For Sarah Klenke

The grass is soft beneath bare feet.

The blades caress my skin

As I tread from one world to the next.

The moon, pale, lights tiny stages as shades

Dance with whispers of wind, swaying in the leaves.

Fancy lends each stage a story,

But I only know one in depth.

It's a short story;

A love story abruptly forlorn.

As I dream of no end

I lay my head against her stone.

Villanelle

Description: "and back." is a 19 line Villanelle written in Iambic Pentameter using the Rhyme Scheme "A1bA2 abA1 abA2 abA1 abA2 abA1A2

and back.

To try and write the perfect villanelle

you must stare down the page without a gain.

Iambic meter weaves its way through hell.

Its goal for you within its lines does dwell

a challenge primmer poets love. Refrain

to try and write the perfect villanelle.

Mistakes within its lines will want to quell

artistic tries. Its path is paved. Its plain

iambic meter weaves its way through hell

and back. Through words and words that never tell

you how, though you think on "how," with disdain,

"to try and write the perfect villanelle?"

Before you know your brain begins to swell

and thump your skull: The beat! The beat! Insane

iambic meter weaves its way through hell

today. I'm done. I'll climb back up this well

of wealth. It's time for me to leave this plane

to try and write the perfect villanelle!

Iambic meter weaves its way through hell

--M. Justin Richard

With contributions from

Natalie Blasdel &

Professor Allen Rice

Leaves of Lies part duece

The human tree is sprouting leaves of lies.

Our once first ones are hesitantly told.

A second, third and dozens more unfold

And they are, all of them, deceiving eyes.

These glints of sound and raucous shines; each vies

For pure long past. As for sense, it runs cold,

In sluggish order, creeping brown, red, gold,

To flash and daze before it fallen dies

Whilst holding seed to seed canopies.

Until then, grow, amaze and do abound

With life, but look closer. Observing trees,

These lives, from roots, like us, do go aground.

Of seasons, ages, all, we are the leaves

That pass without a trace and shed no sound.

Free verse. Will transform into petrarchan sonnet this week for next sunday.

Leaves of Lies

The human tree

Is sprouting leaves.

Leaves of lies

Are deceiving eyes.

Once one is told

Another unfolds,

The first one masked

By the second and third sprouting fast.

We cannot see

Through splendid canopies.

Hidden fears and glistening tears;

Awful deeds no longer seen.

Memory is fading

As these leaves change.

Once green and flashing,

They are now brown, red, gold and clash.

All is known

But still denied.

All is shown

Yet still we hide.

Angry voices on the wind

Rip away our leaves of sin.

Lays them down upon the ground;

Lays the lies before our eyes.

M. Justin Richard