At the hour when the moon hangs above

Man and woman painting
(c) Google images

At the hour when the moon hangs above,

and bathes over your skin, ah so tender

I will lie with you till the end of love.

 

Your braid I’ll unlace, your hand I’ll un-glove

unbutton you, unknot you, untie you like thunder,

at the hour when the moon hangs above.

 

Where every inch of your skin like alabaster dipped dove

where the tip of my finger will waltz with splendour,

I will lie with you till the end of love.

 

The perfumed hollow of your neck, my love,

Tempts the blade to lay a kiss of forever,

at the hour when the moon hangs above.

 

After discovering and exploring you from above,

After I fill you with myself, satiate your hunger,

I will lie with you till the end of love.

 

Then into your beauty, the blade I’ll shove

And then to your beauty will I surrender,

at the hour when the moon hangs above.

I will lie with you till the end of love.

 

Professor said, “give me a poem and I’ll give you attendance”.

For my poetry lecture attendance last year, my professor made me write a villanelle (which is a nineteen-line poem with two repeating rhymes and two refrains. The form is made up of five tercets followed by a quatrain. The first and third lines of the opening tercet are repeated alternately in the last lines of the succeeding stanzas; then in the final stanza, the refrain serves as the poem’s two concluding lines).

Because of the strict structure of a villanelle, I found the writing more superfluous. To add on to this, I had a specific theme to abide by- using the perspective of a man who is about to commit or who already has committed murder. 

But if anything, writing a villanelle was a challenge, one that taught me more than classroom lectures do. 

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16 thoughts on “At the hour when the moon hangs above

  1. I can see how the construction of the villanelle could be constrictive. Burdened further by a specified topic could only serve to make it feel more contrived. Knowing that, you did a pretty good job of compiling something to fit the rules.
    Rules. I dislike and defy rules.
    Why would we have made up such things, anyway?

    Seek peace,

    Paz

    Liked by 2 people

    1. Perhaps so we could savour the many flavours that villanelle and sonnet and elegy and epic and haiku and sestina and many more bring to us.
      Not being affirmative, but rules are freedom from the mundane regularity were all poems alike in their form, don’t you think?

      Liked by 2 people

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