Roundabout Poems

On a Roundabout

Hang on, You're nearly There!
I'm giddy, spinning around, 
So near, yet so far.
On the slippery spinning
dip of serendipity. 
Making do with the hoodoo of déjà vu.
I've seen that scene before!
On endless recycles
of somewhere when and there.
My prospectus is shod 
with slithery wooden clogs.
Tripping, toppling precipitous, 
edging ever closer to flying 
right off the roundabout 
by the whirling surge.
Whizzing around in circles
on the impending.
Barely holding on
with hands and arms, 
billowing and centrifuging 
in the passing wind.
Reaching outstretched to catch
just what and when,
could be just happening, 
could be just passing on by.

Ins and outs, roundabout twirls

Breath in, breath out
the tide ebbs in, and surges out, 
flows and pauses.
Swings and seesaws rock, bounce and rebound,
up and down, in tick-tock metronome time.
Memories tug, get hugged,  
then unclasp, withdraw and let go to fade.
Dreams materialize, then dissolve.
Laughter spits, splits, spills, gushes out, 
echoes then wanes to abstain in a chuckle.
Hope flits and flickers like a candle flame
blown to quiver by a shaky breath expelled
while trying to blow 
the flame of a birthday candle out.

For the cadence of existence
is a hymn tuned by a conductor's baton
a metric dance, set in a tango two-time step,
a soft-shoe tap rap 
in between yesterday and tomorrow,
in between blinks, breath holds. 
Nestled momentarily on-hold to pause,
in between the tugs and shoves
of feelings, emotions, 
hopes, inspiration 
faith and desire.

Hold your breath,
for a brief moment.
Take time to take in 
all the ins and outs,
and the roundabout twirls,
that surround you,
while you go
with the flow.

night out roundabout

night out roundabout
storm interloper
cutting in
with showy lights
showering

Magic Roundabout La Ronde Ii

She wears curtains in her eyes
Uses them like a surgical knife
Draws them closed each day
To cut and blank out her daily life
And she slides in the needle
That helps her to find
The matching opacity
Of her tortured mind

Her strength and her addiction
That gets her through each day
Of the life she has to lead
To find the money to pay
For the contents of that needle
So you think her eyes are dead
As you pass her on the street
Just two dull orbs in her head

And sometimes you may think
From her dull eyed stare
She’s not in this world but
In her own hell somewhere
And she nightly works the streets
Harassed, ridiculed, abused
And so many occasions
Just paid for and used

And sometimes for a while
Her eyes are opened wide
Until she slips in her needle
And relief pours back inside
And she resumes her life
As an underclass pawn
As those curtains in her eyes
Are closed and tightly drawn

In a Roundabout Way

I offer you the Roundabout:
a little form sublime.
Tough? Au contraire!
But do beware:
you must be in your prime.

Don’t simply trust to whether I’m
correct; just take the dare.
It helps to score
some pithy fours
that add a certain flair.

Abandon care; let down your hair.
Ideas waltz the floor:
A fine brook trout,
beer brats and kraut,
Or silly, countless more.

And so, dear poet, I implore:
creative juices out!
For fun with rhyme,
it’s party time:
the Roundabout, no doubt!

—————

My second Roundabout: 86446, abccb/bcddc/cdaad/dabba

https://www.writersdigest.com/write-better-poetry/new-poetic-form-the-roundabout

you have to have a heck of a drawl to pronounce contraire as three syllables, IMHO... Sticking with the original - PoetrySoup counts as 2, RhymeZone counts as 3, but I'm going with 2, as that's how I hear it in my head.

Sam Adams Drunk Driver Same, Same But Different

Sam Adams Drunk Driver Same, Same but Different 

Sam Adams was drunk driving 
Too fast down an English rural country lane
He ran at a stoplight he did not see 
Blew threw a roundabout
Was rubbed out in an accident.
His drinking buddy, the traffic cop flatfoot,
Smoothed over his death ruling it an accident,
And not drunk driving.

Roundabout

Where can I be? I am only roundabout, 
Whom can I be? I am only roundabout, 
How can I be? I am only roundabout.

Where can I move? I am only roundabout,
To whom to move? I am only roundabout,
How can I move? I am only roundabout.

Where can I love? I am only roundabout,
Who can I love? I am only roundabout,
How can I love? I am only roundabout.

What to do now? Things are in roundabout,
Even earth at now, it is roundabout,
Nothing to do now, I will end roundabout.

Roundabout

with no ticket to
where you want to be heading
take the put off ramp

The Second Roundabout

No dilemma this time
Age and maturity
On my side
Yes, feelings I have
And these, I don’t want to hide
More than forty years
Of selflessness
And the result
My life, a complete mess
The hesitation 
Of the first roundabout
Still haunts me loud
Have nearly fulfilled my duties
So now, is it a sin?
To please 
Your own self
Not with riches, not with pelf
But love unadulterated
Just as I very recently did
This time I’m clear
My vision
It won’t be able to cloud
The complexities 
Of the second roundabout

Roundabout

New York Christians, Muslims, and Jews
Claim they walked a mile in God's shoes
As you may surmise
When asked for the size
They say they went barefoot like youse!

Feels To Look :: the Roundabout

Why her thought comes to mind always?
Is it love felt for her?
Is it downfall?
Am I in thrall?
Lonely heart hears the stir.

Her wise words echo, I concur
continues to enthrall;
her thoughts attract
makes an impact;
Why her words I recall?

Feels to look in eyes, tell her all;
In day's work , she comes back
in my thought, stays
in mind always;
Somehow life isn't in track.

They say, don't live in life's flashback;
love can't afford delays.
Want to say her
it's not on spur
Feeling I had for days.
~X~X~X~

Roundabout

Feel surge
Of words found
Prompt urge
That seeds ground


Touch gains
Fond new grounds
Old pains
Now hurl sounds


Heed gall
A prized bite
That's all
Verse now cites


Glimpse jest
Sweat old tact
Words test
Pique vain act


Start well
In jazz bold
Spill tell
Hot and cold




Leon Enriquez
05 September 2019
Singapore

Rednecks and Roundabouts

Rednecks and roundabouts, they don't mix.
Don't try and fool us with your media tricks.
We drive around the back roads throwing bottles at signs.
Your roundabouts make us slow down or the ladies spill their wine

Roundabout

Old mulberry bush
We go round and round
The same funny snooze
As roundabout grounds


The same old lines found
In our childlike steps
To ground our sad rounds
With a lost mind map


Old echoes stray here
As if by odd chance
To breathe ancient spheres
In apt frolic trance


Our distant past greets
Our nursery years
Where strange symbols meet
Our lost hopes and fears


Here old wishes stream
A ring of roses
In odd weary dreams
As laughter poses


It seems so funny
That old times come back
Old faces sunny
In flashback and slack


We seem to recall
The good old days there
In hallway footfalls
Just when, how and where


Exit and entrance
Life in full circle
A subtle distance
Those fond popsicles


And yet we now know
That the ghostly sight
Is but a sad show
In surge of last light




Leon Enriquez
11 November 2018
Singapore

Roundabout

Here not there
You know where


In a fix
A blunt mix


Cuts flame slash
Harsh words smash


Bits of flesh
Ooze like trash


Blood red pain
Life now drains




Leon Enriquez
16 October 2018
Singapore

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