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Young Writers Society


Event 10: Write a Villanelle



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Gender: Female
Points: 370
Reviews: 541
Sun Feb 18, 2018 5:00 am
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Lauren2010 says...



Summary: Write a poem within the structure of a villanelle.

Judges: Lauren2010 and Aley

How to Enter: Please post your entry in this topic. You may only enter one story, but you may change your entry as many times as you want before the 24 hour window closes. Please only post one time.

Description: A villanelle is a highly-structured, 16 line poem with two repeating rhymes and two refrains. Below is an example structure, using capital letters for repeated lines, and lower case letter for repeated rhymes.

A1
b
A2

a
b
A1

a
b
A2

a
b
A1

a
b
A2

a
b
A1
A2

Which, ultimately, looks something like this villanelle by Rydia:
The Puppeteer


Do not disturb the puppet's twisted strings,
I fear they keep his serpent soul contained.
Please sir, avoid the bad luck that he brings

Here, how about a nightingale that sings
So sweet that hardly any have refrained -
Do not disturb the puppet's twisted strings!

Trust that this hat is almost fit for kings,
Could any greater bargain be obtained?
Please sir, avoid the bad luck that he brings,

Why not the fairy girl with painted wings
(So delicate) no buyer has complained!
Do not disturb the puppet's twisted strings.

I beg of you, take these (fake) diamond rings
Or those lace gloves, they're hardly even stained.
Please sir, avoid the bad luck that he brings.

If you must have the puppet of all things
Be warned since foolish thoughts have not yet waned:
Do not disturb the puppet's twisted strings.
Please sir, avoid the bad luck that he brings.


Additional examples:
The Falling Sky by Aley
Autumn Villanelle by OliveDreams
Do not go gentle into that good night by Dylan Thomas

While villanelles are classically pastoral, and sometimes follows iambic pentameter, you can write about whatever you want (so long as it does not include profanity or mature or violent themes) and you don't need to worry about sticking to iambic pentameter (unless you really, really want to).

Good luck!
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Gender: Male
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Reviews: 472
Sun Feb 18, 2018 5:08 pm
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Lightsong says...



I hope I get it right. This is still a lazy effort from me. >.>

Spoiler! :
My confession lies in this recording
which I made in the middle of the night.
I hope you can find truth and everything.

Once I saw you my heart wanted to sing.
Your smile told me what I felt was right -
my confession lies in this recording.

My brain demanded me I should be thinking
how my feelings would go into a fight -
I hope you can find truth and everything.

I did not want to lose you, my king,
and I couldn’t let you cease from my sight;
My confession lies in this recording

as I can’t allow my phone to ring,
let me hear your voice and turn my throat tight.
I hope you can find truth and everything.

In our world a king can’t be with a king
and somehow I can’t have the same right.
My confession lies in this recording,
I hope you can find truth and everything.


Made a new one since I'm not happy with the first. >.> Decided I should write something other than romance. xD

Spoiler! :
A novel is a story immortalized on papers;
written is each word with deep consideration.
Its content is a private treasure for all writers.

While writing, you shouldn’t care about the haters
as when you encounter them, say in exclamation,
‘A novel is a story immortalized on papers!’

No wrong and right, this is known by all creators
as, about the book, they will say in unison,
‘Its content is a private treasure for all writers!’

In it is filled all happiness, angers and fears
and though it ends with a question or a solution
a novel is a story immortalized on papers.

It challenges one to move their thinking gears
to either exploit emotion or play with reason.
Its content is a private treasure for all writers.

Don’t mock an author - you don’t see their tears
while finishing drafts and drafts to achieve perfection.
A novel is a story immortalized on papers;
its content is a private treasure for all writers.
"Writing, though, belongs first to the writer, and then to the reader, to the world.

The subject is a catalyst, a character, but our responsibility is, has to be, to the work."

- David L. Ulin





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Sun Feb 18, 2018 11:36 pm
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Que says...



I’mmmm not sure what this is, but hopefully it at least fits the form properly.

Spoiler! :
This is the place where all earth meets its end,
Where rivers rise to meet the evening sky.
The moon with ghastly grin is not a friend.

Devouring the stars, night will descend.
The sun is smothered with the quiet cry,
“This is the place where all earth meets its end.”

Darkness feeds upon the dreams I send
Into the place where birds refuse to fly —
The moon with ghastly grin is not a friend.

The land is filled with things I cannot mend,
And no one else will ask the question “why?”
This is the place where all earth meets its end

A garden’s here to which no one will tend
That doesn’t mean that I’m the one to try:
The moon with ghastly grin is not a friend.

