[Villanelle: A 19 line verse form consisting of 5 three line stanzas rimed aba, and a quatrain rimed abaa. Further, lines 1, 6, 12, and 18, as well as lines 3, 9, 15, and 19 must be identical. Those who read on will discover I have mildly violated these conditions—but what, then, is poetic license for?]
And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Dylan Thomas (1952)
So we, who would go raging, will go tame
When what we have we can no longer use:
After a time, all losses are the same;
And we go stripped at last the way we came.
Catherine Davis (1961?)
Obituary readers play a game
(They cannot help themselves, it’s in the genes),
Though they discover death is just the same
Whether old or young, living wild or tame
We all must die regardless of our miens.
Obituary readers play a game—
They chortle, check birth dates and feel enflamed,
Equaling elders—smile at foolish teens—
Though they’ll discover death is just the same.
It’s not some “good night,” nor “the way we came”
It’s death, dammit! Your skin turns pasty green.
Obituary readers play a game.
It’s not “dying of the light,” as some claim—
It’s fermented flesh, stinking boney scene,
When they discover death is just the same
Attempting villanelles attacks the brain;
You find your skills incredibly demeaned
Obituary readers play that game
And they discover death is just the same
(4/29/10)