dash

You want a WHAT?
(when the editor of Snakeskin rashly suggested that a villanelle might be welcome...)

Oh surely, you canít want a villanelle!
Be careful what you wish for: poets might
respond in droves, enamoured of its spell

and trap you in those depths like Danteís hell
of circling rounds, chained up in endless night.
Oh, surely you canít want a villanelle,

where monsters lurk and dark obsessions dwell,
that form where rhymesters (who canít see its blight)
respond in droves, enamoured of its spell

and think theyíve scored and rung Parnassusí bell,
despite their limping lines where sense takes flight.
Oh, surely you canít want a villanelle;

youíll get more music listening to a shelló
think of the sea, that freedom. Poets write,
respond in droves, enamoured of its spell:

each one deserves a padlocked padded cell.
Be honest; is this really your delight?
Oh, surely you canít want a villanelle
from poets whoíre enamoured by its spell.

D A Prince


If you have any thoughts on this poem,  D.A. Prince   would be pleased to hear them.

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