Woman Rondeau Poems

Violet Jessop, threat ahead
Escaping Poseidon’s death toll’s
“Look after this, will you?” He said
She did, counting down the portholes

First the Olympic’s nurse enrolls
Last, the Britannic’s noon...

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The woman of my dreams is still undressed
in early morning woken up by light.
We make ourselves at home in this love nest,
convinced that everything will...

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Forest chanting is daily heard,
Our wild woman spreads her word.
Some may be startled by her tune.
Creatures call her their great Muldune.
Forest knows she is not...

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Halt! Halt! Give em your hand but not your hearts
For when they hover around you, 
You are an imminent carcass. 
These vipers of Eden unrelenting,...

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The beauty of a woman must be seen from in her eyes, because that is the doorway to her heart, the place where real love...

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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...

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Flowers - she knows will always die
She never lets them see her cry.
Unnatural smile and hot tea
Obviously - she’s so happy
Watering them when they aren’t...

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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...

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“I remember...” an old man said,
“When the first shot rang out,
When the rebels held their stead,
The British bullets flew about,
And through our ranks they sped.”
Though...

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In rhythm of love, a masquerade
I pair and dance to join the charade
For all the turmoil that has ever been
Romances... still an alluring scene

Music and...

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A bright painted fawn she choose
Face aglow, roses lightening dawn
The reds, the yellows and the blues
On the bright painted fawn

All around the spirals and bon...

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A Girl even as a toddler her tiny hands cuddles a doll
	She sits on the ground properly, covers her shoulders with a shawl 
	Take her...

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Whomever a woman chooses is the king.
No table round will ever square the thing.
All knights have equal access to the bread,
Even the stout are adequately...

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A rose should be given to a mother,
For a special kind of woman she could make.
A good mother is a hard somebody to be;
Such a...

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".....To the living we owe our respect, to the dead we owe nothing but the truth. 
Voltaire. .......


Her love betrayed, that's how Ruth died.
All through...

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