Rondeau, Poetic Form Exercise Options

[Cleo_Serapis]

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.

[JustDaniel]

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

[Cleo_Serapis]

Wow Daniel!

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

~Cleo

[Cleo_Serapis]

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

[Cleo_Serapis]

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

[Guest_Cathy_*]

~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


.

[jgdittier]

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

[jgdittier]

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.

[JustDaniel]

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

[jgdittier]

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!

[JustDaniel]

...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 common Iambic Tetrameter 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

[Guest_Cathy_*]

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

[jgdittier]

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...

[Cleo_Serapis]

Well done Ron!

A loving tribute!

~Cleo

[JustDaniel]

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

[JustDaniel]

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

[Cleo_Serapis]

In Waiting Rooms

In waiting rooms you have no clue
what scenes your bouncing orbs may view,

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.

[JustDaniel]

When You See Rhyme

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.

© MLee Dickens'son 14 July 2006

[Cleo_Serapis]

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

[JustDaniel]

Thanks, Lori...

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

It’s easier to disappear
than face some conflict that I fear…
ignore a force that’s crushing me…
imagine that my life is free
inside a place where I can’t hear

the din or feel the atmosphere
of pain, or taste a salty tear,
hid snug beneath my willow tree.
It’s easier.

Reality, alas, has reared
its head, its teeth, blood-dripping beard
repeating, What will be will be…
Alive with hope against its sea
I’ll stand with you to watch it veer.
It’s easier.

© MLee Dickens'son 16 July 2006

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

[JustDaniel]

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

[Cleo_Serapis]

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

[JustDaniel]

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:
Those who know, that He who knows our grief
is there, know meaning.

© MLee Dickens'son 23 July 2006

[JustDaniel]

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

[JustDaniel]

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

[AMETHYST]

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

[Cleo_Serapis]

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

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

[JustDaniel]

Here's a kind of 'instructinal 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 your 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

[AMETHYST]

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

[AMETHYST]

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?

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

[JustDaniel]

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

[JustDaniel]

I's 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

[JustDaniel]

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

[AMETHYST]

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

Very powerful...

Hugs, Liz

[AMETHYST]

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

Very powerful...

Hugs, Liz

[JustDaniel]

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

[AMETHYST]

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.

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

[JustDaniel]

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.

[AMETHYST]

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 ...

[JustDaniel]

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

[JustDaniel]

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 bohčme ?

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…
could I digest it, 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

[jgdittier]

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...

[JustDaniel]

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

[Guest_Kathy_*]

[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 bohčme ?

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

[jgdittier]

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

[JustDaniel]

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

[Cleo_Serapis]

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

[jgdittier]

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

[AMETHYST]

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.

[Cleo_Serapis]

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

[JustDaniel]

Pure Words

To hear pure words of honest praise
can set a poet's heart ablaze
with confidence to write still more...
though all the world may yet ignore
or tell him that he must rephrase

what's viewed as ancient rhymed malaise:
Stop driving worn-out Chevrolets.
Rev these Mercedes; go full bore
to hear pure words.

When I return from cabernets
to lager beer, that newness grays;
I feel like I'd been with a whore...
turn back to write what I adore
and hope that someone's heart still prays
to hear pure words.

© MLee Dickens'son 28 Aug 2009

a riposte to Ron Jones' rondeau, Teaching Verse

[JustDaniel]

I'm just BUMPING this thread, so folks can see what a RONDEAU is, since Merlin has introduced us to what we will call a 'Short Rondeau', and several of us have been playing with it.

deLightingly, Daniel

[JustDaniel]

Corrected... Thanks, Larry!


No Ancient Rhyme

An ancient rhyme, for bards as I
melts into sky, so broad and high;
it stretches out ability
to grasp its meaning in a sea
of grand confusion ‘til I sigh…

Ah, why is it that I can’t fly
on wings of eagles? I hear my
sad flapping wings that can't foresee
an ancient rhyme.

E’en ducks will quack a swift Goodbye!
and leave me paddlin’ all awry
in puddled tears that mirror me
a feather-brained monstrosity
whose quills could ne’er attempt to ply
an ancient rhyme.

