Time Rondeau Poems | Examples
These Time Rondeau poems are examples of Rondeau poems about Time. These are the best examples of Rondeau Time poems written by international poets.
Dancing in Boulogne-Sur-Mer
I was dancing in Boulogne-Sur-Mer
when a young woman stopped me,
and said, “Madame, you are superbe.”
She told me twice, Madame you are superbe
But I didn’t feel superb.
Hadn’t for a long time, if ever at all.
How is superb supposed to feel
when you're dancing in Boulogne-Sur-Mer?
Later I visited my doctor to
ask if there was anything she could give for
treatment of the human condition; explain the
woman had told me I was superbe.
The doctor laughed, and said
there was nothing for it I could take,
apart from anti-depressants,
if you're depressed, are you, not superb?
She asked if I needed to take a break. Shall I sign you off, she said?
Maybe some time spent, alone in bed?
No, I said. She suggested I chose values,
acceptance, rebellion, indifference or hope.
I went away, bemused
realising there is no choice
to be made, you need all values
in your armour to face despair
when you’re dancing in Boulogne Sur mer.
Each second dies so brief it stays
among the minutes, hours, and days
of living’s murmuration spell,
in which we mortals have to dwell;
as each moment slowly decays.
Time is inconstant; it betrays;
traps you in it’s alluring maze;
then so, quite when, it’s hard to tell,
each second dies.
Time is not all that it portrays,
that of a roll of endless days.
Too soon, you’ll hearken your death knell,
tolling seconds fond farewell;
as fickle time, with you, it plays,
each second dies.
In misty dawn, where lilac blooms croon,
Weary heart strums a bluesy tune,
To cajole the sun to day-spring,
From its dream-time, and join and sing,
To lift dark's slumber veil and swoon.
Etching sun-beams through the dank dune,
Guitar player and sun attune
The dawn is lifted from mist's cling,
In the dawn expectant.
With a sigh of relief the moon
Lifts the pall of the night's cocoon.
Propelling light, the sun will bring,
To end to the glum soul's aching,
For the warmth known to come at noon.
In the dawn expectant.
On dreary morns when rain is nigh
I'm weary of the misty sky
when Autumn's season comes to call
and russet leaves begin to fall.
To Summer I whisper, "Goodbye."
The lilacs petals wilt and die.
Blustery winds cause me to sigh.
Can't cajole them to stop or stall
on dreary morns.
No slumber when things are awry.
Maybe an etching I should try.
Strumming my guitar won't forestall
time that now has come to a crawl.
Foul weather I can't mollify
on dreary morns.
She's a vision in a gilt frame
'fore the weary man he became.
He hears a sweet Spanish guitar.
Slumber takes him to days afar.
Through misty time, he hears his name.
Butterflies cajole, "join the game".
A Degas etching, she's the same.
Lilacs in her hair - there they are.
She's a vision.
How straight and true was cupid's aim,
when then, their love, they did proclaim.
She was taken away so far.
Does she live as a twinkling star?
He sighed - mere dreams left of her flame.
She's a vision.
The Myrtle sits
single, lonely
at the crossroads
adorned
with one hundred
cobalt bottles;
waiting.
Evening soon comes
and gentle winds
blow softly
that Aphrodite
sings
her sweet, enticing song.
Weak, evil spirits;
guileless souls,
will, helpless,
answer, her siren call.
Then trapped
Inside the bottle blue
'till dawn.
When morning sun will
seal their fate.
The Myrtle sits single alone
at a crossroads, somewhere unknown
adorned with bottles; cobalt blue
now, waiting as cool evening drew
soft winds across the tree are blown.
In time, Aphrodite's dulcet tone;
a sweet, enticing siren drone
will lure the guileless souls, where to
the Myrtle sits.
She trapped them all, the fools: that crone.
Fore early dawns, sun's rays were shown
their fate was sealed, and then anew
at some crossroad, where calm winds blew
waiting for mooncalves to dethrone;
the Myrtle sits
Knocking on doors, people to meet,
house after house, street after street,
keeping going, day after day,
whatever polls or trolls might say,
there's not much time for resting feet.
Car park selfies, the meet and greet,
sharing stickers and printed sheets,
no time to waste, there’s no delay,
knocking on doors.
Sunshine, showers, rinse then repeat,
change is never an easy feat,
when the future is all in play,
but we’ll turn corners, come what may,
walking, talking, to win this seat,
knocking on doors.
This highway's mine, goodbye to Jayne,
so long, farewell, Virginia Plain,
strife was yesterday's heavy load,
life is tomorrow's open road,
it's time to hitchhike once again.
Heading where songs, don't sound the same,
and no-one stops to ask your name,
they'll think I'm another Tom Joad,
this highway's mine.
Generations tried to explain,
through war in Spain, and Catskill rain,
how quickly continents explode,
but somehow memories corrode,
and now the past returns again,
this highway's mine.
(Inspired by the painting The Letter by Edward Antoon Portielje)
In candle's gentle, flick'ring light so grand,
Where secrets whispered 'cross the paper's strand,
Two lovers' hearts in silent, sweet repose,
A letter's words, their deepest love compose.
