I Cross the Street When I See You Coming

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Canadian poet, coronavirus, COVID-19, Elaine Stirling, French medieval fixed verse, social distancing, villanelle

~~a viral villanelle~~

I cross the street when I see you coming
because I care that much, I let the tears
fall freely in the bitter wind, so not to touch

my face and long for yours. What’s overcoming
us feels hobnailed, forged of amniotic fears.
I cross the street when I see you coming.

March is nearly over. We’ll be sunning
soon on balconies alone, while Easter nears.
Fall freely in the bitter wind, so not to touch

the viral jokes that, underground, are running
like dank sewer fires. This might last for years!
I cross the street when I see you coming.

Fact is, I might leave you first. Outrunning
negativity’s a marathon that sears, adheres.
Fall freely in the bitter wind, so not to touch

what aggravates. Just let it pass. Cunning
and sweet humour unseats cranky cavaliers.
I cross the street when I see you coming,
fall freely in the bitter wind, so not to touch.

Stay well, friends!

© Elaine Stirling, 2020
Image from Fox9, photographer unknown.

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Boldly

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an epitaph I could live with, Canadian poet, Elaine Stirling, French medieval fixed verse, villanelle

~~a villanelle~~

I’ve always only ever been
as friends and kin will testify
the type to boldly wander in

to my delight and their chagrin
my motto is, explore or die!
I’ve always only ever been

indifferent to the public whim
of politics and what to buy.
The type to boldly wander in,

it fits me like a second skin.
The over-cautious bleed me dry.
I’ve always only ever been

attracted to the fiery rim.
It won’t be your fault if I fry.
The type to boldly wander in

knows, yes, that one day she’ll begin—
and boom! Living kills you, then you die.
I’ve always only ever been
the type to boldly wander in.

~~~

The only way, sometimes, to get rid of an annoying earworm such as “always only ever” is to quadruple it into a villanelle. Off you go, little worm…

© Elaine Stirling, 2017

Basic Training for the Oracle of Delphi

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Canadian poet, Elaine Stirling, French medieval fixed verse, oracle of Delphi, the evil eye, villanelle

~~a villanelle~~

Do you recall the lessons of Delphi
when they trained us to sit as oracle?
Ignore the stink, the side, and gimlet eye,

the ageless priestess warned. The more you try
to please, the less the vapours will supply.
Do you recall the lessons of Delphi?

To know yourself as selves, to multiply,
slip free and clear from every manacle,
ignore the stink, the side, and gimlet eye.

Who shame, exclude, clamour against, or cry
to gods, cannot perceive the miracle.
Do you recall the lessons of Delphi,

trusting all that lives has a time set by,
free and whole, without pain or debacle?
Ignore the stink, the side, and gimlet eye

so Apollo, through you, can prophecy
and reflect anew the historical.
Do you recall the lessons of Delphi?
Ignore the stink, the side, and gimlet eye.

~~~

I’d been thinking about the phrase “gimlet eye” recently but never really knew the meaning of gimlet, apart from a drink made of lime juice and gin. Turns out, it’s also a tool with a cross handle, grooved shank, and screw point. The gimlet eye bores holes through its object of attention, a variation on the age-old evil eye. Given the skill of ancient Greek sculptors, I have no reason to disbelieve they had their own version of gimlets.

© Elaine Stirling, 2016

Where Silence Roars: A Villanelle

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Elaine Stirling, French medieval fixed verse, poetry, villanelle

there is a tunnel in the cavern in the rolling of a wave
where silence roars and idle curiosity abates
where nothing goes unsaid, no time or room to save

what’s past expels, it’s swallowed by the grave
while all the joy that’s yet to come pre-celebrates
there is a tunnel in the cavern in the rolling of a wave

the light of foot, the nimble fleet of heart are brave
they send what used to be to foaming sea in crates
where nothing goes unsaid, no time or room to save

within this hallowed, hollow space I crave
and fast receive, no need to pray or contemplate
there is a tunnel in the cavern in the rolling of a wave

where I outrun the clogged, the memories of all I gave
to those who taught me fear, set free the cage of ingrates
where nothing goes unsaid, no time or room to save

no hangers-on can drown, discourage or deprave
what I know now, am sure, it constantly recalibrates
there is a tunnel in the cavern in the rolling of a wave
where nothing goes unsaid, no time or room to save

~~~

© Elaine Stirling ,2015

Mobilized

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Elaine Stirling, French medieval fixed verse, poetry, villanelle

~~a villanelle~~

I have a corner mobilized
where heads of state in secret meet
to imagine life beyond the fear and lies.

A place where all may fraternize,
take no offense, put up their feet.
I have a corner mobilized

for quick deployment of surprise
to learn how effortless the beat
to imagine life beyond the fear and lies.

Seeing through each other’s eyes
the clearest route to universal Easy Street,
I have a corner mobilized

where all of us may visualize
the best, dance gamely over grim defeat.
To imagine life beyond the fear and lies

brings hope to everything I’ve victimized.
From hope to knowing’s a short leap.
I have a corner mobilized
to imagine life beyond the fear and lies.

© Elaine Stirling, 2015

Who Knew the Maiden?

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Elaine Stirling, French medieval fixed verse, poems to honour family, poetry, villanelle

~~a villanelle ~~

who knew the maiden say she moved with grace
although she doesn’t live here anymore
the house is draped in silver lace

with modesty she fixed all secrets to their place
and turned away fine suitors by the score
who knew the maiden say she moved with grace

they did not see that sadness etched her face
nor hear by night fear pounding at her door
the house is draped in silver lace

in honour of a passion frozen interlaced
with love of God and distant family she adored
who knew the maiden say she moved with grace

although I wish she might have danced a pace
or two before the years took cruel score
the house is draped in silver lace

her intellect at season’s end is carving space
to greet, I’d like to think, her one and grand amour
who knew the maiden say she moved with grace
the house is draped in silver lace

