The Rondeau consists of three stanzas, a quintet (5 lines), a quatrain (4 lines) and a sestet (6 lines), making the poem a total of 15 lines.

The first phrase of the first line usually sets the refrain ®, but sometimes the refrain can be the whole of the first line. The structure is:

line 1 - a ®(normally the first phrase is the refrain)
line 2 - a
line 3 - b
line 4 - b
line 5 - a

line 6 - a
line 7 - a
line 8 - b
line 9 - R

line 10 - a
line 11 - a
line 12 - b
line 13 - b
line 14 - a
line 15 - R

The meter is considered be open and the French style is not bound by a rhyming pattern and also is more of a light and buoyant even "flashy" form of poetry which uses short lines. The English style however, is much more dour and serious, even meditative and uses tetrameter or pentameter.

An excellent example of the English Rondeau form by Lt. Col. John McCrae, M.D., 1872-1918 follows:

In Flanders Fields

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved, and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.

Hey, LorII, here's the only one I've ever written:

His Guilt’s Assumed

His guilt’s assumed, perhaps because
you watched his lows reveal dark flaws
more clearly than before – a door
locked tight produced his sophomore
repeated, scratching . . . raw forepaws.

All gilt’s consumed by frantic claws
reacting to some inner laws
that bring survival to the fore;
his guilt’s assumed.

But whose the guilt?  Is it for cause?
Why all this need for tape and gauze?
perhaps someone, something before?
some feeling triggered you forswore?
Bind up the heart; clench fists and jaws.
His guilt’s assumed.

©Lt. Col. Daniel J Ricketts 10 Aug 2003

Wow Daniel!

This is GREAT! I can't believe I missed this one until now! :(

~Cleo

In Fields of Green

In fields of green the clover grow
between the flakes of fallen snow,
that rest upon a glistened sight
the eyes of March shall so delight,
the birth of Springtime’s tinted glow.

Hold fast to hope; winter’s let go
of icy grip on roots below,
to rest in hibernation’s night
in fields of green.

It’s time to wake the hungry crow
for March arrives, and flowers grow,
among the flakes of melting white
in clover’s crops of sprawling might
where seeds of  love and life will sow
in fields of green.

© 2004 Lorraine M Kanter
All rights reserved as an unpublished work

In Fields of Gold    

In fields of gold, the tulips sing
refrains of rebirths infant Spring,
a dance of daffodils unfold
and lean to Iceland poppies hold
on hibernation’s bygone cling.

A dawn of Dwarf Iris offspring
lend laughter to an Irish fling
as leprechauns of March enfold
in fields of gold.

Old Emerald isle legends bring
a patron saint with shamrock ring
whose blessings are forever told;
corned beef and cabbage, meals of old
lend truth to Springtime laughter’s zing
in fields of gold.

© 2004 Lorraine M Kanter

~O'er Meadows Green~    
 by Cathy Bollhoefer

O'er meadows green unicorns graze,
blue skies above, the sun's ablaze.
A fairytale dragon on wings does fly
and bumble bees adrift on a sigh,
seeking nectar in the floral maze.

Pegasus soar in winged display
illuminated by sun's bright rays,
amongst the clouds, oh so high
o'er meadows green.

Amidst the flowers a ladybug plays,
offering nature abundant praise
for the luscious array, petals shy
that open wide to please the eye,
a beauty that will truly amaze
o'er meadows green.

copyright Nov2004  Cathy Bollhoefer
All rights reserved as an unpublished work


.

Dear Dan, Cleo, Cathy,
These rondeaus are fun, aren't they? Up to recently I knew of neither the rondeau nor of the swap quatrain except for "Flander's".
I think I could enjoy reading a whole chapbook of them, especially if they're of your quality.
Cheers,    jgd

The rondeau speaks with rolling pace,
With beat and rhyme we all embrace.
Its kissin' cousin, "quatrain swap",
Inversion out, this po'm's a flop!
No, neither one would I erase.

I fear sometimes that I write base,
But if my words are no disgrace
On either one I'd claim as "top",
The rondeau speaks.

But so do S. Q's. state their case
And they are equal in my race.
The beat for both, a hop and plop
And coupled rhymes they sometimes swap.
Though sonnets be the poet's "all",
The rondeau speaks.

