I've sampled words of wisdom writ with pens,
The poems poets paint with hidden eyes.
Their pains, abandoned dreams, and tepid friends
Are shown in lines of verses some despise.
They drown dejection dancing 'round my mind,
For I can see the tears within their words.
They write of anxious days they've oft confined,
Much like the cries of captured, singing birds.
Oh, pleasant are their words when I despair,
When soothing solace draws away from me.
Their tears are like a balm applied with care,
Which soothes a captive heart and sets it free.
Their choral words may see a thousand years;
Forgotten then will be the poet's tears.
© 2023, Angel L Villanueva. All rights reserved.
Image by cottonbro studio from Pexels
Poetic form: Sonnet
I'm trapped and lost in desert lands,
Where scorpions roam the scorching sands,
And clouds hold back from setting free
A drop to quench the sun in me.
The furnace from the daylight star
Has dried the waters from afar,
And now my lips implore to see
A drop to quench the sun in me.
A camel stares as I inch by
On blistered knees that beg to die,
While heaven sends toward the sea
A drop to quench the sun in me.
The dawn supplants the fleeing night,
And I escape my dream of fright.
I then can see what is to be
The drop to quench the sun in me.
© 2022, Angel L Villanueva. All rights reserved.
Image by Pexels from Pixabay
Poetic form: Quatrain - Kyrielle
The sailors brave the angry storm
As waves the ocean brings.
It seems to them one hundred years
Of fighting death despite their fears,
Like ancient warring kings.
The frigid water stings their hands
And chills their sodden skin.
But they confront the ghastly howls
And fight with death as thunder growls,
To reach their land and kin.
The valiant men unite as one
And bravely surge ahead.
No wave, or grave, their will can break
Nor dim the morning light to wake;
They fight for life instead.
But there, behind a swelling wave,
A larger one, they see.
And so they pray their ship holds out
As they again attempt to rout
A sanguinary sea.
© 2022, Angel L Villanueva. All rights reserved.
Image by 177419 from Pixabay
Poetic form: Quintain
The sands expand before his eyes
And stretch across the earth.
He craves the tears that heaven sends
To save what Hades never lends,
To him a million worth.
Alas, so bravely he could boast,
When he began his walk,
His strength would surge to let him fly
O'er sands the sun had scorched so dry
Not even Death would stalk.
He crawls and hopes the sun will spare
His blistered flesh this day.
Lamenting what his pride had vowed
In arrogance to please a crowd,
He bows his head to pray.
Despaired, he recognizes late
His foolishness to cry.
So now he waits for Death to dare
To walk the sands before a pair
Of vultures circling high.
© 2022, Angel L Villanueva. All rights reserved.
Image by Pezibear from Pixabay
Hades = the grave
Poetic form: Quintain
While sitting in a bistro chair
And staring out a window's glare,
You shift your head and flick your hair
To roving eyes that gawk and stare.
You deign to glance beyond your book
To smile at those who pass and look.
But there is one for whom you care,
The girl whose eyes you also share.
With only her, you spare your view,
A mirrored stamp of one like you.
© 2022, Angel L Villanueva. All rights reserved.
Image by brad-lloyd from Unsplash
Poetic form: Couplet
He drives in grief to grandma's home,
A place a child could safely roam.
For decades now he has been gone,
But death has claimed her life at dawn.
When he arrives, a crowd has thronged,
To grieve for her who had belonged.
And then he joins the tears that flow,
For death has dealt a heavy blow.
They reminisce of times they shared,
Bemoaning they were unprepared.
But now that she has breathed her last,
They look for comfort in the past.
In thought, he walks into her room,
Where he had played in days of bloom.
And there, beside his grandma's bed,
Was still his box of faded red.
He lifts the lid and reaches in,
And finds the boy that he had been.
The one who played with this one toy
His grandma made to bring him joy.
© 2022, Angel L Villanueva. All rights reserved.
Image by PublicDomainPictures from Pixabay
Poetic form: Couplet
The bench is near where children play;
It's there she sits to dream and muse.
She knows that life from her will fade,
A closing call she can't refuse.
Her wrinkled skin declares her age;
Her eyes, unclouded years ago
When youthful vigor gave them life,
Now seem like embers lacking glow.
Her hair is dull and whitish-gray
And lifeless in the twilight breeze.
