Poetry Form

The problem with poetry

Is there are too many rules

A sonnet is this way

You learn a haiku in school


There’s the ode and Epistle

The tanka, the bop

Seriously these people have got to be stopped


A sestina should be massacred

A Villanelle should be vilified

A  poem should be wonder

The student runs away terrified

I know I’m  just ranting

Poetry must have a form

But I am sounding the charge

Wailing the alarm

A poem should have rhythm

Just the right sound

But do we really need quintains

Roundels make me frown

No give me free verse

With nary a form

I’ll write you my best

Don’t make me conform







Poem #17: Country

The bonfire roars into the night
Crackling twigs erupt in a furor
They dance, drink, and laugh around the perimeter
In light of summer’s sweet charity

The crickets play violin on their legs
The music of night, the lullaby of the earth
Into the hay field they wade
Hushed giggles and soft tremors

Two link pinkies
Their faces close
Brushing up eyelashes
Tickle her cheeks

Rising smell of wood and leather
She tugs at the hem of her jeans
Hikes them up over her boots
Hops the fence and follows through

Nighttime nickers and velvet noses
Fingers weave into course manes
Ears tilt backward
They ride into twilight

My life is like a canvas

My life is like a canvas,sometimes colorful and in black and white.

As I grew old through the continuing cycles of change,

From harsh autumn wind,to a blizzard winter spell…

I remain unchanged.

My life is like a canvas with different strokes of colored paint and sometimes in black and white.

From the dry spell of summer sun,to a breezy wind of spring…

I remain unchanged.

My life keeps on twirling,like a spinning wheel and it all comes in divine order,I believe…

I remain unchanged.

My life will always remain, like a canvas of colors and sometimes in black and white.



Bounded truths

A book bounded
With lines
More lines

These lines
Hold my truth
The ink
Which make
My words come alive
Those things festering
Deep in my mind

This book
Is something
I could not leave without
For it holds
Truths that are yet
To be confined by the hands of time

I could leave everything
In this place
But the one thing
I hold dear
Are these pages
Where my heart
Only knows how
To feel

-Angelica Villarruel

Blooming Nebulas

Just a drop of stardust

Sends out a ripple in my stomach

The love I feel for you

Could be seen throughout the entire galaxy

Splashed with colors and magical hues


Like watching a nebula bloom

You are a black hole

I want to get lost in you






Poem #17

I wish that it were easier to let go.
Ignoring the traumas of the past,
Letting the weights drop free of your shoulders,
And wafting up into the clear night sky.

I wish it was as easy as,
writing the event down on a piece of paper and burning it,
Or sending its descrption in a lantern,
and setting it free.

I wish that leaving the past behind was that easy.
Forgetting the events that still flash in front of your eyes and send you shivering, or sobbing.
Or pushing out the people in your life who have hurt you,
and just letting them fade off into the distance,
never to trouble your thoughts again.


He stands on a mountain,

a mountain in Russia,

in Russia where they found the cancer,

the cancer that took away his ability to stand

to stand on a mountain, ever again.


mimicking life

animating its action

producing endless wonders

exciting relevance

in every session

alluring life ‘s challenge

endearment of a spirit

resonating in writing

ever passionately manifesting

withstanding all trials that lies ahead

standing firm in all these circumstances


Impossibilities #1

If the house ever caught fire
(knock on wood)
and there was only one thing

I could grab before the smoke
was too thick to breathe,
I would stand, petrified,

in awe of how precious
every single thing appeared
to a heart I thought jaded.