20 Lines A Day

A Community of Writers and Photographers

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The French Villanelle

I think of parasols, the Tour Eiffel,
the Louvre, a Cabernet, the French delights.
Among them stands poetic villanelle.

Versailles and Chartes, yes Notre Dame all dwell
in charming land where skies are lit by lights.
I think of parasols, the Tour Eiffel,

cafes where I can eat cuisine nouvelle.
I fling my window open, see the nights,
and am inspired. Poetic villanelle

sends sparks down deep to my creative well.
I realize that I have all the rights
to parasols, the Tour Eiffel,

a Burgundy, Champs Elysee, the bell
that rings from Sacre Coeur. I think these sights,
the colored parasols, the Tour Eiffel,

belong to me so look around and spell
in French. These words come from Parisian heights.
I think of parasols, the Tour Eiffel,
and here I see poetic villanelle.

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January – Snowstorms, Blizzards

February – More of the same

March – A Hint of Spring

April – Budding into Flowers

May – Warmth and Sunshine

June – Summer Comes

July – Humidity, Beach, Swimming

August – Hot

September – Trees Changing their Minds

October – Color, Leaves Falling

November – Cooling

December – Winter Calling

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On 20 Lines a Day I find my voice
again, and glean from it poetic voice.
Beginning words may stumble all around
but with more practice they will bring their sound

to music. Muse, I ask you to extend
your presence, meet me there around the bend.
Together we might form orchestral tunes
beneath the summer suns and stars and moons.

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Go, seizure, go, and leave me well alone.
Go, seizure, go. Don’t call me on the phone.
Go, seizure, go, and tumble from your throne.
Go, seizure, go, into another zone.

I hate your strength and power and heaviness.
I hate the way you break my consciousness.
I hate how you won’t let me second guess.
I hate how you apply your full-court press.


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