Poetry Friday: Villanelle

As teachers, our students often expect us to have all the answers. Many years ago, I was assigned to teach the brand new "Just Say No" drug prevention unit to 75 fifth graders. The school was located in a small low-income community. I lived just a few miles from the school and knew many of the children and their families.

As I started preparing my "Just Say No" lessons, I couldn't help but think of how the lives of some of the children had been affected by drugs and alcohol. I'd heard the stories; I'd seen the pain in their eyes. They knew much more about the subject than I did. How could I teach them about something they lived with everyday? That question led to writing this villanelle in my poetry journal.

(I don't know if it's okay to separate the last stanza of a villanelle into two couplets, but I thougtht a pause was needed. I once had a teacher who said it's better to focus on the meaning of the poem than stick to a strict form. What do you think?)


Preparing a Lesson on Drug Abuse

I see in their eyes what they try not to show,
these ten year olds living in anger and fear.
What can I teach them they don’t already know?

Sam’s mom left him for drugs— six months ago
But he still hasn’t cried one tear.
I see in his eyes what he tries not to show.

Katie Davis’ grades have fallen so low,
she lost her smile— and her brother last year.
What can I teach her she doesn’t already know?

His parents vowed to quit drinking, but Joe's
heard it before— (the words insincere).
I see in his eyes what he tries not to show.

And Jen doesn’t have a winter coat although
her father always finds money for beer.
What can I teach her she doesn’t already know?

I wonder what’ll happen to them as they grow.
The people they’ll become remains unclear.

I see in their eyes what they try not to show.
What can I teach them they don’t already know?

copyright2009 Linda Kulp

Ghost Villanelle

A poem to celebrate Halloween by Iowa poet Dan Lechay.


Ghost Villanelle


We never saw the ghost, though he was there--
we knew from the raindrops tapping on the eaves.
We never saw him, and we didn't care.


Each day, new sunshine tumbled through the air;
evenings, the moonlight rustled in dark leaves.
We never saw the ghost, though: he was there,

if ever, when the wind tousled our hair
and prickled goosebumps up and down thin sleeves;
we never saw him. And we didn't care

to step outside our room at night, or dare
click off the nightlight: call it fear of thieves.
We never saw the ghost, though he was there

in sunlit dustmotes drifting anywhere,
in light-and-shadow, such as the moon weaves.
We never saw him, though, and didn't care,

until at last we saw him everywhere.
We told nobody. Everyone believes
we never saw the ghost (if he was there),
we never saw him and we didn't care.