks of dismay.
Confining poems that only wish to play
(some 20/20 documentary)
Villanelle is the villain of the day.
Other forms allow for happy valets,
but this form needs more somber reverie,
a poetic form that reeks of dismay
So, go ahead, unpack that trauma, yay!
and wallow in the depth of lethargy.
Villanelle is the villain of the day.
A constant loop it will replay, replay,
searing “the feels” into your memory,
a poetic form that reeks of dismay,
So, if it’s joy you seek to write, m’kay,
choose wisely (this would be my only plea).
Villanelle is the villain of the day,
a poetic form that reeks of dismay.
________________________________________________________
Erica, thank you for your mentor poem and prompt today! I love the sounds in your repeated lines: “I am happiest when the honeysuckle unfurls / dripping with white and yellow blooms like pearls.” They are fun to say out loud! For my offering, I didn’t write about flowers, but I did write a villanelle, of sorts, lol.
Scott,
Dude, I planned to ignore you today. I mean, you have ghosted me all month. Hope you’re catholic! LOL. Anywho, my villanelle is sitting in my notes app. I’ll post it later. No pressure. Just wanted to say I feel your villanelle inner fangurl in this poem. I’m here for it over in flowerless potato land.
Scott your poem is as humorous as Glenda’s keen response!
yes! A villain indeed! You captured my thoughts and pain, that I’m still experiencing hours after putting to print. You did manage a “sweet” verse though! Thank you
Scott, It seemed like “the villain of the day” indeed. I just posted mine and had spend more time thinking about it than I should–so much work was piling up while I “boiled in my creative juices.” )))
You brought me smiles with these: “So, if it’s joy you seek to write, m’kay, /choose wisely (this would be my only plea).”
Thank you!
Oh my gosh, Scott. You expressed my feelings exactly. I had trouble writing in this form, and I messed it all up, but it is still a poem. I guess my brain was rebelling and did not like the villainous villanelle. I will return one day soon to conquer the villain! You did so, so expertly!
You sure nailed the villanelle as you ranted about it!
Scott, so you’re saying you’re a fan? Lol, this is a lot of fun, hearing you pile on the villainous villanelle, m’kay!
Scott — I felt this the entire time I was messing with this form this afternoon. Dang… I felt like I had wrists bound with zip-ties. You nailed it though and made it fun. My favorite work: “m’kay” …so funny that I found myself saying is several times out loud. LOL! Anyway, I kept telling myself I was causing more synapses to crackle by tackling the form, so I reckon it was worth the effort. LOL! Susie
This is a much appreciated poem, Scott as I struggled with it all day. I even started a poem about a petulant villanelle ~ that one didn’t work either…glad you wrote it for me!
Love love love and my thoughts exactly. I thought about this all day and couldn’t help but think of villanelle in the show Killing Eve as the ultimate tantalizing and seductive villain. Great poem thanks for sharing.
Scott,
This resonates!
Thanks for making me laugh after my struggle.
Your opening stanza made me laugh out loud.
Little brother energy indeed!
Wow, I love this prompt but I have to say that villanelles are really hard! I am amazed by how fluid and easy other writers make it look. Thank you for the challenge.
Villanelle for Blanche
The calla lily is for beauty and camellias for longing, she says in reverie
lost in thought, my granny who can make all flowers grow
digs deep in garden dirt to plant her past, her story, her memory.
He said that I was beautiful before he left me, alone with a baby to carry
a geranium for the man but gardenias for the child, bright in its potted rows,
the calla lily is for beauty and camellias for longing, she says in reverie.
I sit on the steps, wrapped in her words. She says, the peony, like the poppy, is a fairy
who watches to provide joy or hugs that she needs. I won’t plant a rose, and
digs deep in garden dirt to plant her past, her story, her memory.
A rose is a lie, an easy gift from a faithless man, who went home to marry
someone else. Carnations, she says, mean a mother’s love, tilting the petals in show
The calla lily is for beauty and camellias for longing, she says in reverie
Her life story is in the flowers, for her grandmother she planted rosemary,
nothing for the mother who abandoned her. She plants a full row for her Granny though,
digs deep in garden dirt to plant her past, her story, her memory.
My granny who tells me stories, who plants daisies, jasmine, and rue for me.
The story of her life is told in the flowers in her garden, and I know
the calla lily is for beauty and camellias for longing. She says in reverie,
digs deep in garden dirt to plant her past, her story, her memory.
Wow what you have written is meant for a villanelle! It’s amazing and flows so well. I love the repetition of “her past, her story, her memory” and also that she’s telling stories through flowers. I wow’d at the separation of “marry” and “someone else”.
Melanie, so beautiful. I love reading so much family history over generations in this villanelle. So much love and planting to honor “her past, her story, her memory”. This is beautiful to honor Blanche.