She smiles, recalling years ago
When she could walk with graceful ease.
The countless memories she's stored
Begin to flood her aging mind;
Oh, how she longs for youth once more,
The days when life to her was kind.
The children's songs and gleeful shrieks
Arrest her ears and misty eyes.
She sees in them the days she lived,
The years she wants to eulogize.
Her eyes observe the children play
As clouds announce an evening rain.
She faintly smiles and shuts her eyes,
Then prays to be a child again.
© 2021, Angel L Villanueva. All rights reserved.
Image by geralt from Pixabay
Poetic form: Quatrain
When born and thrust onto our sphere,
We do not make a name that year.
A book of pages, blank, unturned,
Is what we are when we first peer.
In time, we wield what we have learned,
For good or bad, purloined or earned.
A name is inked onto each page,
Critiqued by whom we've loved or spurned.
We hope before we leave the stage —
By early death or golden age —
The reputation left behind
Is one of kindness, not of rage.
© 2021, Angel L Villanueva. All rights reserved.
Image by DariuszSankowski from Pixabay
Poetic form: Quatrain - Rubaiyat
She stands by me this somber day,
An overcast one full of gray.
I glance at people walking by;
They seem perplexed and far away.
Their world and life have gone awry,
Where wrong is right and low is high.
They fear a future they don't know;
It seems their minds keep asking, why?
Around the world are cries of woe
From mighty kings and those below.
A scourge has marred their daily scene,
Where death has aimed a fatal blow.
Pandemics, wars, and things obscene
Have plagued what was for them routine.
And now, they feel a vague unease,
A nagging doubt from things unseen.
I sense a gentle gliding breeze
And note the sigh along the trees.
The leaves are roused at its command
But soon return to rest at ease.
As evening walks across the land,
And time has passed like grains of sand,
I bow my head in earnest prayer,
While bashful silence holds my hand.
© 2021, Angel L Villanueva. All rights reserved.
Image by Engin_Akyurt from Pixabay
Poetic form: Quatrain - Rubaiyat
We keep the mirror to ourselves,
And life around us nearly fades.
We place these things on hidden shelves
When daily cares the mind invades.
But when we buy the time to see
The joy that we for granted take,
Appreciative, we tend to be,
For wondrous things that we forsake.
The lofty trees along a lake;
A single cloud in bluish skies;
The sun when evening comes awake;
The break of dawn as darkness flies.
The scent of flowers roused by spring;
The lengthened days that summer shares;
The hues and colors fall will bring;
The gowns of down that winter wears.
The moon in stages till it smiles;
The stars applauding twilight plays;
The sounds of evening heard for miles;
The songs of birds at morning rays.
The sand that plays with flirting seas;
The spray of crashing waves on rocks;
The soothing touch of ocean breeze;
The joy derived from lengthy walks.
A brightly colored butterfly;
A hummingbird in flawless flight;
A dragonfly that hovers high;
A purple finch that eyes delight.
A hermit thrush of lilting songs;
The precious air that lifts its wings;
The rain that falls where it belongs;
The wondrous home that holds these things.
© 2019, Angel L Villanueva. All rights reserved.
Image by v2osk from Unsplash
Poetic form: Quatrain
The men can hear the sounds of rattling guns;
A few believe that peace will end the war.
A war where Death has gathered many sons,
Then brings along the grave to harvest more.
The soldiers search for strength to battle on;
They forge ahead, but soon each one is downed.
And Death begins to walk at early dawn
To gather scarlet trophies from the ground.
This dreadful scene is part of all the wars
Where nations ravage nations they abhor.
A few will strive for peace to shut the doors
Before voracious Death returns for more.
From dawn to dusk, the sun observes the pain
Of honest men who reach for peace in vain.
© 2019, Angel L Villanueva. All rights reserved.
Image by Activedia from Pixabay
Poetic form: Sonnet
Of what are you afraid this night,
A chambered room of doubt and fright?
Of thoughts you've lost in darkened halls;
A pen whose ink has taken flight?
Perhaps your muse has gone to sleep
In search of dreams that it may reap;
To bring to mind what you have pined,
So words your pen can gently weep.
It dreams of coves where seas advance,
And waves arise then crash and dance,
Of fields of blooms, a setting sun,
Of stars that light the dark expanse.