The firelight's touch, their souls in warm embrace,
In whispered moments, love's enduring grace,
Her eyes aglow with tears where love bestows,
A letter's words, their deepest love compose.
With bated breath, they share their dreams and vow,
Each syllable, a promise then and now,
Their yearning hearts in every line disclose,
A letter's words, their deepest love compose.
Inscribed with ink, their love forever flows,
Across the miles, where fond affection grows,
As time stands still, their passion interflows,
A letter's words, their deepest love compose.
The evanescent canvas, colors slowly fade
but fading in the sun, the moon is not afraid.
transient are the footprints etched in sand
with time and tide, meets the sea and land.
autumn leaves wither in dusklit winter shade
in sweet fake words, trust is often betrayed
hazy clouds of fading love , always dismayed
a dull painting dimmed, none can understand
the evanescent canvas
hiding in shadows, grief is not displayed
in dried tears, faint conversations made,
in a candlelight dinner with roses in hand
petals shriveled in book, stories unplanned.
still shimmering, a faded rainbow swayed
the evanescent canvas.
When doves cry, Gaia's tears will flow
flooding the world that we now know.
Eagles will abandon the sky,
only planes will be left to fly:
and a worldwide panic will grow.
Super cyclonic winds will blow
as glaciers melt, and rain doesn't show.
Climate change won't feel like a lie:
when doves cry.
As our coasts flood, and forests dry:
the endangered species will die.
It'll be a time of tears and woe;
Mother Nature will let them go
as a tear trickles from Her eye:
when doves cry.
The thoughts we think, what is their source
Emotes rise and fall in a blink
It’s clear that love employs no force
Time is now head and heart to link
Dark desires and fears, our heart’s chink
Heartfelt penance follows remorse
Else waywardness will make us sink
The thoughts we think, what is their source
It’s better we change our life’s course
We already are on the brink
Love reads not codes written in morse
Emotes rise and fall in a blink
To join love in heart’s skating rink
Conscience has shouted itself hoarse
Warning of sins that in heart slink
It’s clear that love employs no force
Love alone is real of course
From the stream of bliss, nectar drink
Drowned in fears, we’ve drifted off-course
Time is now head and heart to link
Is love not colour of our ink
Know God is our only resource
The choice is ours to swim or sink
Pulsations of joy, let’s endorse
The thoughts we think
31-May-2023
In streets adorned with neon lights,
We're sold a dream of grand delights,
But beware, for what glitters gold,
May only serve to leave us cold.
The market's claws can gouge and bite,
While we succumb to its great might,
We trade our souls for cheap applause,
And become slaves to want and flaws.
Amidst the aisles and billboards bright,
Our hearts and minds are taking flight,
Toward a place of empty gain,
And we forget to feel the pain.
The urge to buy is hard to fight,
It grips us with its endless might,
And so we spend our precious time,
Chasing wealth that leaves us blind.
In streets adorned with neon lights,
The dangers of commercial sights,
Are clear for all to see and know,
As we watch our true selves go.
We must break free from greed's tight hold,
And learn to cherish what we're told,
For true contentment can't be sold,
Nor can our worth be bought or sold,
In streets adorned.
I will always wonder what sort of love we had.
I was naive and blindly infatuated.
You were seventeen years older than I, and sad.
From the beginning our shaky love was fated.
We had met and I fell, but patiently waited,
a fact for which both of our families were glad.
Even though we spoke with words insinuated,
I will always wonder what sort of love we had.
I wonder if we were a curious dyad.
Was this acerbic love become hate belated?
Only God will decide if this is good or bad.
I was naive and blindly infatuated.
Love faded rapidly after we had dated.
I wondered if I should remain calm or be mad,
I questioned guilty feelings that were created.
You were seventeen years older than I, and sad.
You were time-worn, emotionally armor-clad.
I understand now you would never be sated.
You bore the spirit of an unsettled nomad,
from the beginning our shaky love was fated.
Achingly romantic dreams I had created,
a basis for lifetime togetherness’ launchpad.
Alas, I have become confused and frustrated.
Tomorrow, in a renewed search for Galahad,
I will always wonder.
On cloud I could write verse for you,
storm surge drifted out of my sight,
placed me under spell of deep blue,
sorrow dragged me into dire plight.
Sadness traced the tear drops in flight,
the words dissolved, took the shape true.
As dense mist descended from height,
on cloud I could write verse for you.
Rain drops made lyric on leaves new,
fluid rhythm I didn’t perceive quite.
Gleam of future was out of view,
storm surge drifted out of my sight.
Across sad sky in starless night,
I was wafting astray I knew.
My heart broke with the brunt of blight,
placed me under spell of deep blue.
You hardly knew what I went through,
when you’re gone from my days so bright.
To find life’s pulse I had no clue,
sorrow dragged me into dire plight.
I was in debris of delight,
but arose as with cloud time flew.
Lost longing my mind could excite,
in my split heart this poem grew,
on cloud I could write.
_______________
March 19, 2023
Syllable count checked at HMS
Rhyme as per Rhymezone.com
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