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Best Rondeau Poems | Poetry

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New Rondeau Poems

Don't stop! The most popular and best Rondeau poems are below this new poems list.

Starry Afterlife by White, Harley
A Tribe of Trolls by Wyler, Elizabeth
Made Me Laugh by Bavington , Bette
The other day by Gupta, Probir
In Concrete Earth by Thompson, Janis
Land of Lost Time by Gentry, Susan
Memories by seal, george
As The Sun Set by Kendrick, Sara
Rose in the Sand by Lorette, Alyssa
Above Gray Clouds by Sands, Heidi

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The Best Rondeau Poems

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Travel Light - a Goodnight Lullaby

Travel Light – a Goodnight Lullaby

Travel light, my dear; softly go
beyond the night’s each black shadow
to another plane. Out of sight
exists a realm of such delight
you may find relief from sorrow!

Lay your head on your pillow.
Sink into the Now.  Tomorrow
comes soon enough, but for tonight
                                                  travel light!

Let the sweet magic start to flow -
angel wings sweeping over snow
it may seem, or a rainbow bright!
Close your eyes, Darling, and take flight!
In Dreamland you soon will be, so
                                                travel light!


Written Jan. 15, 2017 for the Travel LIght Contest of Kai Michael Neumann


Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2017


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The Darkness at Noon

The darkness at noon -  We’ve been led
to walk with a blossoming dread
through streets, as if we have no will,
and all the world is strangely still.
We walk - no word among us said.

We all had seen the sky grow red
before our sun, which warmed us, fled!
It only stayed with us until
                                   the darkness at noon.

Our lungs can breathe. We have not bled,
but we are now the living dead,
for all around us grows a chill
upon the earth. Gone is the thrill
of light and life!  We see instead
                                   the darkness at noon!


For the 101 in a ROW contest -6 of PD, Linda!!!


Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2014


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Hidden Beauty

Hidden beauty I know can dwell
within a body worn and frail.
I think of one who had been doled
great miseries, so once grown old,
his body seemed a dismal shell. .  

Although he’d lived on earth his hell,
grown nearly crippled and unwell,
his inner fortitude was gold -
                                         Hidden beauty!

Life’s many hardships could not quell
his positivity, nor fell 
that strength - his fire against the cold -
a virtue that should be extolled!
In knowing him, I well could tell
                                            hidden beauty.


For Skat's the Premiere Contest number 14 Poetry Contest




Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2015


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To Feel

I want to feel my whole world burst, see scintillating stars dispersed across a vast unsullied sky the sapphire blue of my mind’s eye when life was fresh and untraversed. I want to jump again. . . headfirst into the ocean, be immersed as passion’s billows multiply. I want to feel! Wake up, my heart! I WANT that thirst, expect the best and not the worst, to have my breath be stopped - to cry for heartbreak’s sake - not stop to sigh with rue that Fate can’t be reversed. . . . I want to feel. For the Wake Up My Heart Contest of Julie Leigh Rodeheaver


Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2014


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Rebel in the Library

In the library, at last I am freed
from others’ wishes for what I should read.
Book after book I most gladly peruse
with all these free hours I now get to use
finding books that I love; not just books that I need!

The books about science which teachers all feed
our minds with are making my eyes start to bleed!
I think I would even prefer reading news
                                                          in the library.

How much more enthralling are aisles that lead
to books of pure fiction! I will not heed
strict teachers, for romance and drama I choose.
Just see, I’ve already picked novels that ooze
suspense! Yes, indeed, I’m doing the deed
                                                           In the library.


Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2015


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The Hands of Time-Rondeau

The Hands of Time


The hands of time stand eerie still
Where hearts chamber a cagey chill,
And whispers warn of shadows deep
With eyes that strain as shower’s sweep,
The sands of time a formless fill.

Disenchanting dreams pave their will
Seconds follow a timely till,
While the dormant lie counting sheep,
The hands of time.

Where voices scratch a shackled shrill
The hours' harbor a haunting thrill,
And the minutes tear as they weep
Behind the veils the walls of sleep,
Moon in sight above the foothill
The hands of time.



#4


The Rondeau consists of 13 lines of 8 syllables plus 2 refrains
AABBA - AAB with refrain C - AABBA with Refrain C


July.25.2018
Rondeau Poetry
Sponsored by: Joseph May 


Placed 1'st


Copyright © Winged Warrior | Year Posted 2018


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Memories of the Sea

Memories of the sea wash over me
on days when clouds are drifting cottony
above my head through placid azure sky.
Such images flit like a butterfly
across my mind; I seize them gratefully!