© MLee Dickens'son


Original S2L3: sad flapping wings that would belie

[Larry]

Hi Daniel,

I'm not great at writing "Rondeaux", having only written a few, but I noticed one tiny nit (is it okay to crit?). In L8, the end rhyme should be the same as L's 3 & 4. I'm sure you know this and it's a mere oversight. Suggest: "failed to be" in place of "would belie". TOT

I'm glad you brought this up to "present time" posts because of the great interest that seems to have blossomed with the "short rondeau". I'll have to write something or drop something old so that it will continue to stay current.

Larry

[JustDaniel]

Thanks for the correction, Larry. I've just posted a modification.

You might want to revisit your own 'short rondeaux' here in Karnak, as I have, since Eric made a correction in my incorrectly-observed description. Note that in the short version, L6 is to rhyme with the final fragment ( rentrement ). We'd both overlooked that.

deLighting in your careful observations, Daniel

[Larry]

A Slip of Faith

A way to cope that used to be,
collapsed into insanity
where convoluted lies abound
and truth, as such, is spun around
until its authenticity

is altered. The validity
of what is said confuses me
to the extent that I have found
a way to cope

in stolid equanimity.
I doubt that I shall ever be
so crass as to believe. Profound
enunciations may astound
but I’ll nod understandably
away, to cope.


Larry

Thanks Daniel!

[JustDaniel]

Hmmm... Good thoughts, Larry, but I think you forgot about the repletion of your FIRST WORDS in the opening line ??


First Words

First words must be repeated oft...
and even if at first they're scoffed
by progeny whom you would teach.
It oft takes time if you would reach
inside young hearts, to point aloft.

Imbue with truth piecemeal and broad;
the youthful mind is often flawed
and needs a nudge to open doors
with growing insight; it explores
first words.

Do not give up, and watch yourself
lest you be placed upon the shelf
for foolishness in your own life.
Grow deft to listen; stir less strife
reflecting back upon themselves
first words.

[Larry]

Hi Daniel,

Happy Thanksgiving and thanks for giving me a heads-up; I did forget because of my parts-hymers. I'll fix that as soon as I post this to you.

Larry

[Larry]

Mind-sight

Reflecting back upon the past
and all the things I felt would last
have dissipated in that time.
I live within a different clime
where normalcy leaves me aghast.

A world in which the insane rule
and life or death is just a tool
while truth is torn from trust. My eyes
reflecting back

upon the promise future held
did not reveal what life entailed
nor how morality might change.
No prayer or wish can rearrange
the past I knew. Those days are veiled…
reflecting back.

[Cleo_Serapis]

Wow Larry - an important, potent poem above. Thanks for penning it.

[Larry]

Hi Lori,

Thanks for the praise and for the read. It wouldn't have happened except for Daniel's last line before his refrain. I don't know if using the last line as a lead-in to the next post is a requisite in this venue but after reading it, the idea popped into my head and the poem just came out.

Again, Thanks,

Larry

[JustDaniel]

What does it mean?

What does it mean to please someone?
Do anything to get along?
or should I work to understand,
befriend, and try to lend a hand?
At times, the process won't be fun.

What pleases God? Look to His Son.
Attend His Word; know right from wrong.
What's PC? No! Seek true peace, and
What does it mean?

Is there something that will atone?
Can we talk on the telephone?
To reconcile's no magic wand;
relationships have shifting sand.
Ask God to guide; don't act alone.
What does it mean?

© MLee Dickens'son 2014

[Larry]

What Larry Saw

What Larry saw… Daniel’s request
was thought, at first, to be a jest
but asterisks, from one to three
meant some critique was asked of me
so off I ran at his behest.

“What does it mean” was not the best
Rondeau he’s written, I'd have guessed;
near rhyme and verse were metrically
what Larry saw.

Could this be ruse or just a test
from he whose tongue always caressed
his cheek? I guessed it was a plea
but I was wrong from “a” to “z”.
My brain’s shut down for I’ve confessed
what Larry saw.

S2/L2 did end with "probably"

Thanks for the heads-up Daniel.

[JustDaniel]

What Larry saw was quite correct.
It's not critique that I reject...
but that my thoughts were garbled so
that in this form they couldn't grow
the way that readers should expect.

What I had meant won't intersect
within this style, so I elect
to chuck it. It could undergo
what Larry saw.

Though his conception does reflect
a bit of mine; I can't perfect
what I had meant to say, although
there's value in what my Rondeau
had stumbled on. Who'll resurrect
what Larry saw?

