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The Well - Rondel Prime or French Sonnet by Petersen Potter, Dorian
Rondel: You came too late this time our tryst to keep by Wignesan, T
The Rhythm of my Heart (Rondel) by Anderson, Jimmy
Trois Par Huit/Tanka/Rondel-MY SPRING WAS TOO BRIEF by Crisci, Andrew
My First Time (Trois Par Huit, Tanka, Rondel) by Flach, Joe
Random thoughts 51 Trois Par Huit--Tanka--Rondel by Pickett, Jared
Sweet Sweet Lorrayne { Rondel} by Stella, Katherine
Song of Silence (Rondel) by Lee, Grace EunSong
Fire in your Eyes (Rondel) by Conway, Tirzah
A Rondel by Johnson, Joyce

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The Best Rondel Poems

Details | Rondel Poem | |

A Poet's Heaven

Among the classic poets of fine rhyme - are balladeers who weave with lines a tale, the satirists and bards of the sublime, and troubadours who sing a light rondel. I close my eyes, imagining I'd dwell among them all - a poetess in bliss. Could heaven be as wonderful as this? With modern poets too I would commune; With friends I'd known on earth I'd reminisce . . . and poetry would flow - celestial boon! A Dizain with rhyme scheme: a. b. a. b. b. c. c. d. c. d and done in iambic pentameter.

More great poems below...


Details | Rondel Poem | |

Where Reveries Reside

Tears subside,
hushed breaths draw ebbing tide,
soft virgin sands, un-walked and damp, shine.

A delicate filigree of silvery brine
brings an interlude where grief and beauty entwine,
gently swaying between now and then.

Thoughts of ‘remember when’
stir again.

Scattered far and wide,
bygones shimmer in rock pools,
scents on breezes ride...
elusive remnants of love
under bitter-sweet moonlight.

There is a place where reveries reside,
ensconced in time between the lows and highs,
where troubles disappear in ocean’s sighs
and hopes return with happiness inside.

Where shades of blue, and rose hues coincide
to nurture promises of sweet reprise,
there is a place where reveries reside,
ensconced in time between the lows and highs.

A haven to reflect on love’s divide,
recall that smile, the twinkle of those eyes
with fondness, then let woven dreams arise
with threads of gilded memories to guide...
this is the place where reveries reside.





**For Jared Pickett's Trois Par Huit /Tanka/Rondel contest


Details | Rondel Poem | |

SOLITUDE A LOVE KNOT

SOLITUDE A LOVE KNOT Rushing millipede of rain down my window pane sadness drifts, glided uninvited ounce reef. Unruffled even from billowing strain, solitude steals unnoticed like a thief. Tiptoeing feet over my naked crippling fear. Verbiage expressed in trying train distraught. I... yearning a life of dearest love cheer let it be from solitude, it will sprout lots. Loneliness prism echoes songs of sparrows. Nectared bullet actions, a long tender sought. Brushing my frozen hind with hues of rainbow. In solitude, knowing thyself a love knot. Healing ancient wrongs buried deep marrow. Transfixed by time, dot by dot by dot... (c)Olive ELoisa 5:09am August 09, 2014 POETRY TYPE: RONDEL

Details | Rondel Poem | |

Now You've Left (Beyond Bereft)

For Jared Pickett's Trois Par Huit.....Tanka.....Rondel Contest:

It is fall
and now I’ve tasted gall -
prefaced by a final kiss from you.

The moon, huge ball above that shines a golden hue,
seems a sign auspicious - but oh, that is not true!
Trenchant words you spilled; my heart is cleft.

I’ve wept (beyond bereft)
now you’ve left.

Dear, can’t you recall
how we’d thought our love would grow?
Your touch would enthrall
me through long days; moon’s warm glow -
Where did summer’s solstice go?

How will I ever find the wherewithal
to hold on through each coming lonely night?
My heart is hollow now, but holds no light,
and autumn’s sky too soon will cast its pall.

Abounding love and sun are gone. How small
will be the days to come. How much less bright!
How will I ever find the wherewithal
to hold on through each coming lonely night?

In fragrant blush of June, to garden wall
I’d run, your sunflower smile in my sight.
How can I stop my mind from taking flight - 
so lost in thought of when we had it all;
how will I ever find the wherewithal?