They bring with them sweet thoughts of family
and times of which I now can testify
flowed out like tides to leave me by and by. .  .
                                                memories of the sea.

How young we were in days so summery!
Through waves we leapt, expending energy.
Sated, we lay sunning on the beach to dry,
till sunlight - like our youth - sank down to die.
But I will keep for an eternity
                                                 memories of the sea.





Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2015


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Words left Unsaid

 Words left unsaid as teardrops fell
 The price of love, their hearts would tell
 And so they parted, love took flight
 And left their hearts to lonely nights
 Each unable to break loves spell

  Distant sound of the old church bell
 Rang through seasons they knew so well
 Winter to spring, summer shone bright
 Words left unsaid

 Each had a broken heart to sell
 As fire within they tried to quell
 Memories fade in Luna's light
 Stars wished upon twinkle in sight
 Love's distant star, flickers farewell
 Words left unsaid
                 --
9/22/17
 Contest Name: Form U- U pick 'em
 Sponsor; Broken Wings



Copyright © Joseph May | Year Posted 2017


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Life Is a Dance

Life is a dance we were all born to do. The styles to choose from are more than a few! Some choose simple two-step; some move with flair. Some slow dance; some break dance, devil-may-care! Some free style, while others just dance on cue. Some tango with zest; some shuffle soft-shoe. Others glide easily, waltzing on through. Some change their partners; some stay one pair. Life is a dance. You start with the styles in your own milieu, then grow as you add on new moves you view. You’ll stumble, but sometimes dance on sweet air! Just keep the beat; try new steps if you dare, for where you end up is all up to you. . . Life is a dance! For the Life Poetry Contest of Janis Thompson


Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2012


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Spring

Let laughter ring, for here comes Spring. With warbling birds we gaily sing. As wizened Winter turns and goes, March promptly puffs her cheeks and blows! The Old Man’s gone. . . we’re rollicking when next comes April frolicking behind spry March. Her visage glows. Let laughter ring. Then Spring a climax sweet will bring. There at the Maypole, in a ring, are fetching maids in pretty clothes. And bounteous the sun now grows as June appears; . . Spring’s had her fling. Let laughter ring! Jan. 4, 2014 (Here comes Spring: I know , I know, wishful thinking!!)


Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2015


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A PLACE IN THE SUN

A PLACE IN THE SUN A place in the sun, it's there I want to run. . . Orange and yellow palette brush my face, they dry my wells of fears and so I won, I-- slowly flower from God's skirt of grace. Unfailing is His love shown sweet to His face, I eagerly crave to behold in million tons as to entwine in His warmth: My Master race. A place in the sun, it's there I want to run. . . Rainbow peeping after some raging storm spun; His reminder that we: His people must chase infant days to grow better with our love ones. Orange and yellow palette brush my face for God so kind. My pains, He soothes and erase. Tender are His words as I read them one by one helping me be fearless yet humble with my pace. They dry my wells of fears and so I won-- then my heart soar high, I have some fun. Evil always haunts but with Him, all I can evade, hence, troubles are little but close to none. I slowly flower from God's skirt of grace. . . God crashes darkness with love not by gun. Must we go elsewhere when He is the best hiding place? God is everything before even life began God our undefeatable fortress-- His base a place in the sun. __________________________________________________ Sponsor Gail Angel Doyle Contest Name A Place In The Sun Placed 1st ©O>E. Guillermo 10:20 pm. January 12, 2015


Copyright © Olive Eloisa Guillermo - Fraser | Year Posted 2015


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I Dreamed a Butterfly

I dreamed a butterfly in golden days when buttercups lay in the fields ablaze. It fluttered to my cheek, sweet love to bring. My heart was wont to burst and wont to sing. In breath of morn was scent of bluebell sprays. On blossomed blankets of the fields we’d laze, and into one another’s eyes we’d gaze, my love and I, as April had her fling. I dreamed a butterfly. Our bliss was as the spring, a fleeting phase, and brief’s the beauty of young lovers’ craze. As cruelly as a wasp, he left a sting - and all the lovely plans we made took wing, leaving mere memories of golden days. I dreamed a butterfly. 2/21/13


Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2013


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Heartthrob

Upon her thorny heart I bleed;
My rose I nurtured from a seed,
With blazing bloom and perfume sweet,
Who pricked me with her warm deceit,
To where I gladly bade her leave.