Though I’ve nothing to which I must attend,
I truly did not come here for to die.
This is the place where all earth meets its end —
The moon with ghastly grin is not a friend.
Est-ce que vous parlez français?





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299 Reviews



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Points: 24185
Reviews: 299
Sun Feb 18, 2018 11:38 pm
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TheSilverFox says...



k, wrote an new villanelle. It's not that good, but I'm not exactly familiar with villanelles. <.<

Spoiler! :
I dream fondly of the city
That my eyes were the last to see
Ah! What an infinite pity.

The streets had no perversity
as there were no others but me -
I dream fondly of the city.

On the walls of the university,
faint lights caught the words of the free -
Ah! What an infinite pity.

"Perhaps in heaven they remain witty
because they have escaped their dead sea" -
I dream fondly of the city.

To me, the desolation was only pretty
and I wished no one else was an absentee -
Ah! What an infinite pity.

The fellow at home said I had much density;
I said I was less man than a banshee.
I dream fondly of the city.
Ah! What an infinite pity.
S'io credesse che mia risposta fosse
a persona che mai tornasse al mondo,
questa fiamma staria senza piu scosse.
Ma per ciò che giammai di questo fondo
non tornò vivo alcun, s'i' odo il vero,
senza tema d'infamia ti rispondo.

Inferno, Canto 27, l 61-66.





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Mon Feb 19, 2018 3:53 am
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inktopus says...



I'm not super pleased with how this turned out, but I'm glad I tried this new form.
Spoiler! :
Pain is painted in the rasping of the lost
From places that thud with drumrolls and drip with blood
And those safe at home know nothing of the cost

In places that armies crossed
Strewn with bodies sunk in mud
Pain is painted in the rasping of the lost

Dog tags sent home with names embossed
Enclosed in letters wet with tears' flood
And those safe at home know nothing of the cost

Young lives, fade to dark when tossed
Aside by reckless leaders who do not remember what it's like to bud
Pain is painted in the rasping of the lost

Finally home, they breathe in exhaust
from the car in the sealed up garage and fall over with a thud
And those safe at home know nothing of the cost

Dead or teary, all eyes are glossed
Over with unknowingness or tears that flood
Pain is painted in the rasping of the lost
And those safe at home know nothing of the cost
insert profound quote here

Formerly Stormcloud





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Reviews: 1081
Mon Feb 19, 2018 4:12 am
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Virgil says...



Finished!

Spoiler! :

Names scrawled onto the red Solo cups at family locations
because you're close but you're not that close. You attempt conversation,
the word 'outcast' is branded onto your chest and sizzling in your throat.

You're situated in the basement all alone
fancy pillows on the receiving end of your frustration.
Names scrawled onto the red Solo cups at family locations

smear and fade over hours of chatting with a held tongue. On the phone,
you ask Mother when we're going home and she tells you to remember my foundation;
the word 'outcast' is branded onto your chest and sizzling in your cheekbones.

Your siblings' voices rise and fall, not different from a xylophone;
you try a cheery sentence or two and only feel dissociation.
Names scrawled onto the red Solo cups at family locations

only remind you of the people who aren't there. You murmur monotone,
arguments under your breath against brainwashed relatives and corrupt corporations.
The word 'outcast' is branded onto your chest and sizzling in your cheekbones.

Comfort, at this point is only found in soundproof headphones,
your mother's purse where she keeps your anxiety medication
and names scrawled onto the red Solo cups at family locations.
The word 'outcast' is branded onto your chest and sizzling in your cheekbones.

Will Review For Food - Always taking review requests!

Discuss the last piece of media you consumed in Media Reviews!





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Points: 147270
Reviews: 1227
Mon Feb 19, 2018 4:23 am
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alliyah says...



Thanks for the challenge!

Spoiler! :

Please tell me the purpose that a star serves,
it’s the question I always seem to chase.
I want more than far beauty to observe.

I want more than mirage of optic-nerves,
and more than temporal lights in this case.
Please tell me the purpose that a star serves.

Maybe You saw the Earth and drew a curve
across the night sky, marking heaven’s trace.
I want more than far beauty to observe.

Did a lost secret and a promise merge?
Did hairs of the sun escape into space?
Please tell me the purpose that a star serves.

How could our lives and the stars be preserved
in the same chunk of this vast, varied place?
I want more than far beauty to observe.

I’ll ask once more, it’s more than I deserve,
but I have faith a God of stars gives grace.
Please tell me the purpose that a star serves,
I want more than far beauty to observe.
you should know i am a time traveler &
there is no season as achingly temporary as now
but i have promised to return








In the past I would definitely say who you would find inside. Not so much today. Place is bonkers …. As is everywhere
— Greg Specter