Details | Rondel Poem | |

The Priest with Spirited Eyes

The Priest with Spirited Eyes


Heart sees tender giving in those spirited eyes,-
  Shared love given to those with great need!
   Comforting hearts that hurt but don't bleed,
 With love spent in helping as precious time flies

Your healing gently washes away so many lies,
   Mercy prevails as you plant that seed;-
Heart sees tender giving in those spirited eyes,
   Shared love given to those with great need!

As welcomed as are rain clouds in desert skies
   Healing those victims with kindness and speed!
   Hearts mended, imprisoned Souls quickly freed,
With tender mercies prevailing and joy in the cries,
Heart sees tender giving in those spirited eyes.

Robert J. Lindley, 07/13/2014

Sponsor Debbie Guzzi 
Contest Name - Random Acts of Kindness 

Rondel
A French form consisting of 13 lines: two quatrains and a quintet,
 rhyming as follows: ABba abAB abbaA. The capital letters are the 
refrains, or repeats.

More great poems below...


Details | Rondel Poem | |

Peaches, Pineapples, and Pears

ABba abAB abbaA
A Rondel
For LMB's contest

*Peaches, Pineapples, and Pears*


Peaches, pineapples and pears
chilled, topped over my angel food.
This helps to sweeten my sour mood,
this, my secret love affair.

I cut them into little squares
drain, contain, and later drink the juice.
Peaches, pineapples, and pears
chilled, topped over my angel food.

No other dessert can even compare
to this delicacy for me, not you.
I must satisfy my sweet tooth,
there won't be enough to share!!!
Peaches, pineapples, and pears...


6/2/2010
Name withheld until contest is over

Details | Rondel Poem | |

Seeking Answers (for Jared's contest)

Wasted days
Wandering through life’s maze
Trying to sort the truth from the lies

I call out, but it seems nobody hears my cries
With each futile attempt, something inside me dies
Skies overhead are filled with thunder

What was my worst blunder?
I wonder

To heaven I gaze
Lord, help me find contentment
In hope my hands raise
Yes, I know I was once blessed
Raised well by loving parents

Is there no cure for this malaise?
How did these sad feelings arise?
I listen but hear no replies
My question I seek to rephrase

As much sorrow on my heart weighs 
Searching for words that will not rise
Is there no cure for this malaise?
How did these sad feelings arise?

Forgive me, Lord, I’ll change my ways
I’m humbled; I will compromise
Contrition you’ll find in my eyes
Must I be sad throughout my days?
Is there no cure for this malaise?


*Combination of Trois Par Huit, Tanka and Rondel for Jared’s contest.


Details | Rondel Poem | |

A Rondel

Oh, could I be a child again.
Mommy and Daddy standing by
My hurts to kiss, my tears to dry,
When life was easy, little pain.

I sang and played in sun and rain.
The days of childhood too soon fly.
Oh, could I be a child again,
Mommy and Daddy standing by.

I yearn for childhood now in vain.
It's gone as though a fleeting sigh,
I can't return hard as I try,
Though such fond memories remain.
Oh, could I be a child again.


For Jared's Rondel contest

Details | Rondel Poem | |

A Villanelle on the Villanelle

It has the ringing echo of a bell. The words at each line’s end must reconcile. How I love the lovely villanelle. Its quality is that of a carousel. Jean Passaerat of France defined its style. It has the ringing echo of a bell. One can introduce the spiritual Or emphasize what he finds most worthwhile. How I love the lovely villanelle. The message of this form one can foretell. Its poets , to litany, must be servile. It has the ringing echo of a bell. Like the terza rima or rondel, Its manner centuries past was given trial. How I love the lovely villanelle. If this poetry is authored well, Oftentimes to hear it makes me smile. It has the ringing echo of a bell. How I love the lovely villanelle.
for Rhyme Battle: Round 4 Poetry contest

Details | Rondel Poem | |

Random thoughts 51 Trois Par Huit--Tanka--Rondel

Trois Par Huit--Tanka--Rondel

**A Love In Transition**


My mission,
this love in transition.
Started, a platonic love as friends.

It was not my intent, no more can I pretend.
These impending changes, remissed as I contend.
The muse of my latest poetry,

potent, our chemistry.
Hopefully!!