Hi there, Melanie! You make it look so easy yourself. I love your repeating lines, and then these are touching and sad: “Her life story is in the flowers, for her grandmother she planted rosemary, / nothing for the mother who abandoned her. She plants a full row for her Granny though.” All the love is in this row, and all the pain is invisible. Thank you for for this beautiful villanelle!
Wow, Yours was amazing. Villanelles aren’t easy to write. And to write one like Dylan Thomas’s, where I so love the content of what he’s saying, that I read it six times before I realized that it was an iambic pentameter villanelle was pure genius. Mine is obviously a villanelle and obviously iambic pentameter, but I tried.
The first grape hyacinths fill me with delight
As winter’s frost gives way to springtime glory;
The bright days growing longer than the night.
The bulbs always come first as seems their right.
The roses are a part of summer’s story.
The first grape hyacinths fill me with delight.
Songbirds building nests with frantic flight.
The pines are no more bent with frost-skins hoary.
The bright days growing longer than the night.
Coats left behind, the children play like sprites,
Ignoring tiny shoots below all flow’ry.
The first grape hyacinths fill me with delight.
The spring’s first colors bid my mind to write
In praise of what seems new, but same old story.
The bright days growing longer than the night.
To praise the purples, yellows, seems but trite
When nature in its fullness is the quarry.
The first grape hyacinths still fill me with delight
With bright days growing longer than the night.
Oh, yes, I remember grape hyacinths. It’s been a minute since I’ve lived in the Midwest and got to enjoy them. I loved this line: “The bulbs always come first as seems their right.” Beautiful job on this villanelle and the meter. Wow!
This poem is proof that constriction can be beautiful. Well, done. I love the singularity of your word choice, the repetition, flowery delight that is peppered throughout. Thank you for sharing.
Grape hyacinths ARE delightful. Mine were left behind when I moved and your words make me want to go back and grab a few
The pines are no more bent with frost-skins hoary.
Ooops…..my ” ” quotation marks didn’t quite work too well here.
Hi Erica,
I love how you personified the honeysuckle. They are a part of my childhood and your poem was lovely to read. I’m actually not sure if I’ve ever written a villanelle before. I feel like the times it’s come up here I avoided it
but the flower choice was pretty easy because I like any that are blue. I don’t know anything about flowers. Forget-me-nots came up in the list and they are used for Alzheimer’s awareness among other crazy things that I learned. Thanks for the prompt.
Forget-Me-Not, Grandma
I placed a flower by your bed
in a wishing well shaped pot
where your memory wasn’t dead.
It no longer hung by a thread,
it bloomed and did not rot.
I placed a flower by your bed.
In the light of the blue moon I read
a story with a different plot
where your memory wasn’t dead.
To the heavenly clouds I pled
that you would forget-me-not
and placed a flower by your bed.
The morning glory rays spread
turned the dark into a thought
where your memory wasn’t dead
I didn’t accept the deep end—
focused on the reality I sought,
I placed a flower by your bed
and now your memory isn’t dead.
Oh, Angie, the title of your poem is so dear. I like the little change in the last line. “And now your memory isn’t dead.” My favorite lines, I believe, are “To the heavenly clouds I pled / that you would forget-me-not” This is the second poem this week that helps us to get to know your dear grandma. Keeping her alive through art.
I am so impressed by your ability to use the form and create something powerful. I was immensely challenged. Such a sweet piece.
What a special poem! It reads so smoothly, and I like how you used the forget-me-not in these two different ways in your poem.
I am in love with your poem, Angie! It is so gentle and heartfelt. You were born to write villanelles. It is difficult to choose one stanza or line, but this one touched me the most:
“To the heavenly clouds I pled
that you would forget-me-not
and placed a flower by your bed.”
This poem makes so much sense after your yesterday’s “Where I Am From” poem. Thank you for sharing.
Angie, I love how you “broke the rules” by altering the “where your memory wasn’t dead” to “and now your memory isn’t dead.” It’s such a strong twist on the forget of forget-me-not and a strong sentiment to end on.
Question . . . I see a notation at the bottom that says “last edited 5 hours ago by Angie.” I have never been able to figure out how to edit once I have posted. Can you explain how you did??
Hey Susan, I don’t think it used to ever be possible but now when I click on the little black wheel looking thing it allows me to now.
This was so beautiful and gave me chills with the association to Alzheimer’s. Thank you for sharing this brave poem and bravo on the first of its form for you!
Erica, what a prompt! We’re going to have a whole anthology of flower poems today. So lovely. Who knew flowers spoke another language. I didn’t, but many did. There is a whole webpage about azaleas, my favorite spring flower.
