Best Rondel Poems
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
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
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.
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 .
Spring
Rain falls
Roses burst blooming
Gardens all need grooming in
Spring
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.
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
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.
A Rondel for Donald Trump
As those Fake News polls keep coming 'round
And their predictions drag you down,
Just face the music like a Man
Deny it all, the best you can:
Try to deny that deepening frown.
There is, alas, an ever-growing sound
A quiet voice ever gaining ground
That makes you grasp at each more desperate plan
To salvage your sinking ship.
But there is no helpful, salvaging sound
Within the silence all around,
To spare you the darkness closing in
To spare the wages of your sin,
To stay the darkness that abounds
Through which you cannot hope to slip.
My mind follows, where heart can not lead,
Thriving on pain,inside me,is an empty well
I think I've found a way out of this dread,
To stop pain, from my past to dwell.
Wounds can now be healed,no longer bred,
Don't bother to call me,I sent you to hell
My mind follows, where heart can not lead,
Thriving on pain,inside me, is an empty well.
Love is buried now and from you have fled,
Never to be found again,no more is to tell
No longer I am under your cruel spell,
Tired of playing your games, rather be dead
My mind follows,where heart can not lead,
Thriving on pain,inside me,is an empty well.
Dorian Petersen Potter
aka ladydp2000
copyright@2005
October,27,2014
Sleep well my darling and your dreams
of us be at Paris spring time
Rue Du Chat Qui Pêche it seems
Will forever now remain prime
In my mind what the street name means
Street of the fishing cat and I’m
Remembering the many schemes
of us at Paris spring time
When you were in your denim jeans
And we made Eiffel Tower climb
We were then only in our teens
Such effort now seems like a crime
Sleep well my darling and your dreams
Remembering the many schemes
Of us be at Paris spring time
Why can't spring
last as a deep feeling,
and remain joyful and eternal?
What makes this season so vital and wonderful...
adorning our earth with flowers so delightful?
Who is so dubious to disclaim it?
True faith admits no doubt...
will the heart?
My spring was too brief,
only desire outlived it...
floating as a leaf:
to taste death on barren ground:
such is the fate of all leaves!
Perhaps nostalgia is deeper than regret,
making me yearn with useless tears
and in doing so sorrow deepens...
without realizing I have no control over it.
Return spring with a new child in me,
making me run towards the sunflowers' filelds
increasing my chances to find serenity...
return spring, but don't be short and cheerless.
Years age the body, not the spirit...
as seasons remind us how fragile we are:
living one life and returning dust as before...
without voice, flesh, blood and thought.
Her hair is the color of spun gold,
Her lips like the petals of a rose!
Her teeth like white pearls that the gods chose,
A visage of wonder to behold.
Her great beauty has not been half told
An intelligence is hers that shows;
Her hair is the color of spun gold,
Her lips like the petals of a rose.
She is mine and mine alone to hold,
Love light in her eyes see how it glows!
Given to me whom the fates well chose,
Determined by them in times of old.
Her hair is the color of spun gold.
Her lips like the petals of a rose.
Rondel : You came too late this time our tryst to keep
You came too late this time our tryst to keep
Lost in your reveries in other lives
So long, Mon Amour, just one thought survives
I must be away to lie in irked sleep
Linger not here where sours honey in hives
You came too late this time our tryst to keep
Lost in your reveries in other lives
Will your dreams bind with mine in sleep to reap
The hour when tolls true meaning of drives
Free as spirits cut loose by demon knives
You came too late this time our tryst to keep
Lost in your reveries in other lives
So long, Mon Amour, just one thought survives
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2013
Riding on life’s carousel
Seasons and years spin by
Round and round the horses fly
We’re dizzy under it’s spell.
Repeating patterns we know so well
Never asking why
Riding on life’s carousel
Seasons and years spin by.
The time will come to bid farewell
Those who stay on will say, “good-bye”
“Time to get off”, the midway man’s cry,
Do we dismount in heaven or hell?
Riding on life’s carousel.