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Day 69 - The Daily Aftershock - You Avoid the News Just in Case - Write a villanelle
Today, I invite you to write a villanelle, the poetic form that refuses to forget. With its pattern of repeating lines and tight rhyme, the villanelle lends itself to obsession, grief, survival, and transformation.
A villanelle has 19 lines:
* 5 tercets (three-line stanzas)
* 1 quatrain (four-line stanza)
* The first and third lines of the opening stanza return in a strict pattern throughout the poem.
* The rhyme scheme follows: ABA ABA ABA ABA ABA ABAA
Think of poems like Dylan Thomas’s Do not go gentle into that good night, where the refrain becomes a ritual of resistance.
Here’s one by me:
You Avoid the News Just in Case
You avoid the news just in case
some simple headline knocks you flat in bed.
You don’t want to be reminded of that place.
The kettle screams; you flinch, retreat, erase.
A knock, then two: “Please, I need to rest.”
You avoid the news just in case.
War’s grinder churns on: the wounded’s face,
a child’s shoe, a flash of fabric red.
You don’t want to be reminded of that place.
Names appear, then silence takes their place
not numbers now, but people instead.
You avoid the news just in case.
The footage loops: collapsed towns, hollowed space.
Each face insists, I lived. I loved. I bled.
You don’t want to be reminded of that place.
A headline, a name, a long-lost embrace
anything can make your body play dead.
You avoid the news just in case.
You don’t want to be reminded of that place.
This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit aftershockpoetry.substack.com/subscribe
Write a villanelle that captures one small moment of aftermath.
It might be a phone call you couldn’t answer, a bruise that keeps changing colour, a kindness that startled you back to life. Let your repeated lines pulse like memory … obsessive, anchoring, and insistent.
You don’t need to follow the traditional rhyme scheme if that gets in the way of feeling. Just let the form guide the rhythm of return. What wants to be said again? What line keeps echoing?
Thanks for reading The Aftershock Review! This post is public so feel free to share it.
This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit aftershockpoetry.substack.com/subscribe
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By Max Wallis' Daily Aftershock Writing Prompts (The Aftershock Review)Today, I invite you to write a villanelle, the poetic form that refuses to forget. With its pattern of repeating lines and tight rhyme, the villanelle lends itself to obsession, grief, survival, and transformation.
A villanelle has 19 lines:
* 5 tercets (three-line stanzas)
* 1 quatrain (four-line stanza)
* The first and third lines of the opening stanza return in a strict pattern throughout the poem.
* The rhyme scheme follows: ABA ABA ABA ABA ABA ABAA
Think of poems like Dylan Thomas’s Do not go gentle into that good night, where the refrain becomes a ritual of resistance.
Here’s one by me:
You Avoid the News Just in Case
You avoid the news just in case
some simple headline knocks you flat in bed.
You don’t want to be reminded of that place.
The kettle screams; you flinch, retreat, erase.
A knock, then two: “Please, I need to rest.”
You avoid the news just in case.
War’s grinder churns on: the wounded’s face,
a child’s shoe, a flash of fabric red.
You don’t want to be reminded of that place.
Names appear, then silence takes their place
not numbers now, but people instead.
You avoid the news just in case.
The footage loops: collapsed towns, hollowed space.
Each face insists, I lived. I loved. I bled.
You don’t want to be reminded of that place.
A headline, a name, a long-lost embrace
anything can make your body play dead.
You avoid the news just in case.
You don’t want to be reminded of that place.
This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit aftershockpoetry.substack.com/subscribe
Write a villanelle that captures one small moment of aftermath.
It might be a phone call you couldn’t answer, a bruise that keeps changing colour, a kindness that startled you back to life. Let your repeated lines pulse like memory … obsessive, anchoring, and insistent.
You don’t need to follow the traditional rhyme scheme if that gets in the way of feeling. Just let the form guide the rhythm of return. What wants to be said again? What line keeps echoing?
Thanks for reading The Aftershock Review! This post is public so feel free to share it.
This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit aftershockpoetry.substack.com/subscribe