Long Roundel Poems
Long Roundel Poems. Below are the most popular long Roundel by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Roundel poems by poem length and keyword.
Welcome, Summer
by Geoffrey Chaucer
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Now welcome, Summer, with your sun so soft,
since you’ve banished Winter with her icy weather
and driven away her long nights’ frosts.
Saint Valentine, in the heavens aloft,
the songbirds sing your praises together!
Now welcome, Summer, with your sun so soft,
since you’ve banished Winter with her icy weather.
We have good cause to rejoice, not to scoff,
since love’s in the air, and also in the heather,
whenever we find such blissful warmth, together.
Now welcome, Summer, with your sun so soft,
since you’ve banished Winter with her icy weather
and driven away her long nights’ frosts.
Whoso List to Hunt
by Sir Thomas Wyatt
loose translation/interpretation/modernization by Michael R. Burch
Whoever longs to hunt, I know the deer;
but as for me, alas!, I may no more.
This vain pursuit has left me so bone-sore
I'm one of those who falters, at the rear.
Yet friend, how can I draw my anguished mind
away from the doe? Thus, as she flees before
me, fainting I follow. I must leave off, therefore,
since in a net I seek to hold the wind.
Whoever seeks her out, I relieve of any doubt,
that he, like me, must spend his time in vain.
For graven with diamonds, set in letters plain,
these words appear, her fair neck ringed about:
"Touch me not, for Caesar's I am,
And wild to hold, though I seem tame."
Brut
by Layamon, circa 1100 AD, an excerpt
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Now he stands on a hill overlooking the Avon,
seeing steel fishes girded with swords in the stream,
their swimming days done,
their scales a-gleam like gold-plated shields,
their fish-spines floating like shattered spears.
If you see a busker singing for tips, you're seeing someone carrying on an Anglo-Saxon tradition that goes back to the days of Beowulf …
He sits with his harp at his thane's feet,
Earning his hire, his rewards of rings,
Sweeping the strings with his skillful nail;
Hall-thanes smile at the sweet song he sings.
—"Fortunes of Men" loose translation by Michael R. Burch
Keywords/Tags: Chaucer, rondel, roundel, welcome, summer, sun, winter, weather, frost, songbirds, song, love, night, nights, ice, icy, heaven, heavens, sky, Wyatt, hunt, busker, thanes, Anglo-Saxon, Beowulf
Pain is a cruel and vicious thing
That grips us tightly in its sting
It gnaws at us both day and night
And makes us tremble with its might
It starts with a twinge or a throb
And quickly turns into a sob
It grabs hold of our very soul
And never seems to let us go
It comes in waves that crash and break
And leaves us feeling oh so fake
It robs us of our joy and peace
And turns our happiness to grief
It can be physical or mental
And make us feel so incidental
It eats away at our resolve
And makes us feel so weak and small
But even in the midst of pain
We can rise above the strain
We can find the strength to carry on
And let our spirit be reborn
For pain may be a bitter foe
But it can also help us grow
It teaches us to persevere
And conquer every doubt and fear
So let us face our pain with grace
And learn to run a stronger race
For in the end we will prevail
And our pain will turn to a triumphant tale.
Pain, oh how it grips us tight
A constant, unwelcome visitor at night
A feeling that consumes, that drains
Leaving us with little strength to sustain
It comes in many forms, this pain
Physical, emotional, all the same
Aching, throbbing, stabbing, burning
Tearing us apart, leaving us yearning
For relief, for a respite from the ache
For a moment's peace, a chance to take
A breath, to gather strength anew
To face another day, to make it through
And though it hurts, we know it's real
That pain is something we can feel
A reminder of our humanity
A testament to our fragility
So we bear it as best we can
With gritted teeth, and steady hand
We soldier on, through every trial
Through pain and sorrow, all the while
Knowing that someday it will end
That we will find a way to mend
And in that moment, we will see
That pain was just a part of our journey.
We Can Rise Above the Strain
The labyrinth of the mind transforms into a somber temple, where glyphs of thought intertwine,
And beneath the dome of the nocturnal sky, hearts like ancient scrolls unfold and burn in incantations.
The only enclosure where man erects his biography is a veritable menagerie of dreams,
A pantheon of thoughts and phantasms, with the altar of bitter desires.
With fingers of transparent dreams, he stretches his wanderings across the inner frescoes,
Where colors blend into palimpsests, and pigment is born only when summoned.
But the depths hide the fog, unleashing sphinxes that roam the corridors of wise chaos,
And the shadows come, the night's responsory, to absorb his light, to fashion his coffin of shadows.
In this labyrinth of the self, celestial wolves and crystal deer spin round the roundel of forgetfulness,
And in the corners of darkness, basilisks nest, dreadlocks of darkness weave the feverish tapestry.
