What’s so good about Thursday? Well—during Na/GloPoWriMo, it’s another reason to write. ✍️🍂🔥
Day 23 brings us into the world of form with the villanelle—a structure built on repetition, rhythm, and restraint. Inspired by Kiki Petrosino’s “Nursery,” today’s challenge is to create something that echoes itself, circles back, and ultimately lands on a question. There’s something fitting about that… because memory, like poetry, tends to repeat itself.
For this one, I leaned into the heart of Whiskey and the Autumn Wind—where firelight flickers against the past, where the burn of whiskey dulls the sharper edges of memory, and where the spirit of Hemingway lingers in the quiet spaces between words.
Here’s my take on today’s villanelle:
“Whiskey and the Autumn Wind”
The fire cracks low where the long night begins,
and memory leans where the quiet has thinned.
What do we keep in the autumn wind?
The glass warms slow in the weight of our sins,
a burn that softens what might have been.
The fire cracks low where the long night begins.
The leaves let go like old worn skins,
drifting through echoes of where we’ve been.
What do we keep in the autumn wind?
A voice like Hemingway lingers within,
stripped down truth in the spaces between.
The fire cracks low where the long night begins.
Love fades to ash, yet it settles in—
a quiet dignity under the skin.
What do we keep in the autumn wind?
The night grows older, the room grows dim,
time sips us back as we once sipped it in.
The fire cracks low where the long night begins,
what do we keep in the autumn wind?
There’s something about the villanelle that feels like sitting with a thought you can’t quite shake—turning it over, again and again, until it becomes something deeper. This poem felt like that kind of night.
If this piece resonates with you—if you find something of yourself in the fire, the glass, or the quiet between the lines—consider picking up a copy of Whiskey and the Autumn Wind. There’s more waiting for you in those pages.
Whiskey and the Autumn Wind is a collection rooted in the same season you’ve just stepped into—where the air turns sharp, the light grows softer, and everything begins to let go. These poems carry the weight of memory, the burn of reflection, and the slow, steady acceptance that comes with change. There’s a glass on the table, leaves at your feet, and a voice that doesn’t rush—only lingers where it matters.
If you’re drawn to poetry that feels lived-in…
to quiet moments that echo long after the page…
to the kind of writing that sits with you like a late autumn evening—
then this collection is waiting for you.
You can find it here: Amazon, Barnes and Noble or direct from IngramSpark
If you want to explore more voices answering today’s prompt. Step beyond this page and into the wider current of #NaPoWriMo—where each voice bends the world in its own way. You can find them here: https://napowrimo.net/
—Or view the list of social media hashtags below.
X: #NaPoWriMo