May Day

So, while National Poetry Month is technically over, my love affair with the villanelle is not.

So.

Mad Girl's Love Song
Sylvia Plath

"I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead;
I lift my lids and all is born again.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

The stars go waltzing out in blue and red,
And arbitrary blackness gallops in:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed
And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

God topples from the sky, hell's fires fade:
Exit seraphim and Satan's men:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I fancied you'd return the way you said,
But I grow old and I forget your name.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

I should have loved a thunderbird instead;
At least when spring comes they roar back again.
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)"

So. That Sylvia. I've lived longer now that she did. And yeah, she was some freak brilliant child prodigy genius. But still, she had a troubled marriage and two young children. And still she wrote. Still she was capable of Ariel. (Maybe because of the two young children and troubled marriage she was capable of Ariel.) The excuses I have for not writing are starting to sound weak, even to me.