Everywhere But Home

News and musings from wherever my crazy life takes me. My body may be back in Illinois, but at least for now, my mind is still in Mongolia.


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Poem!

While I was making a mess of, I mean “organizing,” my room today, I came across a half-finished villanelle that I started in Ireland.

Naturally, instead of putting it aside and continuing to clean, I filled in the blanks. Still needs some polishing, but I’ll open it to critique. So here we are: (a rough draft of) my first-ever villanelle. Forgive the formatting issues; if I knew how to do away with the automatic spacing between “paragraphs,” I would.

The great ones swirl about me, burning bright

With pen-strokes they enlighten and inspire

But I am powerless to catch their light.

How could a white-clad recluse have such sight?

She who knew not the world still wrote with fire.

The great ones swirl about me, burning bright.

I would that I could meaningfully write

And struggle to pull deep thoughts from the mire

But I am powerless to grasp their light.

She overcame her silence to indict

The racists, rapists, all injustice dire.

The great ones swirl about me, burning bright.

I struggle to find words that rouse, delight

Then cast my wretched verses on the pyre

For I am powerless to grasp their light.

I would I too were blessed with such insight

To pluck such truths from life as notes from lyre.

The great ones swirl about me, burning bright

But I am powerless to grasp their light.

I feel like I ought to play with the form more and change the refrains as I go, but I’m not quite sure how to go about that yet. Thoughts?

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