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

Oh surely, you can’t 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 Dante’s hell
of circling rounds, chained up in endless night.
Oh, surely you can’t want a villanelle,

where monsters lurk and dark obsessions dwell,
that form where rhymesters (who can’t see its blight)
respond in droves, enamoured of its spell

and think they’ve scored and rung Parnassus’ bell,
despite their limping lines where sense takes flight.
Oh, surely you can’t want a villanelle;

you’ll get more music listening to a shell—
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 can’t want a villanelle
from poets who’re enamoured by its spell.

D A Prince


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