Would you believe I took on a Villanelle this week. Something that’s always looked so extraordinarily complex and I actually conquered it – sort of! I mean Sestina’s – forget them! They’re the devil! So so hard, but a villanelle is kind of a softer cousin. The one that you could get away with things, and beat at football – that sort of thing.
Worringly, I’ve written it about Plastic Paul and the Dollshouse. My favourite subject. Rejected by Mrs Slagg, I’m afraid. No toffs allowed in her establishment, and all that.
Anyway, read on……
Dolls House Memories
You sat there in your plastic chair
your manufactured eyes stared stonily ahead
And you didn’t see me at all
I gave you the world, dining sets and
tiny hard food you wouldn’t taste – and a toilet
with a sink that never got wet
Your wife figure sat lifelessly next to you
I coveted her yellow hair, and tiny hands but,
like her husband, she didn’t see me at all.
When I put you side by side on the pricey
brass bed where sleep never came,
I used to wish I could lie there with you.
Abandoning you when it was time for tea,
bringing joy while knowing none yourself,
you didn’t see me at all
Now, from the loft, your red hair peeling away,
eyes barely present, you’re still fresh from the toy shop.
I wish you could see me the same way
But you don’t see me at all.
Heather Moulson 2021
Errie perhaps, or just pathetic? I’m always hoping those dolls house members will see me one day.
Anyway, I hope you can see me – sort of. Thanks for tuning in, Poetry Lovers. Any villanelle’s welcome. Just don’t count on Mrs Slagg’s support.
Be back with more poetry antics soon……..