Can I be an addict to this form,
Not to drugs or drink but strands of words
The villanelle which enjoys many rhymes

How is it I give my little time
In making necklaces for singing birds
Can I be an addict to this form?

Well, writing many poems is no crime
Yet conversation’s better if it’s heard
A villanelle  gives voice by its two rhymes

I shall  wander round these capes and horns
Seeking solace ,nerves  still over-jarred.
Can I be an addict to this form?

Dare I say I write merely to warn
That gambling is not good unless it’s spare
Like villanelles  which have only half rhymes

My dearest love, I find my words unfair
When you never hear them nor refer
Shall I stay an addict to  your form,
The  man of humour,love and appetite.

https://en.oxforddictionaries.com/definition/photon

My stomach ached and my rear end was sore
The book did not distract me from the pain
Weak as milk, I crawled across the floor

And there was no other through the door
If I fainted I would rise again
My stomach ached and my rear end was sore.

I grabbed  a book and read the words of Shaw
My nose bled brightly leaving a great stain
Weak as milk, I crawled across the floor

Oh, where was my cat Alfred  with his paws?
He could  sit  and never show disdain
My stomach ached and my rear end was sore

Would I were a worm without a brain
Would the good of humankind were plain
My stomach ached and my rear end was sore
Weak as milk, I cried upon the floor

Do not test  the patience of your friends
You loved ones, your dearest and your foes
By silent drawing back when near the end

In any case soon darkness will descend
And into dust and debris we will go
Do not test  the patience of your friends

Stretch out your hand across the ocean wild
Despite the gales and fiercest winds that blow
Do not draw back when life’s near the end

Silence  makes us holy or defiled
Let that not be turned to evermore
Do not  try the patience of your friends

To those you loved and hated, your words send
Forget the  testing and the keeping score
And silent drawing back when fear doubt lends

Life can have an open or closed door.
Meaning is what  we humans are here for.
Do not despair  or  throw off your old friends
By silent drawing back when  near the end

Shelves of well used books on food and wine
Stab me in the heart and in the mind
Now it is a task to eat at all
No appetite, no will,no hunger call.

The peppers red  have turned to mush and juice
Courgettes dissolve to water if left loose
The bacon looks as tempting as a toad
The bread is going green ,so a la mode

Yet Weetabix is not a dish to share
No man or woman’s tempted by such fare.
An egg on toast may pass for a real meal
One swallows it with no attempt to feel.

Yet starving is a slow and foolish way
Get a gun or from this madness  stray.