Her eyes and smile they did precede,
A witchly soul that did deceive,
My love to stumble with conceit;
Upon her thorny heart.

If I could pluck her to be freed,
And rip her from my soul, indeed,
My lesson thus would be complete,
Sough not a love in lusty heat.
To this my penance I accede, 
Upon her thorny heart.


Copyright © Claire de la Grange | Year Posted 2006


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I lay my head

I lay my head  upon the softness of its mane
My white charger, no knight for a swain
as I am the gallant rider looking for love.
Riding the green valleys with mountains above,
looking for hope in natures  fertile plain

A dream, a carousel  of  tears  and  pain
With bobbing horses making  a colourful train
Flying above a sure sign of hope, a dove
I lay my head 

Imagination in play as I search in vain
Why from happiness  must I abstain
My empty heart crying out to those above 
Praying each night, please bring me love 
Grabbing a handful of the silky white mane
I lay my head


Copyright © Seren Roberts | Year Posted 2013


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A Blazing Fire

A blazing fire is crackling its refrain as I recall a love, perhaps not sane. Beside this hearth you tenderly caressed my body and we simmered; then we pressed against each other. Heat was our domain! My heart now pulses rhythm with a rain which beats staccato on my window pane. Torrential is the longing in my breast - a blazing fire. The warmth of your embraces soon would wane. You left, but images have seared my brain. . . like you in glow of dancing flames, undressed. I wish with all my soul that I were blessed to have you here again, for I remain a blazing fire


Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2014


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Autumn's Breath

The breath of autumn, from behind a veil of days lit golden, comes! The sun will fail to keep its fiery hold on us, and soon the trees will softly hum nostalgia’s tune as flutter-leaves reveal the season’s tale. Before fall’s glorious leaves begin to sail off limbs of dying trees when chill winds wail, more welcome is (in nights beneath the moon) the breath of autumn! The bright hues of the season - never stale - stay warmly for a while before they pale and winter brings to us its cold and gloom. Enjoy the harvest days; they are a boon! Release your soul to nature and inhale the breath of autumn. For Gail Angel Doyle's Autumn's Breath Contest Now for the Late October contest of Brian Strand


Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2013


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This Heavy Guilt

This heavy guilt weighing on me,
Like too many leaves on a little tree
Covered in rain from a sky that poured
I hurt a person who I adored
If I could have just let things be,
Then maybe he could now run free
Instead he stands numb with a silent plea
My actions, once sweet, are now deplored
This heavy guilt
He and I, once we
Now like locks without a key
The distance so great we could never ford
But his name still on my heart is scored
I wonder if the world can see
This heavy guilt


Copyright © L. M. K. | Year Posted 2014


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Wearied Wanderlust

"Wearied Wanderlust" upon a gilded meadow glows a bottle of tender tears scattered ashes burnt and laden carpeting of stone ravished emotions turbulent feasting on flesh and bone filtering through fibers as escalating fears harbor broken dreams evaporating in waning years as visions petrified reside in somber tone upon a gilded meadow glows Life's chilling chant of haunted love still stalks a tattered heart is wandering, wearied and all alone swallowed a bittersweet taste of vacant cone in endless patterns of desolate walks upon a gilded meadow glows..


Copyright © Linda-Marie SweetHeart | Year Posted 2012


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Past the Graveyard: Rondeau

Past the graveyard deep in snow
where icicles from boughs hang low
one woman at a headstone weeps
as memories in warmth she keeps,
all dressed in black like winter crows.

Still muted angels' trumpets blow
where frost on trees like lichens grow
and 'cross the powder darkness creeps
past the graveyard.

As by wrought iron fence I go
the granite gapes in pewter rows. 
My heart into my throat now leaps;
her mortal love in silence sleeps
in frozen ground while snowflakes blow
past the graveyard.

MID NOVEMBER PREMIERE CONTEST any theme,any form,max of 25 lines
11/14/17

This is a rewrite of my Terzanelle, "I Pass the Graveyard".