[Larry]

I saw the endless meanings which
could be inferred with just a switch
when Daniel wanted to expound
on introspective thoughts. I found
he wanted help. With fever pitch,

I jumped right in to scratch his itch;
examining each nook and niche.
To ascertain where he was bound,
I saw the end

but it was not! So much more rich
in nuance I construed as glitch
and connotations too profound
to understand. I nearly drowned!
His explanations did bewitch.
I saw the end.

[Larry]

Within the swamp are brackish pools
where gators wait for food and fools
from towns and cities far away.
Sometimes they stumble in to stay
and ripen where the gator drools

but that’s not taught in any schools.
With knowledge and the proper tools
some folks can work or live and play
within the swamp.

My friend gets rich. He and his mules
go out to where bald cypress rules
and finds old sunken logs which pay
their weight in gold. Without decay
these fallen giants are nature’s jewels
within the swamp.

[JustDaniel]

Hey, Larry! Sorry I had not read your above piece somehow! Not sure what kept me away from this thread....

though perhaps it was my frustration with not being able to fit my thoughts in the piece a few entries back, within the rondeau format!

Here's one that I wrote in church this morning while the minister was preaching on the subject. [It's been some time since I've done that.] I had the opportunity actually to share it at the conclusion of his message before the closing worship and praise song... which is posted for critique in Hermes:


To Meet With God

To meet with God in worship, I
bow down to lift my voice and cry
out, Holy Lord... I know Your rod
of justice humbles me, who's flawed.
Your grace is in the morning sky.

I need Your Word so I'll apply
it to my heart and to You fly
with friends who meet, though we're too blah'd
to meet with God.

I say, Hello and do not lie,
I'm glad to see you! But I sigh,
I need some quiet to be awed...
a moment just to rest my bod.
I've mostly come here to draw nigh
to meet with God.

© MLeeDickensson 02 July 2017

during a sermon on Worship in church


P.S. Larry, perhaps you could post your gator piece in Hermes as well. I'd love to comment on it. I really like it!! It's definitely NOT a croc!

[Larry]

Shame on you Daniel. Not listening to the sermon! It is a beautiful Rondeau and perhaps was sent to you as a silent sermon from the Man upstairs.

Larry


My Home

I come here mostly to draw nigh
to folks who’ll help me to apply
my craft of writing poems and prose;
elsewhere might do but I compose
within these halls and wouldn’t try

to leave this place. I won’t say bye
for friends I’ve made; some few are nigh
who still remain. The rest; who knows?
I come here most

and probably, until I die
will write with wit though some is wry
but you may like it I suppose.
So everyone who visits knows
this is my home. Just read and sigh!
I come here most.


S2/L2 did end with: there’s lots of those

Thanks again Daniel.

[JustDaniel]

Wow, Larry!!

That is one of those that we post here occasionally that deserve a wider audience. PLEASE post it in Hermes Homilies.

By the way, there's no shame in my writing during the sermon. Some years ago a minister friend told me, I should just preach to you on Saturday and we could pass out your poem on Sunday to summarize what i'd have preached to them." LOL

deLighting in your rondeau. Perhaps I'll have a rejoinder later.

- Daniel

[Larry]

My Brain

My brain shut down in disbelief;
I thought their muse left with a thief
for no one came to crit or write
a poem or prose, this was despite
the members here who cause no grief.

Much like a dying tree, each leaf
is special here, they all bequeath
the forums where they will delight
my brain.

Am I now cast on desert reef
to dream of poems stacked like a sheaf
and realize it is my plight
to see the darkness of our night?
Please share before it’s pickled beef…
my brain.


S2/L2 did end: and could bedight

[Larry]

A Wakening

Awakening in foggy night
with grey, before the dawn brings light,
which chills ones soul and veils my eyes;
I hear their tears as each leaf cries
and falls to earth as though contrite.

Although each year it is the plight
of those who fall to earth, bedight
for nature rules and each one dies
awakening

the cycle as the chill winds bite
and bid each red and golden kite
a sad goodbye. Winter applies
an icy shroud of white disguise
‘til seeds of Spring begin their rite,
a wakening.



S2/L2 did read: try to reach the skies

One more correction to go!

[JustDaniel]

God's Presence

God's presence isn't how I feel,
that warmth when in the church I kneel,
the sentiment that's in my poems.
It's not some vision that becomes
a driving force, the Spirit's seal.