~~~

Dedicated to KK

© Elaine Stirling, 2015
Photo by R. Kelley, 2015

I Do Myself a Petty Crime

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Elaine Stirling, form poetry, French medieval fixed verse, villanelle

A Villanelle

If I should find myself relying on the line
I have no time, pushing you and everyone away
in self defense, I do myself a petty crime.

An act of theft, a small deceit for which time
has little tolerance accumulates throughout the day.
If I should find myself relying on the line

instead of seeing easily and clearly that I’m
closing doors to something more. By fearing play
in self defense, I do myself a petty crime.

I’ve stored too much inside this cluttered mind
so lacking space, my spirit yearns to stray.
If I should find myself relying on the line

I have no time, I could instead admit that I am
dreading some great boot to squash me into clay
in self defense, I do myself a petty crime

for greater opportunity surrounds me all the time
I wed the truth of this to everything I think and say;
if I should find myself relying on the line
in self defense, I do myself a petty crime.

~~~

© Elaine Stirling, 2015
Image of grandfather clock face comes from Widimedia Commons

The Influence of Serious

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ballade, Elaine Stirling, French medieval fixed verse, poetry, the dog star, W.H. Auden

How will you look and what will you do when the basalt
tombs of the sorcerers shatter…?
—W.H. Auden, “Under Sirius”

She had a fear of hooligans
hid money in her bra
always took her vitamins
and loved to talk about the scar
from where they took some organ out. The jar
of her remains was sledged and pressed
to inlaid script on a walnut bar:
I am chased by the state of immediate yes.

Every day he calculates the gains
and losses of his stock. He knows the law
of averages and watches for the evidence
of fraud and computer error. In his craw
resides a rattle, born the day he saw
that awful film about a lottery. In his chest
gather minions of a tumulus star.
I am chased by the state of immediate yes.

Beware, says the astral guide, when choosing religion
or cursing it, for what you think is never far
from what will prove to be. The jinns
of your experience work hard to bar
the opposite of what you want. They war
eternally against the lies of no and less.
In the arriving of life, there is no disallow.
I am chased by the state of immediate yes.

The lines I sketch, the cards I draw
hold steady to my vision’s best,
expanding whatever I think I saw.
I am chased by the state of immediate yes.

~~~

The ballade (not to be confused with the musical ballad) is a fixed form from medieval and Renaissance France. It contains three eight-line stanzas and a four line envoi with a refrain at the end of each.

The rhythm of the final line had been rattling in my head for days and finally came to rest when I found Auden’s poem. I love the galloping urgency he conveys in only seventeen words.

© Elaine Stirling, 2015

Where I See Good

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#CharlieHebdo, #jesuischarlie, #MarcheRepublicaine, Elaine Stirling, French medieval fixed verse, Paris Rally, poetry, rondeau

A Rondeau for Paris

Where I see good, but for a day
with millions strong finding a way
to transcend ignorance and fear,
marching united, we are here—
with these fine hearts, my own shall stay.

A kind of comic grief at play
sweeps through us with relief today.
New friends appear, where I see good.

So let me no more seek the fray
of pessimists and cynics’ gray
myopic views of yesteryear.
Intelligence and vision clear
are child’s play, where I see good.

~~~

© Elaine Stirling, 2015

All Things Possible

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Advent poetry, Elaine Stirling, French medieval fixed verse, rondeau redouble

A rondeau redoublé

All things are possible here
in the peaceable kingdom
all things are possible here

in the peaceable kingdom
every song and scattered crumb
find a willing mouth and ear
the kettle dances with the drum
all things are possible here

the river’s course, a vagrant tear
join forces to invite the sum
of thoughts grown populous and clear
in the peaceable kingdom

in muddied clogs on weary feet, we come
to stamp across the bogs of fear
new patterns with the rising sun
all things are possible here

from fall to freeze, the darkening year
prepares true ink, imprints the thumb
of all that would oppress us here
in the peaceable kingdom

let this now be heard by all, not some
that arcs of faith create the sphere
and what is seen must surely come
toward love the powers of thought adhere
all things are possible.

~~~

© Elaine Stirling, 2014
Image is from http://www.flirtyfleurs.com