A Villanelle

[heslopian]

As we kiss the air grows stale,
when I come a brain cell dies;
I hear the pounding of the nail.

The morning pokes through dusty blinds,
my aching wrist decries our love, then
as we kiss the air grows stale.

After you left the train station,
my trench coat ran with tears and rain;
I hear the pounding of the nail.

When I lay on our bed that night,
my eyelids closed, your blond hair bloomed; now
as we kiss the air grows stale.

A mordant cry escapes my lips,
I soak my boxer shorts again;
I hear the pounding of the nail.

Our bedroom now is a coffin,
damp tissues stuff each waste basket, and
as we kiss the air grows stale;
I hear the pounding of the nail.

[Lawrence]

An interesting, graphic poem.

I'll cut to the chase.

As we kiss the air grows stale, (Fine, and essential to the villanelle)
when I come a brain cell dies; (I've no issue with this line either)
I hear the pounding of the nail. (The first two were seven syllables, so the beat felt kind of disrupted here.)

The morning shows through dusty blinds,("Shows" seems weak)
my aching wrist decries our love, then
as we kiss the air grows stale.(Love this, but again with the beat. It may not be as important to you, but It's just something I noticed. I'll neglect to mention it again)

After you left the train station,
my trench coat ran with tears and rain; (Clever, because "tears" and "rain" almost construct "train". Good)
I hear the pounding of the nail. (This might not be a problem either, but, isn't a villanelle supposed to have a specific aba rhyme scheme? Not to say you can't toy with it, but...I like this stanza)

When I lay on our bed that night,
my eyelids closed, your blond hair bloomed; now (Don't know if "bloomed" works. Seems iffy.)
as we kiss the air grows stale.

A pleasure moan escapes my lips, (A "pleasure moan" is weak. Sounds clumsy and, I think that "pleasure" might be redundant.)
I soak my boxer shorts again;
I hear the pounding of the nail. (The rest is fine)

Our bedroom now is a coffin,
damp tissues stuff each waste basket, and
as we kiss the air grows stale; (Not sure I get this...Isn't she gone? Are you imagining kissing her again?)
I hear the pounding of the nail.

Very solid poem, with a funny a unique idea behind it. That's all for now. I look forward to seeing other reviews, and what you think of it all .

[heslopian]

Thank you for your feedback, Lawrence I've never been very good with meter, hence the disruption of the rhythm at times, though I tried to keep each line roughly eight or seven syllables.
I agree that "shows" is weak. I'll change it to "pokes" once I've finished this.
Villanelles are, traditionally, supposed to have an a b a b rhyme scheme, but because I had trouble keeping it up, I bent the rules a little bit and used a more modern structure, like in this villanelle by Maxine Kumin: http://www.poetryfoundation.org/archive/...?id=184997.
As for the "bloomed" line, I personally liked the word, but I do take on board your concern. Same with "pleasure moan," though I concede that that does sound cliche.
In the last quatrain, the narrator is imagining kissing his lover again. Thanks for pointing that out to me; I'll try and see if I can clarify it. By the way, said lover isn't a woman; that isn't important to the reading of the piece, I don't think, but I just thought I'd say. The one indication is in the word "blond," which is the term used for men with yellow hair.

EDIT: I changed "pleasure moan" to "mordant cry." Thinking about it, the original phrase was rather silly!

[billy]

i transfered what i wrote over here to this thread, ignore the pleasure moan comment as you've altered it (and all the better it is. )

Yeah I agree about the refrains. They have to look like a natural part of the poem's dialogue, and not just tacked on sentiments. I'm still learning that, as you'll see from my poem below, which relies a bit too heavily, I think, on semi-colons.

As we kiss the air grows stale,
when I come a brain cell dies; comma after come?
I hear the pounding of the nail.

The morning shows through dusty blinds,
my aching wrist decries our love, then
as we kiss the air grows stale.

After you left the train station,
my trench coat ran with tears and rain;
I hear the pounding of the nail.

When I lay on our bed that night,
my eyelids closed, your blond hair bloomed; now
as we kiss the air grows stale.

A pleasure moan escapes my lips, wtf is a pleasure moan should it be pleasure-moan?
I soak my boxer shorts again;
I hear the pounding of the nail.

Our bedroom now is a coffin, feels archaic in sintax
damp tissues stuff each waste basket, and
as we kiss the air grows stale;
I hear the pounding of the nail.

the meter feels a bit wobbly bob for me.
but the content feel fine.
a good effort

have you posting in the poetry practice thread yet