Is there some reason He'd conceal
Himself from me? why He'd not heal
me? ... then in quiet, sudden comes
God's presence.

The substance of His Word congeals;
I recognize my faith is real.
I see He's known me from the womb,
prepares for me a Heav'nly home.
Obeying Him is what reveals
God's presence.

© MLee Dickens'son 2017

during a sermon on the subject

[Larry]

Eternal Gifts

God’s presence felt when on my own
is something that I’ve always known
for I was raised in Christian school
where I was taught the golden rule
and breaking it I can’t condone.

His mercy He has ever shown
and without Him I'll not atone
if I forget that gracious tool;
God’s presence.

When I should die and soul has flown
to Heaven’s gate and it is thrown
wide open and I see the cool
home built for me, I know that You’ll
be there to greet me as Your own;
God’s presents.


S2/L2 did end with: I’m just a fool

[JustDaniel]

Gonna break the chain here, if you don't mind, Larry:


Dinker

He owned the neighborhood where we
transplanted him to South Jersey
from Florida. We'd left his sis
but didn't think that he would miss
her all that much, 'cause he loved me

He'd jump on anything he'd see
refrigerator, bird in tree
a mouse that he would give death's kiss
He owned the neighborhood

One mouse had the audacity
to be a warfarin causality
Dink’s neck became a giant cyst
but when he healed, could not resist
the squirrels, the mice, a bird in tree
He owned the neighborhood

© MLee Dickens’son 07 July 2018

[Larry]

Daniel,

As noted in Hermes, S3/L1.

Seeing as how Karnak is our playground, you can break as many strings as you wish.

Larry

p.s. What "Groups" do you belong to in AP? I haven't joined one yet and am not sure how to do so.

[JustDaniel]

Thanks, Larry. Corrected... I only belong to Brevity Lovers. I dropped out of a couple of others for lack of participation. I'm also gonna find another short poem group methinks. Nice to see Doug there on the site. Have you caught up with him? (D Allen Jenkins) - deLightingly, Daniel

[Larry]

Hey Daniel,
I joined Brevity Lovers and found a link to your Faux-ku string. I recognized a few but not all.
Didn't find or look for Doug but I'll do so. I've been busy having to comment on two or three inane and disconnected prose offerings devoid of logical meaning for every poem I post. Of course, I can't say that at AP so I diligently search for any kind of rhyming form poetry to leave my comments. They are few and far between. It is nice to have people around though.
The experiment continues.

Larry

[Larry]

My Neighborhood

The neighborhood where I reside
is in the woods where one can hide
away from fools who walk this earth.
It always brings me joy and mirth;
the neighborhood, a great outside.

It’s full of trees where birds abide
and in the morning I can stride
through small game trails, there is no dearth;
the neighborhood

consists of me and my sweet bride,
a dog and four grown cats that tried
to scare a mother coon of girth
and her new kits; now grown from birth.
Our pets realize they can't divide
the neighborhood!

[Larry]

Now Grown

Now grown; from birth I never knew
what to expect, what would ensue
as each year passed. There was no guide
on steps to take until one died.
Yet, somehow, I have made it through

my life of seventy plus two
but still, unsure. What must I do
to know my best has been applied
now grown?

Shall I, with words and deeds, imbue
a testament of what is true
or actions which must be applied
each day? I’ll just let you decide
if I have touched hearts of a few,
now grown.

[JustDaniel]

On New Year’s Eve

On New Year’s Eve we bid adieu
to one more year and start anew
with or without a plan to grow...
or slip downhill, or just plateau.
Don’t stumble on without a clue.

Let’s take the time for heart-review,
resolve to fix what's gone askew.
One way or other, we’ll let go
on New Year’s Eve.

Millennia fade out of view
with lessons learned… some thought untrue;
they’re posed again so we may know
Someone still cares for us below.
Which course will we aim to pursue
on New Year’s Eve?

© MLee Dickens'son 14 Dec 2018

[Larry]

Tomorrow

Tomorrow will be Christmas day
when those of faith kneel down and pray;
give thanks to God who sent his Son
and celebrate the chosen One
Who rose from death to show the way.

His effigies are on display
in stores where people shop and pay
until their buying has been done
tomorrow.