I see I'd missed some fun rollicking through the fields with y'all...

so here's a little lamb engaged in it, while...

Pulling Wool Over Ewe’s Eyes

A lamb who lies around all day
complaining that the shepherd may
not be quite right to lead the flock
and fills the fields with his trash talk
does not see his own disarray.

He wanders off to find a way
to spend his time in foolish play.
"Baa, humbug," he. "This troupe's a crock."
A lamb who lies...

to his own self that he’s okay,
turns black and white to shades of grey,
diverts attention with his mock
of other sheep; he loves to knock
their good... becomes, through growing fray,
a lamb who lies.

© Daniel J Ricketts 15 Feb 2005

Dear Daniel,
I believe I commented on this one elsewhere. To repeat what I said there, I like rondeaus!

I love this verse a rondeau fills
demanding all poetic skills,
as well as concepts of the soul.
The bards alone we should extol.
The best of thought the bard instills.

No poetry is borne by pills,
no depth of feeling's in mere frills.
Let mastery fill bardian bowl.
I love this verse.

Though poetry won't pay my bills
and skeptics laugh and give me chills.
To entertain I've set my goal
and I have words to sate a scroll,
because with wisdom my heart fills.
I love this verse!

...and I love this verse too, Ron!  Thanks for the read, immensely.

Cathy's comments in the crit forum brought me back here again and prompted me to write another.  I'd actually started to write it about rondeau as you did, but I was diverted along the way and have gone a totally different direction.

I do hope it makes some sense.  I've abandoned the more commen IT of the English version and resorted to IP in this one:

What’s the Rush

Rush more?... or bust a gut to carve a place
of prominence, where all can see your face
held high through storms of conflict, winds of change,
long nights of loneliness out on the range,
where bright stars wink, yet urge you slow the pace?

Why all the hurry? Will not time efface
accomplishments and glory, e’en erase
your scribbled memos? Shout, if you’re deranged
“Rushmore or bust!”

Your life-book’s written — not your works, but grace
He’s lavished on you as you’ve run your race
afoul, unkempt with unattended mange;
He’s nudging you: slow down and rearrange
your goals; enjoy the sights; anew embrace,
“Rushmore or bust!”

© MLee Dickens’son 20 July 2005

Hey Daniel!

We live in such a fast-paced life that we need to be
reminded to slow down.  I like this and the meter!  LOL

Cathy

Dear Daniel,
Your adding that twist re Rushmore/rush more makes it difficult to post something after yours! Truly a priceless piece you have there.

A Punditty Rondeau

Much fun the pun when once it's spoke,
the lowest form of verser's joke...
I'd rush no more to fire its glow
and use it here but yet, although,
I fear I know I will provoke

a reader, who like other folk
will say "your head is there to soak",
despite the fact that this is so,
much fun the pun.

A little fun I just might poke,
if I remove this self thought yoke.
If on your face I would bestow,
a smile and laugh to you might flow.
It's too late now, it's my last stroke!
Much fun the pun...

Well done Ron!

A loving tribute!

~Cleo

hmmm, well!

That deserves a riposte, Ron...

and please note that my tongue is lodged firmly in my cheek!


A Tribute, This?

A tribute, this of me you’ve writ
proclaiming pun’s unworthy wit?
that it’s the lowest kind of joke?
So is it true that poet folk
attribute this to so much spit?

To play with words, I love to sit
with pen in hand, I must admit,
but am I but a bumblin’ bloke?
A tribute, this?

Attribute to my words a bit
of savvy here and there; admit
that fact.  It would not make you choke!
Perhaps you’ll find my smile to cloak
wry wisdom parceled bit by bit.
Ya think ya could… (if yes, do it)
…attribute this?

© Daniel J Ricketts 26 July 2005

In Waiting Rooms

In waiting rooms you have no clue
what scenes your bouncing orbs may view,
strange squeaks or snorts your ears may hear
nor to which germs you're drawing near…
how your longsuffering slips, askew.

Kids suck on magazines or spew
on chairs and toys while Mother stews
with them… but can’t get off her rear
in waiting rooms.

I look away and write to you
or try to sleep… but it's a zoo;
in comes a guy who's slipped a gear,
disoriented in each sphere...
Big Momma's sweetie's turning blue
in waiting rooms.

