Battling Stress

Last week, I posted “A Poem for Your Thoughts: Experiment 1: Stress,” but since no one really commented on the post, I decided to use my own imagery to create a poem about stress.  Since stress is something that constantly nags at you and is hard to get away from, I thought that writing a villanelle would be a great fit due to its repetitive nature.  I actually haven’t heard of a villanelle until earlier this year when I attended the Willow Glen Poetry Series and one of the open mic readers read “Mad Girl’s Love Song” by Sylvia Plath and then shared a villanelle of his own.  The two poems were beautiful.  I was then curious and inspired to try out this poetic structure.  Anyhow, I hope you enjoy my first try at a villanelle and that it makes you feel “stressed.” 🙂

Puppet Master
image from Google

Battling Stress

He slobbers my mind and sucks my soul.
From inside out, Stress devours me.
He slurps my blood and bites my muscles.

My nerves, puppets under his control,
my eyes, confused, blinded, cloudy,
He slobbers my mind and sucks my soul.

Deep inside, I tug and pull, tug and pull,
looking for me, of who I used to be.
He slurps my blood and bites my muscles,

and in my heart, I see, a giant hole.
Missing are thoughts that made me happy.
He slobbers my mind and sucks my soul.

The more I lose, the more Stress grows.
I am frightened, alone, and very, very angry.
He slurps my blood and bites my muscles.

I reach out. I need help. Stress knows
I’m fighting, desperately, to be free.
He slobbers my mind and sucks my soul.
He slurps my blood and bites my muscles.

Flashes of White

The comet hit the earth,
splintered into a million pieces,
shards of glass, of metal, and of flesh
in the midst of hazy smoke and flames.

A mirage, a hallucination,
it must be LSD,
but it was not;
it was a thousand degree heat.
A massive oven of radiation
burning flesh, melting flesh, like acid
pop, pop, pop.

Flames of madness
running through the street,
limb by limb
flying off
whimpering moans, crumbling walls,
a scream so shrill, it explodes in your ear
and pierces your heart,

a dagger of insanity,
the horror, the horror,
flashes of white
inside and outside your head
as they are thrown on walls,
crushed beneath buildings,
hands grabbing desperately
for you, for help, for life,

forever …
in the midst
of tears, of war, of people
losing lives,

in your heart,
in your memory,
they cry.

Mother’s Children

Through the storm they ran,
slipping and sliding
on the muddy hills.
It was a race home,
to see who could be the first
to receive hot cocoa,
and Mother’s warm embrace.

They longed to see
the flicker of light
in her eyes,
and hear
the soothing music
of her voice
in the comfort
of their home.

Yet the storm raged on,
with strong, heavy rain
that slashed their cheeks,
thunder that cackled
liked monsters,
wind that cried
like banshees,
lightning that blinded
their eyes,
while fear
crossed their hearts.
They may never
see Mother

Ingredients for…

“A surprise,”
he had said
over the phone
while I was rushing
to finish my tasks.

Nervously I stand
now, adjusting my tie
as I knock.
Once, twice, three times,
and the door creaks open.
except for the ping, ping, ping
of the dripping faucet
coming from that room.

Sucking my breath,
I push it open
as a white towel
falls on my shoe.

Through the flickering
overhead lights,
I see a figure.
His arm drapes
over the rim.

Below the ragged slits
of his wrist –
a feathered pen
soaked in puddles
of blood,
broken glass,
with whiskey
leaking out.
Pills scatter
the floor.

He looks at me,
with open eyes,
not with love,
nor vengeance,
nor pride,
I don’t know with what,
and I don’t know why,
so I close them.

He looks like Marat,
in a bathtrub
of floating

Death of Marat

A piece of paper
falls in my grasp,
written in blood,
poem of his life.


This was a poem I wrote a while back and I decided to post this piece tonight since my mind is fresh with a sense of “mystery,” as my friends and I participated in a Murder Mystery Dinner Party last night.  I hope you enjoyed it!


I originally wrote this poem back in February 2008 while my ex was driving me to his place.  It’s one of my favorite poems because of the fast-paced rhythm and the meaning behind it.  I wasn’t planning to post this until October (around Halloween), but then I saw an “ominous” moon again on February 13th, almost 6 years after I wrote this poem and it just spoke to me.  Lucky for me, I happened to have my camera to capture it as well.  All the better for you 🙂



A splotchy beige roundness
hidden behind clouds,
floating, hovering
in a violet, black sky,
luminous, ominous,
casting moonlit glares
upon us
as we drive
on the highway,
as we drive
ourselves insane.

Thinking, believing
that the shadows
against the moon
is a witch
on her broom,
that there are vampires
for prey.

Wolves crashing
through the forest,
ready to feast
and howl.
Witches dancing
around the cauldron
up spells,
as we shiver
in fear,
letting imagination
consume us.

But what we fear
is from within
the beats of our hearts,
the thump, thump
of greed, of jealousy,
of vanity and insecurity,
lack of purity.

The anger, the madness
surges in flames
as we fidget and blink.
A pang in the chest,
a clasp to the heart
that pounds and pounds
as disparity crawls
on our backs.
Fear tickles
the spine.
The heat rushes
to our face
as we gasp and choke,
breaking out
in tears.

Fear of who we are,
of what we are,
and what we can do,
as we grasp
for the other’s hand,
trying to comprehend,
to understand,
to disbelieve
the insane.

Waiting, hoping
the clouds will disappear,
and the moon
will turn white again,
smiling down upon us
as we go back
to believe the world
is good
and that we
are sane.