Why there is greed in each foray?
I do not know and couldn’t say
that they were out there having fun
but back to stores they all will run
returning gifts then shop EBay
tomorrow.

[JustDaniel]

He Groans

He groans about his poetry
and wonders if someone will see
its value; who'll appreciate?
Some lines they love, but others hate.
Some change from heir to aujourd'hui.

A fickle public's not the key
to writing -- not for you or me.
It's for ourselves to write, create
the groans.

We love to play with words to be
our entertainment; you'll agree
that's what we like. It won't abate.
Not all who read demodulate
our humor. "What will be will be,"
he groans.

© MLee Dickens’son 26 Dec 2018
(Daniel J Ricketts)

[Larry]

Our Humor

Our humor is but for a few
while others never will construe
the underlying meanings of
its messages. They’re far above
their heads and fly out in the blue.

If placing hands on heads might do
then there’s a chance they’d catch a few
of innuendoes, then they’d love
our humor.

But my impressions are quite true
that things we write will not imbue
them with the knowledge of a dove.
Perhaps they’d trap, with net or glove,
or maybe they'd just have to glue
our humor.

[JustDaniel]

Our trap is baited carefully
with words that readers do not see
until they're coming back again
to ask them where their minds have been;
we tell them that the laughter's free.

Some folks don't like our foolin' thee
with double-meaning designee
who's innocently courtesan
to show the unsuspecting man
our trap.

Still others tire of our degree
of plays on words, and most agree
we play the role of handymen
when we could be like Groupe Beauchesne.
Duct tape, they say, should referee
our trap.

© MLee Dickens’son 28 Dec 2018
(Daniel J Ricketts)



P.S. Larry, take a look back at some of your latest rondeaux, and you'll see that you've left off an A-Rhyme line before the final rentrement.

[Larry]

Hey Daniel,
Thanks for the heads-up on the final "A" rhyme. I've gone back and corrected all I could find so, hopefully, they are now proper Rondeau.

Larry

I'll get back to you soon with my next one.

[Larry]

Duct Tape

Duct tape is what we should have used
on those who came and then refused
to lend a hand with some critique.
A little help is not unique
and I don’t think it leaves you bruised.

We know a few of you perused
the poems and prose but then you cruised
off to another site to seek
duct tape.

You probably were not amused
with what you found. You left confused
and now you’re lost or up the creek
without a paddle; things look bleak.
You’re stuck and possibly accused
duct tape.

[Larry]

Missing Links

You’re stuck with phrases in your head
that will not coalesce, instead
they skitter into shadows where
your synapses can’t find them there
and figure out why they have fled.

They speak to you while you’re in bed
but memories of what was said
are gone and so you cannot share;
you’re stuck.

It’s not so much your muse is dead
or that your need to write has led
you down a path with words to spare.
Within that empty darkness, stare
at thoughts you merely wish to wed;
you’re stuck.

[JustDaniel]

wild horses in early morning sun

In early morning sun they splash
unchecked by bridle, bit nor sash.
While most of us are sound asleep
they gallop, saunter, bound and leap
consuming energy they've cached

enjoying freedom as they thrash
through shallow waters – skip and dash
near shore where water’s not so deep
in early morning sun.

And as they run, they seldom clash
nor fight nor snarl with teeth that gnash
They’ve no appointments they must keep
so joy in leisure as they sweep
the beach and simply have a bash
in early morning sun.


© MLee Dickens’son 2022
Daniel J Ricketts

[Larry]

So Long

It’s been so long since I did write
of anything that wasn’t trite
yet here, you drag me to the fore
with something which I can’t ignore
and goad me from my mental plight.

Your mentioned steeds I would bedight
to view their beauty; feel their might
is venture I would love, adore.
It’s been so long.

Though I still rue each day and night
where life and love have taken flight;
the joys and freedoms you explore
have pierced my anguish to the core.
Your words now guide me to the light.
It’s been so long!

[JustDaniel]

in mountin' solitude

In mountain solitude in spring
midst fragrances the winds may bring
from secrets in the forest hid
where no one comes who may forbid
the chants and songs I choose to sing

Beside the river, squandering
my time, I fish while pondering
what I will catch with baited squid
in mountain solitude

I will retreat till autumn, clinging
hold of strains sweet birds are singing
cloudy days or clear out here amid
my wildlife friends, off of the grid…
six months to rest on my porch swing
in mountain solitude


© MLee Dickens’son 2022
Daniel J Ricketts

[Larry]

Each Day

Each day is spent in solitude
with no respite to change my mood.
I do, however, thankfully
feel blessed for moments given me
until that final interlude.