Azaleas
A Villanelle
Take care of yourself for me
Your wounds draw a new start
Grace and nurture for you three
Both to give and receive is key
Good is here to fill your heart
Take care of yourself for me
Building onto the family tree
To add your own leafy art
Grace and nurture for you three
What will endure, you will see
On the route, these steps all part
Take care of yourself for me
With gentleness and care, just be
Many dewy dawnings dart
Grace and nurture for you three
Hard things you will not flee
The unnamed you will chart
Take care of yourself for me
Grace and nurture for you three
What a lovely poem, Denise. I especially love the way you phrased: “Good is here to fill your heart” and adding “your own leafy art” to the family tree. What an image and idea!
What a lovely poem. I was struck by the repetition of the line–take care of yourself for me–and its power in the poem. It was so lovely and powerful.
Denise, you and Susan are singing in unison to azaleas today. Your poem speaks care, love, nurture–all the things not only flowers but humans need as well. The final stanza speaks wisdom to me: “Hard things you will not flee / The unnamed you will chart.”
The rhyme, rhythm, and word choices make this poem so beautiful! Thank you.
Denise, your poem is absolutely gorgeous. I especially appreciate your word choices: the family tree, nurture, and grace all resonate. I feel like your poem is a metaphor for loved ones and your desire to keep them safe by asking them to take care of themselves for your sake. Even if I’m off, I love the gentle voice here, the longing to care and maintain precious petals/people. Stunning poem!
This is really lovely and beautiful and I don’t have many other words I can use! Thanks for sharing.
Denise,
This is such a tender poem, made real in the line: “Grace and nurture for you three” I sense there’s an unspoken moment informing your writing today, my friend. I echo your prayer: “Take care of yourself for me.” Hugs.
Dandelion vs. Old Man
Lollipop Lemonade,
Ol’ Toad’s hideaway,
Beneath dogwood shade.
Free floating escapade,
Centipede highway,
curling through dandelion parade.
Thrasher’s serenade,
Bumblebees hang and sway,
Mixing Emerald pollenade.
Dance until Spring fades,
When cicadas play,
Launch thistled renegades.
Yellow pops continue to raid,
Further from dogwood way,
Upon the lawn he laid.
And the Ol’ Toad croaks,
“ You thought you had it made,
Admiring the lawn you laid,
Look at all that money you paid,
To watch the Lollipop Lemonade Parade.”
And the Thrasher whistles,
“ Lemonade Parade,
Bumblebees play,
On centipede highway,
You thought you could get away,
But the dandelions are here to stay.”
And he sang,
“ love for the weeds,
Love for the yard,
Love for the seeds,
Love for who you are.”
This poem filled me with such joy! I loved the rhythm of the lines and the Ol’ Toad croaks and Thrasher repetition. The idea that the dandelions are there to say just made me smile. Thank you for sharing.
You know, Dandelions were the first “flower” I looked for on the link Erica shared with us. I think dandelions are magical. That last stanza makes me smile! I think it’s a good message for all of us. I want to sing that song with the old man.
Hi Erica! First of all, thank you for your gorgeous exemplar poem! There was so much beautiful imagery in there–the lines that really spoke to me were “its threading delicate, fine fingers stitching laces/ dripping with white and yellow blooms like pearls”. I love the idea of the intricate care in the stitching and the delicateness that you allude to.
I think this is the first time I tried a villanelle! Thanks for the challenge!
Looking out at the lone blooming tree in the yard
I’m no horticulturist but I guess I been expecting a bloom
It’s Spring now, so nature’s gonna play it part
That winter chill though, seems like it’s got ahold of my heart
Been scrolling through feed looking for some good news
Take another peak out at that one blooming tree in my yard
I did hit that lil’ protest march–maybe shake things up–bit of a jumpstart
Cuz I never seen a yard that didn’t need to be groomed
And, sometimes, you need to feel like your playing your part
Did I read somewhere that farmers burn their crops for a fresh start?
When everything is looking bleak, all the good soil consumed
I wonder about that single blooming tree in the yard
What exactly is the idea getting sparked?
Is this the first new growth of the season or a flower on a tomb?
It’s Spring now, so nature’s gonna play it part
There’s lessons in past seasons, a kind of navigational chart
To ride out storms and pull us out of the gloom
Like a single signpost, that lone blooming tree in the yard,
Telling me Spring’s almost here, nature always plays its part.
Dave I think you tackled the villanelle beautifully! I appreciated how you shifted the lines slightly to carry the meaning of your poem — both the celebration of spring and perhaps the greater view of new beginnings and fresh starts in other aspects of your life. I appreciated the questions and contemplations within this villanelle as well.
I like how you blend activism with nature. I think the blooming tree line written slightly different each time works well.
Dave, for never having written a villanelle, you’ve certainly created a masterful one. I really enjoy the blooming tree being a symbol of hope and how nature and man all have their parts to play. I have been feeling that winter chill daily!!