Demons silently ringing at the gate of essence, demand the toll to be freed and transfigured,
And all this reverberation, each turmoil, is an unwritten palimpsest, a silent carol.
Every breath, every tremble of the lip, is an undeciphered libretto, an unsung chord,
In the crypt of his heart, dungeons of unfulfilled passions,
Wandering on a melancholic arpeggio, on strings of a sealed and closed wasteland.
But from the darkness resists, a phoenix of thought, a leaf of hope, an unexpected flight of light,
And man deciphers that in his own labyrinth,
He is the master, the musician, and the sculptor of his boundless life.
Thus, crossing the threshold of flesh, he surrenders to the wave of dreams,
Flying on the rainbow of imagination, in his most sacred sanctuary,
Where his imprisonment is the heart of a living temple,
And he is the hidden angel, in the eternal saga of his own light.
Oh spite, oh hell – to the Hell in my own name too!
The hell in love, the hell in romance, the hell of all men!
He being in my name as well of course… as if I’m made of men!
Do they control me? Na… funnily enough the sound of
my name’s conclusion… and what (no doubt) a modern man
would say at my fawning
Aside: What Demetrius feels about me without love’s potion.
for them. My name; partly made up of them all -
Hel e na.
He created me.
Created my name.
This man who shook history, shakes the
vast fields of stages still: created language,
created insults and idioms, created footlickers
and scullions and loons.
Aside: What Demetrius calls me, no doubt.
What if though, we were thrown into modern day -
we four tangled lovers? Our forest now a cobbled
city street, our names a hashtag or blend or
portmanteau of #Demena or #Hermander…
Aside: or #paintedmaypolegetsherman
…how my old Bard would laugh and
we would be his self-coined ‘laughing stock’.
I’ve been in ink and upon folio paper. Aloft a stage
and before groundlings: photographed on set, reviewed in
magazines, photoshopped
Aside: False imitation! Spurious image!
for internet trolls - a word
with a very different meaning to the faeries I’ve met.
How language adapts! But what, pray tell, stays?
Intrigue. Love. Summer seasons and shows,
his words, his characters - us and you and your
interest in him: a roundel we return to even
in his words we unknowingly use…
I should know of course… He made me after all…
Hel e na…
and you, in your hands and seats and voices,
still make me feel that same love and spite and Hell.
Neither of us are likely to be forgotten soon…
na.
"When you walk across the fields with your mind pure and
holy, then from all the stones, and all growing things, and
all animals, the sparks of their soul come out and cling to you,
and then they are purified and become a holy fire in you. "
_Ancient Hasidic Saying
___________________
Who Are We ?
We are born one day, and we live, and we will die,
and most people live life a simple way;
their minds never allowed to create and seek high.
We are born one day.
Each rule and regulation in life they obey,
their bodies strong but their lacking minds sigh;
they never have wild adventures and go astray.
Some days are so barren of all joy that they cry,
and realize all dreams lost to decay;
their potential has never gone beyond the sky,
We are born one day.
Why Not Change !
I dream of people connected body and mind,
they seldom do things that are expected;
their vast inner thoughts and body are twined.
I dream of people connected.
On dreams and wishes they are inner-directed,
to ordinary they are not resigned;
on ways to a higher-self they have reflected.
But, most important they love self and humankind,
and 'cause of their way they are respected;
and to all God has created they are aligned.
I dream of people connected.
______________________
September 05, 2022
Poetry/Roundel/Your Divine Worth
Copyright Protected, ID 09-1485-434-05
All Rights Reserved, 2022, Constance La France
Written for the Standard contest, Sans- Mind, Body, Who Are We
sponsor, Unseeking Seeker, Judged 09/23/2022
First Place
My heart did beat,
A fortress of stone, with no retreat,
I kept the world at bay with ease,
And let no one come close to me.
But then one day, a crack appeared,
A chink in my armor, to be feared,
A stranger's kindness broke me open,
And all my defenses were broken.
I felt the warmth of human touch,
And love's sweet power was too much,
To hold on to my old ways,
And shut out love for all my days.
Now my heart beats with new life,
And joy and love replace the strife,
I see the world with open eyes,
And embrace the changes, no more lies.
The transformation has been profound,
From cold and heartless, to love unbound,
I'm grateful for the change of heart,
And for love's power that set me apart.
I thought I knew it all,
My beliefs were firm and tall,
I held my views with iron grip,
And judged those who didn't fit.
But then one day, a seed was sown,
A doubt crept in, and I was thrown,
Off-balance by a new idea,
That challenged all I held so dear.