Am I a villain,
a wolf cloaked in sheep clothing
causing this friction?
Me ignoring these feelings
is treacherous to my heart.


This love that is in transition,
I'm incomplete and must not retreat.
Should I stay this course or flee,
is she real or a ghostly apparition.

Captivated by this rendition, her disposition,
intelligent and sweet.
This love that is in transition,
I'm incomplete and must not retreat.

Her dude is no competition
immature and full of insecurities,
quickly becoming obsolete.
One, is soon our juxtaposition,
this love that is in transition...

Jared Pickett
9/28/2010
Asavvy1

Details | Rondel Poem | |

The Benchwarmer


Sweet mother loves sitting on a bench,
the spray painted seat she only knew!
By the sea, she oft let her spirits clench 
to the lore of love where I once grew.

She watches seagulls dive for a quench,
as waves predispose to catch her view;
sweet mother loves sitting on a bench,
the spray painted seat she only knew!

O, look how she put the sun to blench,
giving her the sea in note less mew,
which let a startling night, to unscrew
stars to dance, anew, that in elench
sweet mother loves sitting on a bench,
the spray painted seat she only knew!


- inspired by Brian Strand's A Rondel Poetry Contest

Details | Rondel Poem | |

Hypomania

I need to be set free from myself from time to time,
Or else, my manic mind will never find peace
Among cognitive processes—the craziness will never cease!
It would seem that someone is trying to undermine 

And distort my coherent thoughts at nighttime;
Sleep keeps me up, never offering solace and release.
I need to be set free from myself from time to time
Or else my manic mind will never find peace.

This evil keeper keeps me imprisoned and confined
Behind huge metal bars black as grease.
I see sanity roam rampant in the yard and graze with geese.
I am a convicted criminal though this illness is not a crime;
I need to be set free from myself—from time to time.

Submitted for Jared's "Rondel" contest

Details | Rondel Poem | |

Song of Silence (Rondel)

Beggar-boy quiet watched eyes lavender blue
 One look of buried winter songs chiseled at my soul.
 Tattered earlobe sullen deaf bored with a hole
Flash of pride, lightning wells I could not look into.

Saw the velvet violin case and bore a hole there too 
Molded pride of undeserved, embers stirred the coal
Beggar-boy quiet watched eyes lavender blue
One look of buried winter songs chiseled at my soul.

Unclasped brass dull 'click' vessel and bow I drew
 Hungry eyes body rigid--could silent tune console?
 Searing bowstrings clawed at my heart a trembling cajole
Until I saw the tears run free clear as dusky dew
Beggar-boy quiet watched eyes lavender blue. 

Details | Rondel Poem | |

rondel : The sit in silence .

The  silence

And  the  antiseptic  air .

The sound  of  pain

In  that  dreaded  chair .

Your  jaw  now  dead

With  a  tongue  to  choke .

"RIGHT ! ,  you're  next  Seán " .

The  voice  that  broke

The  silence .





Inspired for Brian's rondel contest .

Details | Rondel Poem | |

THE REASON WHY THE WORLD IS FLAT

The reason why the world is flat is simple;
why we don’t see round a bend and corner.
We search, inquire, to information garner,
but blinkered by self-imposed wimple.

A face lights up with broad smile and dimple;
a child’s delight to discover patch darner.
The reason why the world is flat is simple;
why we don’t see round a bend and corner.

Set views, a minor obstacle, mere pimple
on nose - sniff at life’s knowledge; a mourner
of preconceived ideas, is a *gonner.
Facts at our fingertips, owing to **Kimble:
The reason why the world is flat is simple. 

* dead
**Kimble County, Texas – Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia. 

Poetry form: Rondel (not listed by PS)

Details | Rondel Poem | |

The Rhythm of my Heart (Rondel)

Rondel

Listen as my heart softly speaks to you.
Can you hear the rhythm of each beat?
You're the reason my heart feels complete;
And I wonder where I'd be without you inside me.

Baby without your love, living wouldn't be a guarantee
But I know nothing in life is concrete.
Listen as my heart softly speaks to you.
Can you hear the rhythm of each beat?

Just know my heart plays you a melody.
The cadence is like a loud drumbeat.
The sound is intoxicatingly sweet.
You're now a part of whatever I go through.
Listen as my heart softly speaks to you.

