No aide-memoire for grief

Poetry is tricky!

I like the villanelle form for its mandated structure and rhyming scheme. These two poems were written for a course in poetry. I have been told that Poem 1 is melancholic and introspective, and that Poem 2 is more fluid and descriptive.

This poem is an exploration of grief and memory. My late husband was taken by Huntington’s Disease. It’s an inheritable disease that has a 15 to 20 year life expectancy after the onset of symptoms. Our relationship was neatly bisected; 15 years before Huntington’s Disease became apparent, and 16 years after.

Poem 1
Bereft’s thoughts of that last outward breath,
The prey of the eagle, running for its life.
Beloved’s last battle to the death.

Beloved gained entry with the Shibboleth,
No fear of rejection or strife.
Bereft’s thoughts of that last outward breath.

Travel plans made with coin or Gilbreath,
Then driving miles to see a man with a fife,
Beloved’s last battle to the death.

Enjoying the arts, from Chess to Macbeth.
Picnics and cheese, but who forgot the knife?
Bereft’s thoughts of that last outward breath.

Family history, meeting old Aunt Elspeth,
The old dear was batty, the rumours rife.
Beloved’s last battle unto the death

Forget your pain, my love, drink from the Lethe
As Bereft is the widow, no longer wife.
Bereft’s thoughts of that last outward breath,
Beloved’s last battle unto the death.

Poem 2
Her bereft thoughts of that last drawn breath,
Seeing the eagle’s prey, running for its life.
Your battle, beloved, to the death.

Her beloved gained her heart with a shibboleth,
Wiping away fears of family strife.
Her bereft thoughts of that last outward breath.

Travel plans made with coin or Gilbreath,
Old road maps to find a man with a fife,
Your battle, beloved, to the death.

Enjoying the arts, from Chess to Macbeth.
Picnics with cheese, but who forgot the knife?
Her bereft thoughts of that last outward breath.

Searching family history, finding old aunt Elspeth,
Her memories tattered, her gossiping rife.
The battle, beloved, to the death.

Forget your last battle, my love, drink from the Lethe
Cries the widow, no longer the wife.
Her bereft thoughts of that last outward breath,
The battle, beloved, to the death.