I fought against it, tooth and nail,
Refused to let my old thoughts fail,
But slowly, surely, over time,
I saw the light, and changed my mind.
Now I see the world anew,
With empathy and a wider view,
I understand that different views,
Can both be right, and both be true.
My heart has opened up to learn,
To see the good in each concern,
And though it's hard to change one's ways,
I'm glad I did, and changed my phase.
For now I see the beauty in,
A world that's full of diverse kin,
And though we may not all agree,
We can respect each other, and be free.
Frost Like Filigree
Frost filigree, superb can be
as nature weaves crystal delights.
With varied lacey forms, we see
sculpture sparked by lights.
'Neath sun or moon, artwork alights;
the glistened shapes show artfully
presenting joy within our sights.
Ice clings, designs so perfectly,
as each drop freezes and unites
to form creative artistry...
sculpture sparked by lights.
--------
Frost filagree, can't always please
as nature weaves her dark displays;
a fireman works in 'teen degrees
caught in icy-glaze.
As hoses combat the hot blaze
the water flows to quickly freeze.
'Tween flames of fire and ice he stays.
Thick lacey chunks his helmet seize
and turns his gear to frozen phase.
So many nights spent ill at ease
caught in icy-glaze.
--------
Frost filagree presents some scenes
of icy sculptures that bring pain,
for left without heat often means
leaving home again.
Poor tenants live with heat arcane
that fails when wintertime convenes;
so often help is sought in vain.
Abandoned rooms with icy sheens...
frost filagree, a massive plane.
This winter wonder now demeans...
leaving home again.
Sandra M. Haight
~2nd Place~
Contest: The Magic of Three
Sponsor: Broken Wings
Judged: 02/11/2018
Each afternoon my mom and I would walk
Two miles along the old lake road to meet
My siblings' bus, and all the way we'd talk
How dear, the meager things ...
She'd tutor me with lines that I'd repeat
A special verse by rote, (tho' I would balk)
So thus by Friday eve I'd know, complete
Another sonnet I could proudly mock
These lessons lasted only 'til we'd greet
My sibs, on the return trip we took stock
Of all the nature, bright and bittersweet
How dear, the meager things ...
I so enjoyed those little walks each day
That aged lake road with forest canopy
I'll always hear her voice beside me say
How dear, the meager things ...
Numberless, the instructions, taught to be
The priceless wisdom used along my way
While memorizing verse then wearied me
It's why I'm now this poet, and to stay
Of all life's lessons that I've come to see
The one most precious I will ne'er betray
My hand in hers, so safe and so care-free ...
How dear, the meager things.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Writing Challenge, Feb 2019, Roundel Form" Poetry Contest, Dear Heart, Judge & Sponsor.
(Syllables counted at HowManySyllables.com)
My bus finally pulled in late
you were there as promised
although I tried not to notice
the blonde bimbo adjusting
her skirt a cross between
pat benatar and Melanie griffith
puffing on a stale Marlboro
cigarette while painting lipstick
on her collagen strickened pink
lips just like you to be charmed
to give her a light lucky strip
matchbook it didn't bother me
surprisingly enough I had no
reaction I must admit Reno Nevada
conditioned me to a soft spoken kind
of acceptance to your philandering
anticipated antics gambling again
on goods of service however
I was quite flattered you still
tried to conceal infidelity funny
it was rather attractive why you
absolutely appeared boyishly shy
caught in the cookie jar again
fishing for snacks besides our
relationships had already exceeded
the life span of any failed marriage
why we continued charades was even
more morbidly interesting to say
the least after all we were both
married to other people an yet
faithful to our personal ongoing
trisks enterages rondevues
at anyrate the stars were very
bright tonight 3:40 am the tides
were unseemingly calm wouldn't
you say what's the room number
did you lose the key again dam
I've broken another heel
just put the bags here dear
It had been snowing all night- it was bad,
you were going to work but I said stay;
you called me silly and I was so mad.
One last tear for love.
You left with a slam of the door that day,
I went back to my bed but I was sad;
then heard a crash in my dream of cold gray.
You had always wanted to be a dad,
but now my love was going far away;
for somehow my heart knew that it was bad,
One last tear for love.
I floated to the crash to see your face,
a gauzy dream girl with hair like a fan;
weeping darling for a final embrace.
One last tear for love.
Your death had never been in our plan,
this love- time will never ever erase;
the police came and then my grief began.
This dream girl came to your deathly cold place,
I kissed your dead blue lips and held your hand;
but of love and husband there was no trace.
One last tear for love.
_____________________________
February 3, 2019
Poetry/Roundel x 2/One Last Tear For Love
Copyright Protected, ID 19-1111-723-02
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
abax bab abax
Written for the contest, One Last Tear
sponsor, Silent One
Second Place