Villanelle
Twenty-Eight to Three
Do you recall that night in Houston’s dome, When all of Georgia dared to taste the ring? The Falcons had it, then they gave it home. Up twenty-eight to three, they owned the throne, Confetti crews were set to let it fling — Do you recall that night in Houston’s dome? Then Brady woke. The pressure turned to chrome, Edelman’s catch: a ball that wouldn’t cling. The Falcons had it, then they gave it home. Run the damn ball. But no, they chose to roam, Sacks and flags, a field goal’s distant sting. Do you recall that night in Houston’s dome? Overtime came quick, a funeral poem, White cut inside, and silence took the King. The Falcons had it, then they gave it home. So raise a glass to leads that fly and roam, To 28–3, the ghost that still can sing. Do you recall that night in Houston’s dome? The Falcons had it, then they gave it home.
By Clyde E. Dawkins3 months ago in Poets
The Canadian Capital Rises
Do you remember TD Place in the snow, When Ottawa believed, and banners flew? The 2016 Redblacks would not let go. November frost, the east wind’s bitter blow, Yet Henry Burris shook the season through — Do you remember TD Place in the snow? Eight and nine and one, the doubters said “no,” But playoff grit made all the forecasts untrue. The 2016 Redblacks would not let go. Edmonton fell first, hearts beating slow, Then the East Final: Sinkfield’s catch, a breakthrough. Do you remember TD Place in the snow? Grey Cup in Toronto, down ten, apropos Of every script that said the dream was through. The 2016 Redblacks would not let go. Overtime. Burris hurting, Brad Sinopoli low, Ernest Jackson in the corner — red and black flew true. Do you remember TD Place in the snow? The 2016 Redblacks would not let go.
By Clyde E. Dawkins4 months ago in Poets
The Kings of Queens
Forty years since Shea erupted, blue and bright, When Buckner’s legs gave way and destiny turned, The ’86 Mets made chaos into right. Backs against the wall in Fenway’s hostile night, Game Six tied with two outs, bases churned, Forty years since Shea erupted, blue and bright. Mookie’s grounder, slow and full of spite, Through the wickets — hope returned, The ’86 Mets made chaos into right. Doc’s curve, Darryl’s swing, Hernandez’s fight, Knight rounding third as October burned, Forty years since Shea erupted, blue and bright. Carter’s eyes, Kid rallying with all his might, Wilson, Mitchell, all the table turned, The ’86 Mets made chaos into right. So raise a glass to that October light, To champagne, scraps, and pennants earned Forty years since Shea erupted, blue and bright, The ’86 Mets made chaos into right.
By Clyde E. Dawkins4 months ago in Poets
I Once Wrote A Villanelle
Introduction I know my friend Harper Lewis is not partial to the villanelle form, while I love using it (and many others). This is just a bit of fun because I wanted to write a poem, but it is one o'clock in the morning, and I don't have time to write a serious one, though I do need to do another Sestina and a Chant Royal.
By Mike Singleton đź’ś Mikeydred 4 months ago in Poets