Details | Rondel Poem | |

My Father's Blessing

My Father's Blessing (A Rondel)

His wrinkled hand would touch my head
And lift his eyes to the mountains:
He’d ask the Lord that I be blessed,
Have His peace and enough graces.

Excited, off I went with speed -
Lived world’s lies; drank turbid fountains.
His wrinkled hand would touch my head,
And lift his eyes to the mountains.

Late I understood this kind deed;
His hands asked for heavenly gifts; 
Unto me a Godly blessing flows.
Preserve her from harm, he would plead
And lift his eyes to the mountains.


7/28/14 
This is dedicated to my Father whose birthday is on August 2. Remembering 
also how he would bless me every time I am to leave home for school faraway 
from family. May his soul rest in peace and may he smile at his now big girl for 
he is well-pleased. :))
 “The Lord bless you and keep you; The Lord make His face shine upon you, 
and be gracious to you; The Lord lift up His countenance upon you, and give 
you peace. “ Num. 6:24-26

Details | Rondel Poem | |

Tapestry of Mist

Tapestry of Mist

But was it an illusion
through the tapestry of mist?
…an imagination's twist?
…a feathered filled delusion?

Perhaps, t’was the admission
tired of living to exist,
but was it an illusion
through the tapestry of mist?

An angel apparition 
softly smiling love’s assist…
telling her to coexist
with love, His strong tradition.
But was it an illusion
through the tapestry of mist?


Janet L Vick
Rondel form

Details | Rondel Poem | |

WIRED NERVES BACKSTAGE

Thumbs wiggling on east wing, backstage
lines skipped like a broken record
with trails of script on hand, sweat poured,
pale rose-in-waiting was I on moist page

Theater brimmed as crowds filled seats, agaped 
bright spotlights roamed, my eyes rehearsed the words;
thumbs wiggling on east wing, backstage
lines skipped like a broken record

Panting fast, I tucked wired nerves in head's cage,
that as curtains blew, this name was soon called
recalling to breathe, my flesh was in crazed rage.
Wait! "Clear dry throat; focus on scenes contoured",
Thumbs wiggling on east wing, backstage.

                            ,     ,,,,,,              ,,


*anxiety experienced before performing
the role of Medea on stage.

* Rondel form: consisting of 13 lines: two quatrains 
and a quintet,rhyming as follows: ABba abAB abbaA. 
The capital letters are repeats.
Posted under rondeau

                         

                  for Susan's Wait Contest
                  19 July 2012


Details | Rondel Poem | |

"Transition"

Transition 
from the mind’s condition
revealed God’s unconditional love!

I had been my own man within usual concepts,
I needed transition from carnal mind’s inept,
I realized error of my ways.

By God’s love, precious style,
reconciled!

Of social resigned,
I was own worst enemy…
unconsciously blind! 
Living my mind’s illusions,
not mindful of power source!

Having lived natural incline,
was paranoid schizophrenic,
of the flesh, nothing authentic,
miscommunications of mind. 

Now I dwell in graces complete,
and all new commitments I make,
having lived natural incline, 
I have spirit's eugenics.

Love’s composition not of mind,
transitional maturity,
in the grace of love’s purity,
most heavenliest, top of line,
having lived natural incline.

For: Trois Par Huit Rondel
In  Honor of Jared Pickett


Details | Rondel Poem | |

My First Time (Trois Par Huit, Tanka, Rondel)

My first time,
Sexual pleasures climbed,
Was with an experienced lover.

She handled me so gently under the cover;
Knowing I had never been taught by another.

Protecting my fragile male ego;
Unleashed my libido
Down below.

This first love of mine,
Through her kindness and patience,
Was, to me, divine.
Forever, to her in debt
For future pleasures I met.

How lucky I was to find a lover so kind,
To teach me the sexual act.
Cuddling my id with emotional tact;
Enflaming my passionate mind.

As sexual tensions in my youth unwind
Cognizant of the knowledge I lack;
How lucky I was to find a lover so kind,
To teach me the sexual act.

So now, when an inexperienced lover I find,
My first lover I try to pay back,
By remembering the knowledge that I once lacked,
And to her fumbling ways stay blind.
How lucky I was to find a lover so kind.