It walks where flowers dress in style
As sun rays bathe them near the Nile,
Then takes to flight with birds in song
While soaring high above each isle.
It stands as happy couples walk
As they share kisses while they talk.
And notes when children start to play
A hopscotch game they draw with chalk.
In deepened silence, close your eyes
And see yourself above the skies,
Then view the dreams you want to write
When you invite your muse to rise.
© 2019, Angel L Villanueva. All rights reserved.
Image by cromaconceptovisual from Pixabay
Muse = Inspiration
Poetic form: Quatrain - Rubaiyat
I pause, somewhat perplexed by what I feel,
An ache that has withdrawn to secret halls.
A chamber where my thoughts cannot reveal
The mental state I hide behind these walls.
A final act has played as curtains fall
When thoughts from long ago begin to fade.
It seems that age has changed me overall;
The pain of yesterday to rest I've laid.
Above I hear the songs of morning birds,
Distracting me from thoughts of long ago.
Their lovely ballads are like soothing words
That mend and heal while setting hearts aglow.
These woods applaud my walk of beaming cheer,
For I, at last, have shed the days of fear.
© 2019, Angel L Villanueva. All rights reserved.
Image by luke-stackpoole from Unsplash
Poetic form: Sonnet
Oh, moldy cheese, why do you tempt me so?
Why call at me with rancid bluish lines?
Your piquant bite makes my saliva flow;
Your texture my aversion undermines.
The scent and raiment of your skin belie
The choicest food my mouth can hope to dine.
I am enticed to force my lips to try
Your Bleu d’Auvergne along with reddish wine.
The bluish veins of Stilton Britons prize,
While Gorgonzola shows Italian pride.
Delighting in these blues may seem unwise,
Until a piece defies the lips to slide.
Despite the color of its moldy skin,
I crave to try your Roquefort’s pungent sting.
Its wafting scent will tempt my mouth to sin,
To close my eyes as taste buds start to sing.
© 2018, Angel L Villanueva. All rights reserved.
Image by PDPhotos from Pixabay
Poetic form: Quatrain
Return, my muse, my voice give back,
For night has yet to settle down.
As sundown dims to shades of black,
My thoughts in fading ink now drown.
My fleeting words are barely there,
Unnoticed, lines that crave the light.
So please, my friend, see my despair,
And grant me words that I may write.
This darkness hides the world outside;
It veils my eyes so I can't see.
Rich colors daylight had supplied,
But now my words will not pour free.
Beside the window, dressed in black,
I sit, and frown, for night has won.
My coffee cools, my pen holds back,
My muse has left me, like the sun.
© 2018, Angel L Villanueva. All rights reserved.
Image courtesy of paintingvalley.com CC BY-NC 4.0 License
Muse = Inspiration
Poetic form: Quatrain
O haughty king, atop this stately ground,
Your army waits to hear your battle cry.
The rooks and queen with might my pawns astound
As knights dare tread where bishops fight and die.
The battle rages on; your lines advance.
I hear the snorts of horses close to me.
The end seems nigh, despite my bravest stance,
While you behind your queen begin to flee.
But there, where you take rest, my pawn has reached;
He thrusts his silver lance aside your queen.
You howl and see your rampart has been breached;
A pawn achieved a blow you had not seen.
Your haughty laugh has ended at his hand;
A lowly pawn defeats you where you stand.
© 2018, Angel L Villanueva. All rights reserved.
Image by Pixabay
Poetic form: Sonnet
From far away, she slowly walks;
Her angry shrieks to heaven climb.
She rides the ocean as she stalks
And traps the day in lightless time.
Across the vast expanse she goes;
Her windswept hair of clouds, her crown.
Beyond her breath are cries of woes;
Her angry tears, the islands drown.
She reaches land in darkened skies,
And all the trees shake heads in fear.
Undressed and scarred as waters rise,
They start to groan, for death is near.
© 2018, Angel L Villanueva. All rights reserved.
Image by Pixabay
Poetic form: Quatrain
Blue marble, dancing with the beaming sun,
Your spin is swift yet balanced in the void.
The moon and stars light up when you are done
And laud throughout the night what they've enjoyed.
Your siblings envy your cerulean gown,
For none of them your beauty can deny.
Majestic is the shawl of fluffy down
That garbs your form amid the bluish sky.