Copyright © Dale Gregory Cozart | Year Posted 2017


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For Our Love So True

For Our Love So True
 
For our love so true lasts now forever
For I knoweth I shall leave you never,
Here on Earth ‘n later in Heaven’s light,
Whilst God is with us on this cosmic night,
Angels sing to us with all due pleasure.

Our passions are beyond mortal measure,
As we walk tonight, hands held together,
We know our emotions feel now so right
For our love so true.

God’s divine love is our special treasure,        
Our souls, are bound now together ever,  
We ascend now with the angels in flight,
We bask in God’s holy blessings tonight.
With our souls now one, no one can severe
For our love so true.

Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved, 
November 18, 2017 (Rondeau)


Copyright © Gary Bateman | Year Posted 2017


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Blind to Deception

Her eyes are blind to all his lies,
excuses and false alibis
The woman cuddles, silently
beside her lover, brazenly
until dawn welcomes the sunrise.

She cannot see behind his guise,
the charade she'll come to despise.
Defending him, defiantly.
Her eyes are blind ~

One day it will be no surprise,
when the veil will fall from her eyes
but until that day, quietly
she lives unaware, piously
on knees, a slave never to rise.
Her eyes are blind ~


Copyright © Lin Lane | Year Posted 2017


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Rainy Autumn Night

  Rain gently falls this autumn night
    Her thoughts caressed in misty flight
 As she walks on the lonely lane
 Shadows cast a ghostly refrain
  There's not another soul in sight

 These peaceful vibes bring her delight
  This quietude, a welcome plight
  No noise to crowd her or constrain...
    Rain gently falls

 Pitter patter rhythms then invite
  Autumn's sad song to reach its height
 "Neath her umbrella she'll remain
   Within the fallen leaves domain
  Walking towards a distant light -
     Rain gently falls......
              ---
 Contest name: Form R
 Sponsor: Broken Wings
  6/30/17
 

 
 


Copyright © Joseph May | Year Posted 2017


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Crimson Rose

Crimson Rose 

Against all odds, your destiny, 
To live and grow, your history...
You grew and bloomed with all your might 
With drops of rain and harsh sunlight 
Through crack in earth you came to be. 

Passed down from Greek mythology; 
Adonis born from Myrrha's tree 
In wild boars wounds from Ares fight 
Against all odds. 

Adonis' blood that flowed freely        
Turned into roses magic'ly.        
This sad tale of Adonis' plight  
Engaged in death, now retains light      
As you share love in purity      
Against all odds. 

8-2-18

2.

*In Greek mythology, roses originated from Adonis, deity of plants and rebirth. Adonis was born from a deceptive union between King Theias and his daughter Myrrha. When King Theias realized that his daughter had tricked him, he chased her with his sword. To protect Myrrha, Aphrodite transformed her into a tree.

King Theias shot the tree with an arrow, splitting it in half. It was from this tree that Adonis was born. Aphrodite took to Adonis and raised him like a son. As Adonis grew, he became an avid hunter. One day while he was hunting, Adonis came across Ares, one of Aphrodite’s past lovers, who was disguised as a wild boar. Ares attacked Adonis and when Aphrodite heard his screams, she ran into the forest and found him dying. The blood that ran from his wounds hit the ground and turned into roses.

In another version of the tale, red roses originated when Aphrodite was running to Adonis’ side, cut her feet on the thorns of the flowers, and stained them red.





Copyright © Connie Marcum Wong | Year Posted 2018


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Carousel

I hear their laughter and see their bright smiles, Going round and round with joy together, Their rhapsody reaches far beyond miles, I hear their laughter. I believe their dreams make this world brighter, Rich childhood experiences in wee while Will teach the love to make them grow better, A hold of their hands, a care that's tactile. Carousel, a cradle of young dreamer, Children galloping up and down in style I hear their laughter.
©2013by Leonora Galinta Aug. 17, 2013 12.50am Form: Roundel Second Place Contest: Carousel in Roundel Judged: 8/19/2013 Sponsor: Poet Nette Onclaud


Copyright © Galeo DS | Year Posted 2013


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a satin veneer


                         ~the satin doll~
               had voluptuous curves, grandeur, 
                        ~the satin doll~
                  with sultry voice and a sweet smile,
                  moved a president, it is clear,
                   Marilyn was childlike veneer,    
                         ~the satin doll.~

                      Weave a RONDOLET 
                              For Nette
                    By John Moses Freeman


Copyright © john freeman | Year Posted 2011