Details | Rondel Poem | |

Rondel Pain (For The Rondel Contest Sponsored by: Jared Pickett)

Rondel Pain

Poetry can inflict pain like a sharp rondel dagger, 
Encircling each word with bigoted judgments on hand. 
Down a spiral staircase a poet’s thoughts may stagger. 
Semi-circular fashioned, ideas traverse memories’ span.            

Hysterical, political…subject does not matter. 
Orderliness and cleverness mete out the author’s plan.  
Poetry can inflict pain like a sharp rondel dagger,
Encircling each word with bigoted judgments on hand.

Banter securely bound, released by creative augur. 
Can choose many words found in vocabulary land.
Lexis gone thrilling can kill the heart of an iceman –
Stop, please!  Choose kindly words; become a pain free enabler.
Poetry can inflict pain like a sharp rondel dagger.

© Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen
June 2, 2010
Poetic form: Rondel  (Rondel Rhyming Pattern:  ABab, abAB, aabbA)

Thanks Jared for making us think!   

LEARN MORE:
1.  POETRY: http://www.ehow.com/how_16711_write-rondel.html 
           
2.  DAGGAR http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rondel_dagger

3.  STAINED GLASS http://www.anythinginstainedglass.com/glass/Rondels/rondels.html

Details | Rondel Poem | |

First Date

go to dine
start with a little wine
present her your own natural self

Compliments are a sure way to keep off the shelf
never speak of money or your personal wealth
stay focused and see ways to relate

order food sure to sate
good first date
		~//~
a stitch made in time
in the course of do and don’ts
is said to save nine
you are more well off to plan 
than caught dead in the water
		~//~
Better to always have thoughts benign.
Better to always meet at least as friends.
There is no awkward making of amends.
Quickly conjuring excuses for evil design

It’s good not to imbibe in verbal decline.
The reasons just don’t justify the ends.
Better to always have thoughts benign
Better to always meet at least as friends.

I’m embarrassed to have my words malign.
So I try to say nothing which might offend.
That’s a good thing, I don’t have to pretend,
when I’m falsely accused of verbal brine.
Better to always have thoughts benign.

© Oct 20 2010   Charles Henderson 3 rd
    in Jared's Trois, Tanka, Rondel contest

Details | Rondel Poem | |

Natures miracles Homo Sapiens never measured

Ground trembled
Houses fell, city mangled
Loss and Chaos bull having free run

Many deaths, overnight many born as new orphan  
On Ritchers scale, quake measured by Homo Sapien  

Human destroying Nature on big scale 
Natures Tit Tat tale 
Wail trail

Global Warming bleeds   
Mercury soaring day and night 
Nature breached 
Humans shall burn, just not sweat   
Human Ash in Earth's Oven 

Measured Calamity, Natures miracles Homo Sapiens never measured
Sunrise, lunar phases, twinkling stars
Blood, pregnancy, katabolism, photosynthesis, cell construction
Jungle, river, valley, mountain, Natures miracles umpteen

Apathy abound, none thinks altruistically about natural restoration 
Reduce Mining, Deforestation, Pollution, Reclamation, 
Measured Calamity, Natures miracles Homo Sapiens never measured 
Forgetting Natures havoc is triggered by human havoc causing Nature’s scars

Self-restraint is way to halt Natures destruction
Go green, lessen carbon emission  
Save Earth, conserve Nature should be everyone’s mission 
Ritcher’s Scale may not be needed, if human increases organic consumption
Measured Calamity, Natures miracles Homo Sapiens never measured 



(Entry for Members contest : Trois Par Huit---Tanka----Rondel by Jared Pickett)


Details | Rondel Poem | |

Carousel

In warm months when the pines on the hill Seemed to talk to the creek, where the katydids spawn They would call-out their hymns, in the warm evening still With sad choirs to end, ...but the music played on........ Bill would eat cotton candy, and the children would throng To the que of the carousel, with excitement and thrill A painted horse of their own, that would take them along To his small magic world, of the carousel's mill They would sit under lights, on the fragrant green lawns And they would kiss in the dark, she would love only Bill With sad choirs to end .....but the music played on....
___________________________________________________________________ Based on the Musical Broadway Play "Carousel" For Nette's Contest: Carousel in Rondel 8/16/13