Good Morning, Erica…it’s been a minute since I’ve played with a villanelle (ice cream), but I always love the flavor they bring. I love honeysuckle as “kissed by the most gentle of girls,” and I can smell the lines (even though we’re quite a while away from such giggles in the northeast). Ah, your poem triggered the smell of ‘hope’ ahead. I originally sketched a villanelle for Monday, but then noticed all the greenery & blooms of the other #VerseLovers and wondered, what if I had my hands in the soil, too. Thank you for hosting today!
It’s Invasive, Really.
b.r.crandall
Is it me, or does each and every day seem like a Monday,
thorn-pricked with frantic, funky, fanatic twirling…a Sit-n-Spin,
swishing the devil’s walking stick on a Tilt-a-Whirl (such whiplash)(such ricochet)?
Come on now! What? You daffodils. I could of sworn it was Saturday…
Good, Dear Almighty, Ye lillies! Why can’t I have more discipline?
I know it’s not only me, but lately it feels like every day’s another Monday.
I need more control in this garden, more organization. Ah, my naiveté
Snap dragons. It will always begin with me, and, I’m trying to search within,
but the devil’s stick swishes around the Tilt-a-Whirl with whiplash, the ricochet
of too much to do, & rain clouds coming in. There’s no way to get away.
Yes, bring the world’s smallest fiddle. I welcome sad songs from that violin,
because here I am wilting once more…pricked, like every day is a Monday.
And I wish I could be like others, throw in the towel & walk away,
be the vagabond, a beach-bum, the care-free, poetic village bumpkin
who sticks with the devil & enjoys the whiplash from the Tilt-a-Whirl, the ricochet,
but I’m a man weeded in merits, publications, and updating his dossier.
and there’s more need for sleep & sunrises woven with gold, Mr. Rumpelstiltskin.
Of course I know what day it is, and…look at that..another Monday.
I’m stuck with its whiplash, Devil, & swishing. Ugh. This Tilt-a-Whirl ricochet.
I really enjoyed the two lines you selected for your repeated refrain! It adds to the whirling nature of the poem and definitely emphasizes the way Monday always comes back around — just as it does in the poem.
OMG!! “Naïveté” and “dossier” rhymed with Monday?!! I give you the title of Rhyme King!
I felt this stanza to my soul “but I’m a man weeded in merits, publications, and updating his dossier.
and there’s more need for sleep & sunrises woven with gold, Mr. Rumpelstiltskin.
Of course I know what day it is, and…look at that..another Monday.
I’m stuck with its whiplash, Devil, & swishing. Ugh. This Tilt-a-Whirl ricochet.”
Wow. I think the way you described this is just fantastic. I am also blown away by the power of the rhyme scheme. Such great rhymes here. I reread this piece so many times.
There is such energetic movement here! The tilt-a-Whirl and the Sit&Spin – I remember them! So much to do on always-Monday that the desire to be that vagabond and village bumpkin is so appealing – – just to walk away and hand the reins over to someone else waiting in line and go enjoy the stillness and calm…….I, too, love that.
Bryan,
So many Mondays! The word choice in this is so good! And all of the hard consonant sounds provide a frenetic staccato rhythm that mimics the hustle and bustle of a life in constant motion.
I also found a way to use “dossier” as a rhyme today! Love the imagery to wilting and weeding. Makes me think of the Kevin Henkes Chrysanthemum and how she “wilts” with sadness every jab from peers. Thanks for sharing this fun form.
Erica, I chose a plant instead of a flower. I’m surrounded by Pothos as they are hardy. I chose to write a poem about them. Thanks for the challenge of writing a villanelle for the very first time.
My heart is warmed by your presence
Your elegant coils furnish my surrounding
Showing off a graceful expense
You flow around your pots, seeking to make sense
with your plain green leaves protruding
My heart is warmed by your presence
Your twigs scream when they twist above the fence
Swirling and dancing around the encasing
Showing off a graceful expense
You spread around the room in your defence
For all to see your showing
My heart is warmed by your presence
Selected specifically for your pretense
As your beauty remains everlasting
My heart is warmed by your presence
Showing off a graceful expense
I wrote my first today too!! I think it would have been more difficult if the prompt wasn’t so specific, so kudos to Erica!
Great job with your first, Juliette. I like the way these two lines sound and feel together:
“Your twigs scream when they twist above the fence
Swirling and dancing around the encasing”
Your twigs scream when they twist above the fence
Swirling and dancing around the encasing
Showing off a graceful expense
Amazing. I’ve never thought of a plant as a modern dance, but I can see it Twyla-Tharping across your garden.
