Anyone who’s followed this blog for a while knows that I love the French poetic forms, so it’s about time I covered the rondel, since it’s a close cousin to the rondeau and triolet.
Here are the rondel poetry form rules:
- Poem consists of 13 lines in 3 stanzas
- Rhyme scheme: ABba/abAB/abbaA (uppercase letters are refrains)
- Usually 8 syllables per line
If you wish to write a rondel prime (or supreme), add a 14th line. In fact, rondel prime sounds pretty cool.
Here’s my attempt at a rondel poem:
“Some Good”
Every day, there is some good;
every day, there is some bad.
Don’t worry about what you had
or waste your time knocking on wood,
because this life’s misunderstood,
and there’s no reason to get mad–
every day, there is some good;
every day, there is some bad.
Crime happens in all neighborhoods,
though in some crime is just a fad.
If you live somewhere safe, be glad
you’re well off. Elevate your mood–
every day, there is some good.
*****
Follow me on Twitter @robertleebrewer
*****
Publish your poetry!
This bundle is perfect for any poet looking to publish his or her poetry. It includes a copy of the 2013 Poet’s Market and two poetry publishing PDFs–all at a price that’s less than the cover price on the Poet’s Market.
I somehow missed this this. I enjoy working in forms and this one was fun. Here is mine
Timm Holt http://www.timmholt.com
STARRY NIGHT a rondel
When stars sprinkle fairy dust flies
and dreamers dreams hang on the moon.
Collect all your hopes; string a festoon;
celebrate before the night dies.
Remember we are but mayflies
and the time to dream ends to soon.
When stars sprinkle fairy dust flies
and dreamers dreams hang on the moon.
Do not wait tomorrow’s sunrise
or think your wishes only jejune,
for dithering is only for a loon;
life imparts no one a reprise.
When stars sprinkle fairy dust flies
and dreamers dreams hang on the moon.
This was fun! i haven’t done much of poetry forms and i like the challenge!
I REMEMBER.
When I miss you I remember
sandwiches from the coffee shop,
fingers cold I let mine drop
in the park in late December.
Noses, cheeks glow, bright red embers
laughing, giggling, we couldn’t stop
When I miss you I remember
sandwiches from the coffee shop.
Gone the sun of past September
gone the freedom of my flip-flops
comes the chill as temperature drops.
Warmth I felt in that December
when I miss you, I remember.
This is for my GrandBrits in England–it’s seriously something to get used to for my California blood!!
The Sleep Method
When I’m upset I tend to sleep,
My escape from realities.
Oh what delicious fantasies
Become yours for a price so cheap.
Under the blankets, sinking deep
The mind can dream up novelties
My escape from realities.
When I’m upset I tend to sleep.
Slivers of light begin to creep
Under my eyelids stealthily,
Warning me of how unhealthily
I am living, in huddled heap.
When I’m upset I tend to sleep.
DOG TIME AND SPACE
The old dog grumbles, sniffs the changing air
and curls up in a corner, waits his place –
and finds a puppy occupies that space
of worlds revolving days and years. So where
do has-beens summon up the stare-down-stare,
the once-swift moves? He used to be the ace.
The old dog grumbles, sniffs the changing air
and curls up, in a corner; waits his place.
He’s trusty. But she’s fancy-flight, she’s flare
and pirouette. She’s whiz and steeplechase.
Remember when the old dog had such grace?
He seeks his corner, she’s already there.
The old dog grumbles, sniffs the changing air.
When we walked hand in hand
Under a gray northern sky
You wondered about this land
And you started to cry
Your feet yearned for hot sand
This new country a lie
Under a gray northern sky
When we walked hand in hand
The night it was so grand
Excitement you couldn’t deny
Your spirits lifted so high
And your heart beat to the band
When we walked, hand in hand.
Snowfall
The snow falls, all gentle and sweet,
Covering over hill and road.
We are all glad that it has snowed,
For we are safe ’neath quilt and sheet.
Others, lacking shelter and heat,
Shiver as winter drops her load,
Covering over hill and road.
The snow falls, all gentle and sweet.
The frozen lie in other streets,
Far from our own cheery abode.
Ignorance is the devil’s goad;
Charity comes at its retreat.
The snow falls, all gentle and sweet.
LIVE-OAK
This ridge where oaks root into stone
has seen such changes over time.
The brushy hills we used to climb
are bulldozed for those homes that own
the river-view. Now, gardens sown
with elves and bells for winds to chime –
this ridge where oaks root into stone
has seen such changes over time.
I find back-paths when I’m alone,
through brush and stunted trees that mime
a living forest; leaves that rhyme
with loss. It’s only here on-loan,
this ridge where oaks root into stone.
Ooh, this really evokes a sense of time and history of the land and the temporary-ness of humanity.
The Party’s Started
“The party’s started,” this I say
When the household begins to rise
“Time to get up” the phrase implies
“Like it or not, let’s start the day!”
A bit sarcastic is my way
Knowing our life tends to surprise
When the household begins to rise
“The party’s started,” this I say
Let there be laughter, come what may
Though sleep’s sand still rests in our eyes
There will be music, if we’re wise
Eating, dancing, singing and play
“The party’s started,” this I say
Private Concert
With earbuds in, I am a song.
The song is loud and full of bass.
I close my eyes, and breathing space
becomes the place where I belong.
Depends on mood, It can be strong
(when none can hear my tuneless grace.)
The song is loud and full of bass.
With earbuds in, I am a song.
I don’t think it is ever wrong
to find an air and then embrace
the notes, as if you’re giving chase,
secluded from the bustling throng.
With earbuds in, I am a song.
###
Thanks for the highlight on this form, Robert. I love rhyming poetry, as you probably might have guessed. I like your poem – kind of like a mantra.
Um…little rewrite. … and again, thanks. ♥
Private Concert
With earbuds in, I am a song.
My song is loud and full of bass.
I close my eyes, and breathing space
becomes the place where I belong.
Depends on mood: I can be strong
(when none can hear my tuneless grace.)
My song is loud and full of bass.
With earbuds in, I am a song.
I don’t think it is ever wrong
to find an air and then embrace
the notes, as if you’re giving chase,
secluded from the bustling throng.
With earbuds in, I am a song.
###
i really like how the concept comes across in this!