© MLee Dickens'son 24 May 2006

Well versed Daniel!

I especially enjoyed the opening because it makes me think of all the things I see whilst waiting for the "We're ready Lorraine" comment in the waiting room for my radiation treatments.

When you see rhyme, you think I’d be
a better poet writing free
of meter? Even when I’m beat,
a rhythm stirs my aching feet
to tap, old joints to sway; you see?

It’s part of you; it’s part of me,
not merely sing-song. Give some lee-
way to its flow; don’t self-defeat
when you see rhyme.

Don’t shove the ancient forms asea
or waterlog my poetry
dismissing it before you greet
its art or wit or wry conceit
enfolding wisdom. That’s my plea
when you see rhyme.

QUOTE (JustDaniel @ Jul 14 06, 11:59 )

Don’t shove the ancient forms asea *Here here!
or waterlog my poetry
dismissing it before you greet
its art or wit or wry conceit *I'll take the 'arts' any day!
enfolding wisdom. That’s my plea
when you see rhyme.

Well done Daniel!

I do adore this form very much! I've noted the message I see in this above.

Cheers
~Cleo

Thanks, Lori...

and here's one I've been kicking around since this morning:




Not quite ready to release for crit... but hammerin' away, Daniel

a rondeau variant [varied the vowels in 'a' rhyme of each stanza]:


Organ Recital By Candlelight

By candlelight the organ pipes
are drowning out complaints and gripes
that rose in swelt'ring heat today;
now grumpiness won’t have its sway.
Conditioned air, our frowns would wipe.

In fact, it's really cold. I drape
my arm around my wife (no cape
of course) as we enjoy her play
by candlelight.

We stand to sing as one large group
rejoicing ere we leave… to droop
and wilt again in ev'nings gray
yet pleased that we had come to pray,
refreshed, prepared to brave the soup
by candlelight.

© MLee Dickens'son 18 July 2006

at the Episcopal Church
Colonial Williamsburg, VA

A lovely Rondeau Daniel!

You've inspired me to write one!

I enjoyed your inner rhymes: candelight/pipes.

Reminds me of an all-day workshop I attended for Bose, it was SO COLD there, I went outside a few times to 'warm up' - LOL!

Cheers
Lori

Thank you Lori...

and here's another one that I wrote in church last Sunday. It needs a bit of work, but I can't post if for crit just yet:

Know Meaning

Is there no meaning in this life?
Inside and out is constant strife
between what's good and what is not,
what’s out of style and what is hot,
conflicting values, ways are rife.

Enslaved for freedom of belief,
great cultures shipwrecked on a reef,
blood-feuds forgetting why they've fought.
Is there no meaning?

A husband leaves his aging wife,
a promise ended with a knife,
integrity that's sold and bought…
O, my attention, God has caught:
Who know that One who knows our grief
is there, know meaning.

© MLee Dickens'son 23 July 2006

The Tide Will Turn

The tide will turn, though you defy
its rhythm; build your levee high
if you'd encroach on its domain.
The evidence is strewn with pain;
new moon comes with an ev'ning sky.

It may evade your watching eye
behind dark clouds, yet it will hie
awaiting waves to flood the main.
The tide will turn.

But in its wake, should you decry
sad devastation, sea but cries
to keep a distance; you may gain
appreciation for His reign
o'er ocean, earth and all on high.
The tide will turn.

© MLee Dickens'son 20 Sept 2006

He Walks

He walks on water at the sea
then laughs, says ‘Pop’ and points to me.
He turns his grape juice into whine
and says whatever’s his is ‘mine’.
He utters words… we all agree.

His parents train him to be free
of foolishness, but all can see
Grand Mom and Grand Dad, him define:
‘He walks on water.’

Mi-Mom and I still clap with glee
when Tre does dances at our knee.
We all, though, know there’ll come a time
when he is really out of line
and we’ll together all decree,
‘He walks on thin ice.’

© MLee Dickens'son 21 Sept 2006

Daniel I bow to your skill, talent and creativity. I know how difficult the Roundeau can be and yet, you make them appear to be smooth as butter.

I've done my first and with lots of help from you, is slowly improving. I will be back soon to post my second here (once I write it!) LOL

Hi Daniel.

This is a topic I'm sure any parent/relative can relate to. BRAVO!

