Untitled Villanelle (Private Month of Poetry)

Day 8 was a bust, but today I pootled around with this villanelle. For some reason today my mind was on a number of people I've loved and lost over my years as a resident on the planet, from my little brother to a number of dear friends. It doesn't have a title yet and it's still getting there, but it might have a seed of something worth salvaging in it.

Progress so far this month has been:
1 August: Ignition (Poem based on the story of the Little Match Girl)
2 August: Bones
3 August: Series of not very good haikus about my cat (but at least I wrote something!!)
4 August: Untitled poem in progress based on the character of Anna Karenina
5 August: NO POEM (some further refinement on the Karenina poem though)
6 August: Villanelle called Starblind (not great, as the rhyme doesn't sit well yet - to be worked on)
7 August: Moon (retitled from its first working title, Blood)
8 August: NO POEM
9 August: Untitled Villanelle


Ghosts are gliding through the room tonight,
All the lost are coming back to stay;
Outside, the stars above are blinding-bright.

The dead are gone, forever out of sight,
At least that's what the wisest people say;
Ghosts are gliding through the room tonight.

A hint of rose-water invokes the rite,
The faces of them all as clear as day;
Outside, the stars above are blinding-bright.

A boy whose passing shuttered down the light,

A woman stolen, years before the grey;

Ghosts are gliding through the room tonight.

"They're still inside" is true, but yet feels trite
A strange denial of the melting clay;
Outside, the stars above are blinding-bright.

In the air I reach with inner sight,
Logic gone, wide open to the fey;
Ghosts are gliding through the room tonight.
Outside, the stars above are blinding-bright.

- Kathy, 9/08/17