Juliette,
Im not a very good plant person, so I had to look up an image of pothos. Until then I was having a connection to the musical “Little Shop of Horrors” and its flesh eating plant. It’s that “graceful expanse” that did it. I love the image of “elegant coils,” and “swirling and dancing.” This is a plant I’d love to have around.
Erica, your poem screams spring- I can smell that sweet honeysuckle coming right off the page. I love this image: “tendrils of green lounging in forgotten spaces
dripping with white and yellow blooms like pearls.”
I knew right away I wanted to write about the lit of the valleys that will soon grace my garden. The form was harder than expected and my verse seems a little forced but I needed to move on with my day.
Hope-filled yellow tips
A true sign of spring
The promise of lily of the valley pips
Pushing through the wood chips
Determined to break through, in
Hope-filled yellow tips
Emerging leaves,unfurling lips
optimism lies in
The promise of lily of the valley pips
Bright white fingertips
spreading underground beneath those
Hope-filled yellow tips
A snip and a clip
Will keep them all in check
The promise of lily of the valley pips
The sweet aroma drips
from little hanging bells, those
Hope-filled yellow tips
The promise of lily of the valley pips
It always fascinates me how much more challenging these types of poems can be! I appreciate your crack at it and found myself delighted by the repeating “ip” sound in various lines.
I love the repetition of a snip and a clip. I know that repetition was part of the villanelle pattern but you made it fresh each time. I loved the happy feel of the poem.
Lilacs — Joy of Youth
Growing up, lilacs were always there
Blooming in time for Mother’s Day
Bouquet for mom (and teacher, too) show I care.
Purple colors, soft scent everywhere
Wishing they could always stay
Growing up, lilacs were alwys there.
Memories flood of youth, lilacs fair
as spring time blossoms strong in May
Bouquet for mom (and teacher, too) show I care.
Teen years come, no more lilacs here
Overgrown, they say, need to slay
Growing up, lilacs were always there.
Years go by, away from there
Lilacs linger, memories fray
Bouquet for mom (and teacher, too) show I care
House hunting, I give a cheer!
Number one hundred, three it will be I pray.
Growing up, lilacs were always there.
Bouquet for mom (and teacher, too) show I care.
copyright Jennifer Kowaczek April 2025
Ericka, thank you so much for this promt — use of the villanelle form but especially the part where you have us deep-diving into the meaning for flowers.
We had a large lilac bush in our backyeard when I was a kid. The lilacs ran the length of the fence; when I was in high school, my parents chopped them all down one day while I was at work. They said they were encroaching on the neighbors side. I cried! Not sure why they didn’t just trim them back a bit. It was a new family on the other side, so maybe that was a convient excuse for them. Years later, in 2013 to be exact, my husband and I were looking to move. We had a couple offers in that fell through and my daughter (4 at the time) kept telling us we made the offer on the wrong house. The house she INSISTED was ours had two small dog statues by the door. We did end up getting that house, moved in September. Shortly after, doing yard work, I kept eying the bushes along what would be a fence line. I didn’t say anything because I was afraid to jinx it, but come late April — LILACS!
Thank you, Jennifer. Was praying then cheering for a return of lilacs. Appreciate your B lines, especially “Overgrown they say, need to slay” and lilacs linger, memories fray”
So skillfully done, Jennifer. You make the villanelle look easy AND you also heightened my appreciation for the lilac!
Erica, Many of us understand the longing for Spring and the evidence of its arrival in blooming flowers. This “scene” is one I missed most those years we lived in Southern California. Warm all the time is not a reviving as familiar season changes reflected in temperature swings and trees coming alive again! It was such a big deal in Rochester, NY that the city has a LIlac festival for a whole week in May. https://www.bing.com/search?q=lilac%20festival%202025%20rochester%20ny&FORM=ARPSEC&PC=ARPL&PTAG=30530235
Lilacs, the Wait of Spring!
Wiggling, squiggling like a young opossum
Trees full of flowers. They bloom and blossom,
Once burdened with whirling and blowing snow.
Where does all that melted water go?
Down to the roots, scrawling down underground
Nurturing for fruition, almost like ambition,
Sprinting out from branches and limbs up above
That’s why lilacs are the flowers I love.
What a symbol for life!
When things look grim and undone,
Lilacs blossom and we know spring has sprung!
Spring means change, growth and light.
We get longer days and shorter nights,
With time to gather and get things right
Like the lovely lilacs, burgeoning bright
Blossoms all over the tree, filling our hearts with glee.
Anna, I wrote about lilacs too!
Thank you for sharing the wonder of them so nicely.
You’ve brought much to look forward to, Anna, as our lilac trees have only begun to bud in the northeast. I cherish each moment they are in bloom. “What a symbol for life!”, indeed.
Beautiful, and great accompanying photo as well. I can feel the air, heavy with the scent of lilacs with your images.