He turns his grape juice into whine
and says whatever’s his is ‘mine’.

Tee hee: "Mine, mine, all mine..... have some cheese with that whine!"

I'm not certain - can the Rondeau have a different refrain in closing? I know you've done that here in this poem for fun, however, is it technically proper to change that refrain?

Since this is the learning thread on the form, I want make certain we are teaching the proper parameters (if not, just a side note about it is recommended).

Please let me know.

Thanks
Lori

Here's a kind of 'instructional rondeau' about rondeau-writing, as per Lori's request in another thread in Karnak:

A Repetition

A repetition choice, one key
in rondeau-writing, sets you free
to DUM di-DUM di-DUM di-DOH;
your substance in between my flow
beyond a careful brevity

in seriousness, levity,
pure fiction, joy, grief, honesty—
if mem'rable, from it may grow
a repetition

readers grasp — perhaps to be
a poem read beneath that tree
where lovers rest, or when they row
across the pond where flowers grow
in summer, granting memory
a repetition.

© MLee Dickens'son 07 Oct 2006

Oh wow Daniel...

Absolutely amazing. I especially love the repended lines and their change about. Especially the final refrain. It is quite powerful. I am quite impressed. I wish there were another word to describe how talented I think you are.

Excellent...
Best Regards, Liz

Hey Lori,

Yes, from what I've read in several online and in books of forms I have at home... it is a technique often used to allow the refrain to take on new life and meaning.

Although the change should be slight, and should bring some twist or turn about from the original refrain line. You can do these with changes in punctuation or changing a noun ...
(like
He loves her so ...
then ...

she loves him so ...

This is quite noticable change but ... I've been working on a new Rondeau and the refrain is 'He died by spring...then in the 2nd stanza, it is he died. By spring, while in the final it is ... 'he died in spring' the slight change from 'by' to 'in' will be relevant to the meaning of by spring (which holds a dual meaning) and the the change to 'in' should offer the reader a stronger twist from by/in ...

I don't know how good it will be when finished, but it is my project right now! :)

Many known poets that right in Rondeau's often use this technique. Thought as they say, first learn the rules then learn how to break them right!


Hugs, Liz

Thank you, Liz and Lori...

I had not noticed Lori's question, but you anwered it quite adequately.

As to the specifics of my 'He Walks' piece, I tried to build up the expectation of that repeated line... but in a twist offer a frozen stare across the water that froze the water he was walking upon... now thin ice.

The WORDS change a bit more drastically that the usual rondeau, of course, but then ice is merely water in a different form... as are clouds.

If you like, I'd be happy to add a note to this effect directly following the piece. Let me know.

deLighting to discover, share, support, enforce poetic parameters... and then experiment in stretching them sLightly, Daniel

eyes needed fixed

"I need a fix to function…" See
the evidence? Not clear to me!
That cunning, baffling lack of fear
keeps stalking me to keep me near,
and soon I get its help to steer…

"I'm doin' fine; my jamboree's
a free-for-all… so let me be!"
I go my way and stuff my tears;
I need a fix.

"My life don' need no referee…"
soon I'm adrift on lonely sea,
lost days and nights, now months and years
until I seek the help of peers
like you. I love this camaraderie;
eyes needed fixed.

© MLee Dickens'son 27 Oct 2006

at Broken Bottle Club Newners AA meeting

Deep Wounds

Deep wounds from long ago can feel
the agony its scars reveal
when they’re uncovered; you may find
hot tears, a whimper undefined
back then — from flashbacks very real.

Eye-smiles and gracious growth conceal
sharp pain that once had turned the wheel
of destiny to leave behind
deep wounds.

They’d burned and bled; He nudged the keel
in quiet, left his promised Seal —
discovered later to remind
us of His presence in the grind
of life, where He can ever heal
deep wounds.


© MLee Dickens’son 30 Nov 2006

for my Aunt Delores Wright Cole

Beautiful work Daniel. I love the teetering I read into this one.

Very powerful...

Hugs, Liz

Beautiful work Daniel. I love the teetering I read into this one.

Very powerful...

Hugs, Liz

Thanks much, Liz. Here's another one hot off the press from a challenge to use particular phrases:

Stuck to my Feet

I've tried to walk in lockstep, but
each sidewalk square has loomed to cut
my pace; light, heart-sown singing seed
could rarely germinate, and weeds
would grow. My songs fall on their butt.

