Rondeau Poems | Rondeau Examples

With nothing but a jawbone, I unhinge the night, let silence die— book of broken psalms, toothless songs of what was right, of what went wrong beneath the hush of watchful sky. No prize, no game, no lullaby— just marrow's oath and blood gone dry. I didn’t mean to last this long with nothing but a jawbone. Still, blood remembers how to lie, to shape...

Continue reading...

We together can change the way our moral tendencies do stray. Yet we build walls round our estate and over parapets berate the way that others go to pray. Nation on nation joins the fray some indignation to repay. What harmony we could create; we together. Sweet dreams the children have who play oblivious that they one day will fight a war of unjust hate their fathers...

Continue reading...

Sparks will fly between two lonely hearts, But they might end up torn apart. No matter how hard both will try, The sparks between two hearts will die. But then the cycle will restart. This will be our story’s first part, Two lovers decide to depart. But even though both lovers cry, Sparks will fly. The two lovers get past this subpart, And decide to...

Continue reading...

Fifty-seven years ago, we planted you; That huge tornado came- yet, you stand true. ...

Continue reading...

Mind's a still pond, so dark and deep, Where ripples spread, while shadows sleep, And thoughts, like pebbles, softly fall. Silence holds clamor in its thrall, When the world lets it start to creep, When vast wisdom begins to sweep The pool of sense, it's time to reap, Ideas run, never to crawl, Mind's a still pond. No hasty judgment, truths to keep, A mirrored...

Continue reading...

Willow whispers, draped in sage lace, Forgets the song so loud that plays, Recalls the whys that breezes hold. Where memories, like leaves, unfold, In gentle sigh of soft embrace, The river flows, with time's fixed pace, Running over the rocks and haze, Washes shadows, tales yet untold. Willow whispers. A haven sought, in this lone place, The sun descends, with fading face, Where weary hearts...

Continue reading...

Unpoetic Justice 2: Best Freeverse as Traditional Poems A poem I will not publish here was stolen by a man and remixed slightly, then claimed as his own. I have taken an original version and restructured it through AI Chatbot and Aphres. This poem will be credited to AI and anonymous. I'm so sorry to hear...

Continue reading...

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...

Continue reading...

The axe boasts not, nor lets arrogance reign. By whose hand did buds sprout forth from Aaron’s rod? Balaam kept blessing God’s people, was all this in vain? Can man know the might and mind of Almighty God? Man is a means by which our Lord will prod other men who govern this world’s domain. When success is...

Continue reading...

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...

Continue reading...

I kicked the world lay at my feet the wrong way down a one way street I kicked and kicked and didn’t stop until I reached the paper shop and thought my journey was complete. Between the headlines of defeat Liverpool's team was in retreat hearing the call from Jürgen Klopp I kicked the world. My dad leapt up out from his seat with...

Continue reading...

The nightly rattle heard down the hall, The shadow form of a man stands tall. The sound of chains strike fear to my heart. His chance long past, he cannot depart. Seeking my soul, he desires my fall. His pain, I can feel, for after all, He heeded not Heaven's urgent call, But let his anguished form to impart The forever torture of...

Continue reading...

Alma is back on BBC with tales of eccentricity even the critics said it’s good they’re calling Bolton, "Brollywood" claiming it's worth the licence fee It's warmth is positivity facing life and absurdity in ways no-one else, would or could Alma is back BAFTA award winning TV based on the writers family Willan, she's our Walters and Wood champions the misunderstood if you catch it, then you will...

Continue reading...

This is our town, this place we share we’ve got lions, on our town square old mills, big hills and Smithills Dean no frills, aside from our home team Rivington if you want fresh air You’ll not find many millionaires but dreams survive, with wear and tear for what could be, or should have been This is our town London’s alright,...

Continue reading...

Roadside flowers, defy the rain handwritten cards, spell out the name of someone’s son, of someone’s friend just where the road, begins to bend at the spot where everything changed Passers-by said it was a shame nobody quite sure who to blame but everyone could comprehend roadside flowers. A face looks through the window pane oblivious to sun or rain condolences so quick to send that broken...

Continue reading...