A Villanelle for Mother's Day

A villanelle for Mother's Day
Should take me just about an hour:
Writing it is child's play.
Because I know just what to say,
And rhyming's quite within my power,
To write it should be child's play.
Yet plain speech is not my way:
I look for leaves to shade my flower,
This villanelle for Mother's Day.
I do not wish to sound too fey,
Obscure, mystic, gushy, sour--
Arggh! Writing's never child's play!
Yes, childish! To my dismay,
Far beyond the allotted hour,
This villanelle for Mother's Day
Dawdles on. Let me just say
It plain: I love you, and so end our
Villanelle for Mother's Day.
(Well ... writing it was child's play.)
Before I Ask Y'all, Please Understand
Before I ask y'all, please understand,
Even as I come from way down South,
My heart is more loquacious than my mouth,
Yearning like a wave for your smooth sand.
Very few down here will show their hand,
Aching like a riverbed for rain,
Lying like a platitude in pain,
Each chili inside, outside baked beans bland.
Now here down South it ain't right to demand
The things you're dying for, but you real fine,
In a voice polite as preachers set to dine,
Nicely say, "Mind if I trouble you, Ma'am," -
Easy like - "to be my Valentine?"
Dr. Melendez's Head Is Now Quite Full
Dr. Melendez's head is now quite full,
Replete with the most recent rabid ravings.
Most of what he's learned, of course, is bull,
Elicited to strip him of his savings.
Learned thoughts, like clothes, must follow fashion,
Ending up, again like clothes, as trash.
Nor is it easy not to want to cash in,
Defending with one's platitudes one's stash.
Even so, one can success deserve,
Zealous not to conquer, but to serve.
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