Don’t Stress

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“Don’t Stress” Villanelle, Metrical Poetry Workshop, 2002

Do not let things get to you dear, don’t stress
About events you cannot work out right.
Take time out for yourself when life’s a mess.

You will make yourself sick. The doctors press
More drugs than needed, which is not too bright.
Do not let things get to you dear, don’t stress.

Mom says “Go treat yourself to a new dress,
But make sure you don’t pick one that’s too tight.”
Take time out for yourself when life’s a mess.

Professors monitor the slow progress
Of papers and reports you’ve yet to write.
Do not let things get to you dear, don’t stress.

Stop missing the lost lover’s sweet caress
And wishing for what’s gone with all your might.
Take time out for yourself when life’s a mess.

Love who loves you, not those you can’t impress.
Your life can be long, live without a fight.
Do not let things get to you dear, don’t stress.
Take time out for yourself when life’s a mess.

What is a Villanelle? A nineteen-line poem with two rhymes throughout, consisting of five tercets and a quatrain, with the first and third lines of the opening tercet recurring alternately at the end of the other tercets and with both repeated at the close of the concluding quatrain.

Disclaimer: I loathe writing metrical poetry. I did the best I could, but wasn’t really happy with anything I wrote during that class. I got a B for my work in class. I respect those who can write metrical poetry and those who enjoy it.

Distant Seas

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“Distant Seas” Sonnet-Metrical Poetry Workshop 2002

It is a song that stirs her memories
Of times she misses, hates doing without.
She gave up all her dreams of distant seas
When she knew that his life was full of doubt.

She was a fool to love a man who flees
From love. Too scared to commit, he got out.
She’s now without him, but better some say.
The mom’s babies will grow up with no dad.

She tells them of her dreams—a better day.
The kids know that things are not all that bad.
Big sister watches brothers while they play.
Their meal is beans again, they all feel sad.

She works two jobs because dad doesn’t pay,
The seas are still dreams that she’ll see one day.

Disclaimer: I loathe writing metrical poetry. I did the best I could, but wasn’t really happy with anything I wrote during that class. I got a B for my work in class. I respect those who can write metrical poetry and those who enjoy it.

Coward

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“Coward” Iambic Pentameter-Metrical Poetry Workshop 2002

Her bright safe haven should be haunted but
Warm sun breaks through the cold attic window
And over her bruised face onto the stairs.
Her best friend, though not real, once lived there with
The ghosts and dreams she had not yet foreseen.
No one knows she hides there—those steps of loss.
The hurt is fresh with agony, anger.
His cowardly grace keeps her awake nights.
She cries and thinks he could not have hurt her.
Not again, she thought she’d be happy then.

Disclaimer: I loathe writing metrical poetry. I did the best I could, but wasn’t really happy with anything I wrote during that class. I got a B for my work in class. I respect those who can write metrical poetry and those who enjoy it.