Best Rondeau Poems

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...

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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
    ...

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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...

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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...

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His day had come, and so He went and prayed.
The woes of all mankind upon him weighed.
His brethren slept; He knew what would befall.
His enemies conspired and did not stall.
A midnight kiss, and He would stand betrayed.

First seized, reviled, then stripped and flayed;
A scarlet robe...

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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...

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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,...

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In temporal shades of pastel hue
abides a subject on debut.
Upon his brow the pencil bled,
sketching life through words unsaid,
etching strife through hints of blue.

I softly let the lines imbue
then gaze upon its stoic view.
His pose portrays the life he led 
in temporal shades.

Each stroke unveils,...

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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...

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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...

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  "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...

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As cold winds blow this time of year,
the limbs are bare, the winter’s here;
a frigid frost hangs in the air.
With season’s change we’re well aware
that endless nights will soon appear.

We wrap ourselves to hide the fear
brought on by darkness ever near,
and hibernate within our lair…
...

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Shine forth His light, dispel the night!
Spread love that's true, let hope glow bright,
May your words be seasoned with grace!
Looking up to Christ, run your race,
Unfurl His undying love's might!

Light your candle’s love infinite,
Reflect the Son, good deeds highlight,
May others through you God embrace,
 ...

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In still the night, the beaks slumber.
The weary wings, of great number,
In lightest twitch, upon the dark
Etching on oak, wait for dawn’s hark.
In common sleep - sigh encumber.

The scented air, lilacs cumber
With bluebird-lull, silent slumber.
No need to coax the dormant bark,
In still the night.

Quickly, stars...

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With poetry, I want to seize
all of my opportunities
to pen the things I want to say
in a more deliberate way,
but time is like a summer breeze. . .

It fans my passion; then it flees.
The obligations of each day
disrupt my muse; I can’t long stay
 ...

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