The orange blush of falling dusk reveals
A symphony of hues that dye your gown.
Like amber, gold, and scarlet that appeals,
To all who view the splendor of your crown.
Sleep well, my charming lady, till the dawn,
And dance again, as all the stars look on.
© 2018, Angel L Villanueva. All rights reserved.
Image by Pixabay
Poetic form: Sonnet
I hiked a winding trail one summer's eve
To soothe my soul and set my mind at ease.
But when in thought, my mind began to tease,
Reviving long-forgotten days — to grieve.
The trail then ended at the river bend,
And I, absorbed, observed the water's flow.
It cleared debris to send it far below,
Reminding me that pain in time can end.
In silence, I reposed to watch and learn,
As fragments washed away in muted calm.
I then began to see as well discern,
The need to welcome time's restoring balm.
A smile adorned my saddened face in turn,
And I then softly sang a cheerful psalm.
© 2018, Angel L Villanueva. All rights reserved.
Image by Quangpraha from Pixabay
Poetic form: Sonnet - Petrarchan
I am what nightly haunts your dreams,
The nights of tears and drenching sweat.
I'm lurking while you cry in streams,
From what your heart cannot forget.
I am the ache behind the mask,
What others fail to see in you.
The grief behind your heavy casque,
While smiles you paint to hide your blue.
I am the scar that mars your heart,
That drowns the hope for which you reach.
The voice you hear when dreams you chart,
When nightmares strive your sleep to breach.
I am depression, darkened soul,
Your one companion while you cry.
I'm not your friend, but have one goal,
To dim your light, till your goodbye.
© 2018, Angel L Villanueva. All rights reserved.
Image by Andrik Langfield from Unsplash
Poetic form: Quatrain
My mind in darkness walks alone,
Without a friend to hear me groan;
No words to spur my weakened legs,
No hands to lift my arms of stone.
My eyes are drawn to shades of gray,
Not colors, tints, but walls of clay;
Not rainbow hues beyond the rain;
Not crimson lips with which to play.
My heart is weak but wants to fight,
To end despair and leave this night.
To see tomorrow's dawn arrive,
Then kiss a day of colors bright.
© 2018, Angel L Villanueva. All rights reserved.
Image by Pixabay
Poetic form: Quatrain - Rubaiyat
When night and moon had reached a dismal gray,
The man had stood beside his bed to stare;
For he had heard a voice, a ghastly bray,
Which kept his mind awake in great despair.
He knows not where the voice is in the room,
But feels the stinging words across his face.
His burning ears can hear the words of doom;
They cause his heart to run a frightful race.
The voice derides his mind with caustic flak;
His eyes attempt to find the strident groan.
He sees the silent mirror leering back,
Then hears the words from lips that are his own.
© 2018, Angel L Villanueva. All rights reserved.
Image by Pixabay
Poetic form: Quatrain
The island, Puerto Rico, was my home
In bygone years when I was just a boy.
And now, in graying years, I can recall
The days and things that filled my heart with joy.
Our wooden house was built on sturdy stilts
To face the rising floods the storms would bring.
In dirty, brownish waters, I would swim,
Not yet aware of nature's brutal sting.
At night, coquís would sweetly sing to me
As dreams replayed a child's fantasy.
The rooster sang his songs at early dawn;
Today, I still can feel their cadency.
The day would see me scrambling full of joy,
The sounds of prancing feet that ran about.
The games I played were simple in design,
And yet with hearty laughter, I would shout.
The stiffened wind would sail my flying kite
As chicks and ducks observed my widened smile.
It seemed they feared that I would fly away
And join the kite to play above the Isle.
And after play, when hunger spoke to me,
The fruiting trees delightful treats would give.
My mother's calls were soothing, gleeful songs,
The songs I still in dreams today relive.
© 2018, Angel L Villanueva. All rights reserved.
Photo by Benjamin Lizardo from Unsplash
Poetic form: Quatrain
The poems on this page cover various other topics, like nature, world events, and situations in everyday life. They have been inspired by something I read, an image I saw, or written from a personal perspective.
Several poems touch on depression, an affliction I briefly experienced years ago.
To read a poem, click on its thumbnail image.
Images used under Creative Commons CC0 license, permission from the copyright owner, or are part of the public domain.