A lyric moonlight loosed what's shut,
and words pour forth that fit somewhat.
They hound me, and though I've been treed,
I've tried to walk.

The word-swarms thickened, till my gut
could not contain the verbal glut.
I typed them out; some were indeed
revised by evening. Still, I plead
for help to lift me from my rut;
I've tried to walk.

© MLee Dickens'son 26 Dec 2006

Great work. I like the slight humorous phrases that hide away the more emotionally triggering meanings through out. Great end rhymes, fresh and still unnoticable. They go unforced.

As always Daniel, you have amazed me with your skill, talents and variety of subject matter... now if I can only get 2 lines together, I would finally have done a couplet... Oh this writers block has been cement mind... LOL

Hugs, Liz

In that case, Liz...

this is for you...


Concrete Lizard

My mind's cement and so complex;
it's composition seems to vex
my friends and family—even me.
Where is my creativity?
I try to write; my pen objects.

I guess with all those tiny flecks
of silicates, it meets the specs
of concrete; take out rocks, debris,
my mind’s cement.

I want it merely to annex
a little abstract; it subjects
me to a fight. Brain won't agree
unless I plead on bended knee
like it's tyrannosaurus rex.
My mind’s cement.

© MLee Dickens'son 30 Dec 2006

for Elizabeth D from her comment above.

HAHAAA... Thank You Daniel,
This is a treasure... and it is like you got a good look at my mind and pulled out the words!

Hugs, Liz ...

So Quickly

So quickly has the eagle spread
her wings to glide beyond his head
and leave behind this waddling duck
who quacked when she had lost her pluck
here molting... helped her look ahead.

He flaps his wings in honor, sheds
a tear of joy... but where he treads
e'en webbed feet slip upon its muck
so quickly.

He gains his balance; now he's steady,
shakes his feathers, looks ahead
then tries his flapping wings with pluck
to join his fellows who've been struck
by warming waters strewn with bread
so quickly.

© MLee Dickens'son 04 March 2007

Anime

An enema by any other name
is still an enemy to me; don’t maim
me with that putrid tea I must ingest
while lying down; how is it 'for the best'
your stuffing me to strains of La bohème ?

I will not take it lying down. A flame
of indignation burns inside; who’d blame
my flailing zest the way that I protest
an enema?

'You’re full of it,' you yell at me… and claim
that I’m upset for nothing… yet you aim
a dripping dildo where you’d rough undressed
my frame to my suggestions you’re possessed…
obsessed with showing me that you could tame
an enema.

© MLee Dickens'son 20 March 2007



Is Grief Good?

Good grief! I’m turning brown; I need
relief from stress. It does impede
my maturation; I’ve been stuck….
Am I the kind who’d pass a buck…
if it could be digested, I’d suck seed.

That Lucy made me turn to weed
while Snoop just watched, yet I would feed
their egos… and she called me Chuck.
Good grief!

Once higher than my kite, on speed,
I kicked a field goal… and I peed
all over Linus’ blanket, struck
a note on Schroeder – what a schmuck –
he pulled my string, and I was treed.
Good grief!

© MLee Dickens'son 20 March 2007

My Muse's Affair

My muse and I converged in preparing this expose which
relates ONLY to the experiences of my muse.

When once we met, that's me and you,
we thought of love and our love grew.
I thought of you as "honey bee",
how great it was, our jubilee.
When I would pucker, you would coo.

And so we bonded, just like glue.,
avowing ne'er to say "adieu".
You'd steam my shirt, I'd stir your stew,
when once we met...

And then He showed how he'd subdue...
My fickle heart went all askew.
So now it's he who's right for me.
Good-bye to you, I now must flee.
A cad am I, and now untrue,
since once we met...

I'm a little confused as to what's happened to whom here in the end... whether your muse or you... and what the gender of this muse is, if there indeed be a gender. I love what you're doing with this Ron. It's quite ingenious in my mind... but I'm just a bit confused in the ending ?

deLighting to see your rondeau, Daniel

[quote name='JustDaniel' date='Mar 21 07, 02:23 ' post='93180']
Anime

An enema by any other name
is still an enemy to me; don’t maim
me with that putrid tea I must ingest
while lying down; how is it 'for the best'
your stuffing me to strains of La bohème ?