I love the choice to write about lilacs! I also liked how you used its physical characteristics to embody different symbols and meanings!
Holy Cow, Anna — Look at that lilac! I LOVELOVELOVE lilacs, and this one is spectacular! You lucky dawg! I loved that your poem marched us out of winter and into spring! Thank you! Susie
Honeysuckle is a childhood memory. We would carefully pull out the stamens and put the drop of pollen on our tongues. I could echo that I am the happiest when honeysuckle unfurls. Thanks for giving us a taste of spring. I find villanelles challenging, but I took the challenge and armed myself with rhymezone.
Purple Passion Vine
Open the door to sweet passion vine,
climbing, perky maypop
alluring fritillaries by design.
Your lavender petals a sure sign
while mysterious tendrils won’t stop.
Open the door to sweet passion vine.
Five stamens like wounds align
frilly fringe like a thorny crown top
alluring fritillaries by design.
Remind us that all life is divine,
beyond the garden you hop.
Open the door to sweet passion vine
climbing, perky maypop.
Margaret, the passion vine is a beautiful image, with its climbing toward the sun up the trellis or fence. Like a hand reaching for heaven. Gorgeous imagery.
I love the way your poem reads! It feels like springtime!
Margaret,
I’m so glad I looked up fritillaries! I love the sound of that line, but understanding them as butterflies snaps the picture into clarity! “Frilly fringe like a thorny crown top” is another great line! I enjoyed this poem so much!
Margaret,
Your symbolism is timely: “Remind us that all life is divine” as we near Easter. I feel the invitation to “open the door to sweet passion vine.”
“Remind us that all life is divine” – along with the color purple and the word “passion” in the sense of enduring suffering – and the thorny crown – what a timely message from this sweet vine villanelle, Margaret. Beautifully rendered.
Hi, Erica – first of all: Your poem is so poignant and wistful, so filled with hope and longing, all captured in that rich honeysuckle imagery. I love the phrasing throughout, especially “forgotten places” and “fingers stitching laces” – just gorgeous. Now for a true confession…I see the word “villanelle” and want to scream and tear out my hair. I love reading them but trying to write a villanelle is villainous to me. Makes me want to go not gentle into that good night, lol. HOWEVER: I am giving it my best shot here…and thank you for filling our day with such abiding fragrance!
Gardenia
A clipped bud in a vase will bloom:
leathery white petals, soon unpent
—powerful fragrance fills the room.
Cutting through the rainiest gloom,
this sweet-smelling star is heaven-sent.
A clipped bud in a vase will bloom.
There in the buttonhole of the groom
dancing with his bride, ‘til spent
—powerful fragrance fills the room.
A heady, necessary perfume
choking funeral guests, well-meant;
a clipped bud in a vase will bloom.
In the hands of the dead, entombed
as mourners envision the spirit’s ascent
—powerful fragrance fills the room.
Oh, what memories exhumed
by the gardenia’s heavenly scent!
A clipped bud in a vase will bloom—
powerful fragrance fills the room.
Fran, your repeating line takes us all the way through, a common thread of powerful fragrance. Your poem reminds me so much of The Bells, taking from happy bells of a wedding to sadder bells of a funeral. The powerful fragrance carries the memory of all the times. Your rhyme scheme is lovely, too — it’s perfect for the gloom, groom, bloom and other rhyming words and the sent, spent, ascent rhymes in that family too. I do love a gardenia – – I have one planted right by the front porch so I can get the scent on the breeze.
The gardenia is my favorite flower. Their scent is amazing! My mother in law always brings me bunches to scent up the room. I think you did a wonderful job with the form. Like you, I inwardly rebelled but then found my stride. Flowers are an easy topic for me.
I did not truly appreciate the villany of the villanelle until I wrote my own — so I totally understand your reaction!
However, I think you triumphed over this particular villain. I appreciated the various ways you found the gardenia in the world and I think that’s why flowers may work so well for this prompt. You even managed to bring them all together in your final stanza — excellent work!
I love the imagery with “There in the buttonhole of the groom / dancing with his bride,” and appreciate the magic of this villanelle. You’ve brought “scents” to my rainy Monday morning. Thank you, Fran!
Fran, I love how you connected relatable occasions where one would find flowers as a central part of the occasion such as a wedding or funeral. Your villanelle gracefully flows, and I am amazed at how smoothly you are able to incorporate the repeating lines. Gardenias are truly lovely which adds another layer of beauty to your poem.