I will not take it lying down. A flame
of indignation burns inside; who’d blame
my flailing zest the way that I protest
an enema?

'You’re full of it,' you yell at me… and claim
that I’m upset for nothing… yet you aim
a dripping dildo where you’d rough undressed
my frame to my suggestions you’re possessed…
obsessed with showing me that you could tame
an enema.

© MLee Dickens'son 20 March 2007



Love it!!! Hahahahaha

DEar Daniel,
Your range in subject matter continues to amaze. I'm constantly afraid you'll max out and destroy my smile-meter.
As to my muse, this was posted elsewhere I was the subject (fiction of course) but I changed the
pronouns and posted it here. I agree, I think of all cads as male and yet as posted , the cad is my female muse. I wondered how many might detect what you just have.
Cheers, ron jgd

Thank you, Kathy...

and thank you for the explanation, Ron. I'm glad I was indeed on the right page with you... and that the 'confusion' seems to have been purposed (as I suspected)...

As you know, I've been playing with rondeaux this month, so here's another one... that kind of describes both the creation of a rondeau and the participation of others in the process of creating poetry:


Learning by Doing

He’s learning by doing while others look on
who care to show patiently… cause light to dawn
in a way that will stick on his fingers so well
that he’ll drop by the pub on his way home to tell
some bloke how to write a rondeau, name o’ Sean.

He’ll have picked out his opening phrase; soon he’s drawn
a picture with movement while munching a prawn.
His pitcher of ale now becomes his inkwell;
he’s learning by doing.

Ol’ Sean gets excited as he looks upon
an image expanding as though his front lawn
were blossoming green on St. Paddy’s; the smell
of fresh heather and clover is starting to swell
inside that old pub. As his brain speaks with brawn,
he’s learning by doing.

© MLee Dickens'son 19 March 2007

Christmas Palette

In Santa’s fields his landscape’s lush
with nature’s snow and tints of blush --
breathe in frost’s air. Now paint the scene
with ornamental red and green;
a Christmas palette’s choral brush.

Open your heart, prepare to flush
those melancholy thoughts, just crush
the hand that holds that Scrooge-like dream,
in Santa’s fields.

Deck all pine trees before the rush
on Christmas Eve – forget to hush
because he rides, yes, sight unseen
with jingle bells and time machine!
It’s true! Believe! His world’s not slush --
in Santa’s fields.

Copyright © Lorraine M Kanter

Dear All,
The all who read this are not those I'm addressing!
The all I'm addressing are all those who have never discovered the joys of the rondeau and aren't likely to, things being as they are.

I recently was challenged by the greatest modern rondeau writer of them all, Just Daniel, at another site, to commit to writing one piece each 24 hours for a month. I'd been in the doldrums and considerating that no one could impress me more by his challenge than Daniel, I accepted it.

I've 3 to go to complete the challenge, and so I'm totally appreciative of J.D. for dispelling my doldrums. I usually have my daily piece written before breakfast.

Here is #23 (I write rondeaux on Wednesdays)

For she's too fat, she's off her feed.
A diet is the choice she'll heed.
She says the "cocktail" she likes best
she now has banned at doc's request.
To give up "drink" she has agreed.

Her oath, she says, she'll keep, indeed!
It seems so foreign from her creed.
Her normal quaff she must arrest
for she's too fat.

She's overweight, she will concede,
her bloated bod must now recede.
Though she's reformed, she's still a pest.
A "skeeter" she, by now you've guessed.
She's vegan vowed, my fear is freed! (?)
...for she's too fat!

ps- my 24th and 25th also deal with this skeeter- you can find them at poet's train, circadian addiction

Hi Ron,

I enjoyed reading this and find the challenge captivating. Hope I can muster some idea's to spark my muse to do it along with. What found most interesting is that the form, allowed you to write so much different than your marked style and meter.



Best Wishes, Liz

PS, I noticed your PS - You are always welcome to share them at MM as well.

Hi Ron,

What a fun Rondeau to read! Got a good chuckle over it! It's certainly an impressive challenge of JD's to write a poem a day, I can't even write one a month, !

Your pointer to Poem Train might not be read though since one must join the site to read the threads over there, FYI.

Cheers
~Cleo