Fran — Ahhh, you made me think about my mama. The gardenia was her favorite flower. That repetition of the “fragrance fill[ing] the room…for sure! Olfactory memories are sometimes the most amazing. Thank you! Susie
Fran,
This poem is perfection. Waiting to reveal the flower is gardenia till the end works perfectly to create suspense. The shift from starting a new life in marriage to death captures the comedy (life’s in Greek theater and Shakespeare) and tragedy of it. You know I’m here for the dashes, and your inclusion of them is masterful, suggesting pauses and the flatlining we know from medical dramas. Stunning poem is so many ways.
Erica, thank you for hosting us today! Your honeysuckle brings images and fragrances of childhood. I don’t see it as much anymore, but we do have one honeysuckle vine at the road edge of our driveway, and I smell it when I stop to check the mailbox in the summer – – and I understand your delight.
I chose the Larkspur as my flower, because as a child in the village of St. Simons Island, Georgia, I enjoyed the annual craft fair, where one year in the mid 1970s I got a leather bracelet with my birth month flower and name stamped into the leather. Larkspurs symbolize lightheartedness and youth, likely because they grow in the summertime when carefree days are spent away from school.
Village Hippie Villanelle
leather Larkspur bracelet for a July lass
birth month flowers stamped and snapped on thin tan straps
village craft fair hippie, barefoot in the grass
groovy girlfriends ~ running wild, full of sass
softball jerseys, cleats and shorts and backward caps
leather Larkspur bracelet for a July lass
snippy, snappy, clicky clackers ~ spheres of glass
banana seats and wheel spoke straws click and clap
village craft fair hippie, barefoot in the grass
Kissing Potion, Lip Smacker, and Sunjuns (Bass)
macrame and halter tops and treasure maps
leather Larkspur bracelet for a July lass
roller skates and unicycles need no gas
gaucho pants and go-go boots and cowboy chaps
village craft fair hippie, barefoot in the grass
childhood in a decade-era school of class
dancing queens of disco, jazz, ballet, and tap
leather Larkspur bracelet for a July lass
village craft fair hippie, barefoot in the grass
First of all, Kim — HOW DO YOU DO THIS?? Turn out a (villainous) villanelle so well-crafted in, like, no time flat?? I am awed. Again. Your poem is not only a piece of excellent craftsmanship but also captures an era, an atmosphere…takes me back to my own preteen years, when I had a name-stamped leather bracelet (with butterflies). I haven’t thought of Kissing Potion in forever but, oh, how we girls loved that stuff. -Click-Clacks!! Can you believe we were allowed to play with spheres of glass?? Sigh. Let me just say once more: Amazing. I find this form so difficult and yours just streams along like a fine spring breeze.
Did we live in the same neighborhood? “Kissing potion, Lip Smacker, and Sunjuns (Bass)” nod to the clever rhyme and I can totally picture these! I made the macrame hangers, wore halter tops. I’m sure I had one of those leather bracelets, too. Thanks for the memories.
I love the scene captured by this villanelle, Kim. I’m in love with the vendor, “village craft fair hippie, barefoot in the grass.” I know this scene and I long for it. Beautiful use of the structure, too. Wusah!
This is so fun to say aloud. You have a marvelous way with words. Are you a child of the 70s?
Kim,
When I look at how early in the day you posted and how masterful your villanelle is, I am in complete awe! I struggled intermittently (in between spurts of teaching) and came up with a rather mundane villanelle. You are so dang skilled! Kudos!
So . . . Saint Simons Island. Did you grow up on that absolute gem of an island? We sure fell in love with it when visiting my parents’ oldest friends who have vacationed there since their honeymoon and have now retired there. No wonder you are such an awesome human . . . growing up there had to be magical. Did I know you grew up there? Have you written of it before? I’m going to have to go revisit your poems.
But to this poem . . . I love it so much. You completely capture the vibe of that time period, right down to the Kissing Potion and Lip Smackers. I think I was a hippie in another life, so everything about this resonates with me. Thank you for sharing your genius with us!
Kim, your poem has such a jazzy beat to it today. I love your word choice that create striking images and sound. From the Lip Smacker to the groovy girlfriend full of sass, you’ve captured a gorgeous memory and a loveable poem.
Kim — The cadence of this poem is wonderful…it’s got that rapid-fire staccato almost…I love it! And all the references to which I am here relating one by one… it always amazes me what details you member and that I can then remember. FUN! The era-setting words like “groovy”…LOL! Wonderful…and a great title that grabbed me right off. You are coooooool, girlie! Hugs, Susie
Kim,
You’ve given us a feast of summer sounds to tickle our ears, and I adore the way you have catalogued so many experience into this verse. The alliteration throughout brings the summer sounds into the cold spaces we still have here. I’m hearing Dancing Queen and imaging you and your friends in disco duck delight. Really fun poem.
Erica, you are speaking my language (flowers and their meanings) today! What a great connection to spring. Lilacs (joy of youth) are my absolute favorite flower and I meant to write of them today, but they didn’t find their way in.
I once planted a garden
Filled with the favorite flowers
Of each member of my family
It was my very first home
Far from those I knew when
I once planted a garden
It felt important
To have this connection
To each member of my family
The flowers have come with me
Carried on to the next house and the next
From this garden I once planted.
A way of remembering
A way of gathering close
Each member of my family
Each spring, there is a resurrection
Of those who have passed
In this garden of flowers I once planted
For each member of my family
Jennifer – I was so captivated by the planting of flowers to represent each family member and then when i got to the last stanza – tears. I love this so very much.this poem is a treasure and I am glad you wrote it even if lilacs didn’t work their way in.
Jennifer, now you have me wanting to plant a garden of flowers for the family members. I keep petunias in the summer for my mother just because we believe she creeps in that way. She had a heap of yard debris piled on one side of the yard when she died, and then out of nowhere the following spring, a purple wave of petunias covered the pile like a hedgerow. Flowers can do that, and you show that resurrection so beautifully here. I love this idea and would love a favorite flower garden. What’s your favorite?
Lilacs! They’ve joined me everywhere.
Jennifer, I love the idea of this garden that gives you connection to your family. I have a friend who has taken rose cuttings from all her ancestral cemeteries and planted them in her yard. I do have some trees we’ve planted as memorials, but nothing like a spring garden.
I love the rose cuttings – what a beautiful continuation. We’ve done trees too (the maple still stands on the first house my parents owned that my grandmother gave to me as a birthday gift one year).
Even though you weren’t able to bring in your lilacs, I still enjoyed the way this poem unfurled with the flowers of your family and how you observe them each spring and carry them with you from house to house. Even without the details, I can picture a garden with such a variety of blooms!
Wonderful tradition, such blooms. “For each member of my family” – this is the way to garden, Jennifer. I’m thinking Skunk Cabbage for my lil’ sister.
Bwahaha!
This is positively magnificent, Jennifer. Of course I mean the poem, but moreso I mean the actions and sentiments behind the poem. I used to plant a few containers of plants and made sure I had geraniums in there because my mother always had a window box of geraniums at our house when I was growing up. But, I have let that practice lapse. Your poem makes me wish I had kept it up and broadened to other family members and flowers that I could connect to them.
Jennifer, I love the emotion and heart in your poem. My favorite line is Each spring, there is a resurrection Of those who have passed
In this garden of flowers I once planted
For each member of my family.”
Jennifer — This is such a touching piece. That you have carried the flowers with you to new homes… so dear, so meaningful. The ending choked in my throat…”a resurrection/of those who have passed.” So thoughtful and poignant. Love, Susie
Jennifer, you poems evokes memories of my grandmother. She, married to a domestic missionary has lived in many states. She usually took with her plants from the home where they last lived with family. We could always find her new homes without Mapquest. She’d have snow balls flowers on the porch and when retired she brought to plant in the house with my mother! She, too, believed in double resurrection… Easter and flowers,
ooooh….”dripping like pearls, stitching laces,” such a delicate and feminine feel to this poem. I love it. And, honeysuckle. What’s not to love? The portrait of you is beautiful. I’m off to write!
Hi Erica
Thanks for the reminder of Spring flowers.
Kevin
My fingers, caked in mud,
removing Winter’s weeds
as I ponder a patch of lilies
A patch near driveway black,
I too often forget where they are;
my fingers, caked in mud
until the days I’m reminded
of the remains of Winter’s coat,
as I ponder a patch of lilies
and notice among the dead,
the determined vines pricker
my fingers, caked in mud
But nothing short of blood
stops my in my task
as I ponder a patch of lilies
and remember last year’s grace
in blooms of tiger yellow;
my fingers, caked in mud,
as I ponder a patch of lilies
Kevin, the lilies are a beautiful way to contrast the yellow with the mud – – and I do love some caked-mud fingers in the springtime. Nothing says nature like fresh-turned earth. And having them bloom again from last year to this year and I’m sure those before just brings such a feeling of hope.
I like the contrast between the fingers caked in mud and the thoughtful pondering (and beauty) of the patch of lilies. I think it’s a great reminder of how the beauty of flowers often requires the dirty-ing of hands.
The imagery of the fingers caked in mud and the patch of lilies is strong as they repeat. I imagine you tending and hoping for their return.
Kevin, beautiful!
Kevin– I love the way the villanelle worked for you in this poem. The task requires repetition…digging and cleaning up the flower bed…and the repetition of the form just made such good sense. Really a lovely poem. Susie
Kevin, your closing stanza pricks my heart. The anticipation of new flowers helps us endure the prickles in the mud physically, emotionally, and sometimes even spiritually!
Lilies and mud and blood…such an image and the quiet of reflection of a patch of lilies. Thanks!