It seems no thoughts or words intrude
except profanity; too crude
to even whisper silently
each day.

Perhaps, His plan I’ve misconstrued
so now I pray for fortitude
and peace; His gift that’s given free
so I may view the panoply
of love I shared with one I wooed
each day.

[JustDaniel]

I love this place… a sanctuary


I love this place you've chosen for
your domicile, and I adore
your Spirit's presence every day
I visit here. It is your way
to hug when we come through the door.

I'd had no home like this before
I came... discovered your Amour.
There's little more that I can say.
I love this place!

Before I came I was at war
within myself, would self-abhor
unknowingly. I'd gone astray
but chose to do it anyway.
Found here your love... and want it more.
I love this place!



© MLee Dickens’son
Daniel J Ricketts

a reflection on Psalm 26:6 - "Lord I love the house where you live, the place where your glory dwells."

[Larry]

Although I Do

Although I do appreciate
the scenic views I have of late,
as autumn’s blazing colors scheme
to bless sad eyes; the tears still stream
upon my overflowing plate.

The holidays to come create
no joy. I know I shouldn’t hate
each night and its recurrent dream
although I do.

My friends and relatives all state
that life goes on; they can’t relate
to all the emptiness. They seem
to disregard each silent scream.
No one should suffer such a fate,
although I do.

[JustDaniel]

Unto us a Child is Born

For unto us a Child is born
among a people long forlorn;
in darkness there's a sudden Light.
He offers hope amid our plight.
Messiah's come as God had sworn.

Now see the names that He has borne:
"Great Couns'lor," "Mighty God." He's worn
the Crown of Peace, an Israelite –
come unto us a Child.

"The Everlasting God," here shorn
of dignity, He'd bear the scorn
of coming kings, yet would ignite
a world-wide fire that would unite
the penitents who now adorn
Him come to us a Child.


© MLee Dickens’son 2022
Daniel J Ricketts

from Isaiah 9:6

[Larry]

Daniel, I wanted to thank you for your wonderful Rondeau paraphrasing Isiah 9:6. This passage of scripture has been one of my favorites for a long time. I have participated in a number of choirs performing Handel's Messiah and after reading your piece, I had to go on YouTube and enjoyed listening to both the Sydney Opera House's rendition as well as the Tabernacle Choir's performance. Both brought tears to my eyes and a smile to my face. Thank you for sharing your talents and your poem.

Larry

[JustDaniel]

I'm deeply gratified by your response, Larry... and SO pleased that you took that opportunity to hear that beautiful music and rejoice in our Savior. deLightingly, Daniel

[Larry]

I’ve Started

I’ve started cleaning up my yard
and though I’m old it’s not too hard
to pick up limbs and cut up trees
that are remains of Ida’s lees.
Although I can’t get every shard

by raking, I know I must guard
against some pains as if I’ve sparred.
There’s no one here to hear the pleas
I’ve started.

A springtime view is my reward
if it looks like a greeting card
but winter’s here with chilling breeze.
Would that it stopped before I freeze
and my short tale’s a mere canard
I’ve started.

[JustDaniel]

The spring will come

The spring will come before too long
though you'll still wear more than a thong
when you're outside... at least I think!
Besides, your skin will still be pink.
Revealing that much might be wrong.

We're neither of us quite as young
and we once were among the throng
of kids inside the skating rink.
The spring will come

to let us out where we belong.
I trust you won't don your sarong
'cause folks will think you're on the brink
of loony, throw you in the clink
and winter, that for you'd prolong.
The spring will come.


© MLee Dickens’son 2023
Daniel J Ricketts

[JustDaniel]

After fifty-five years, can't recall
all the details. Was not at the mall
but at Clearwater Beach in my car.
I pulled over, got out my guitar...
no I didn't, just asked with a drawl,

"Will ya marry me, girl?" That was all!
She said yes without even a stall.
And it doesn't at all seem bizarre
after fifty-five years.

We went shopping for rings, had a ball.
Quarter-carat for her; that was all
could afford at the time. Students are
not the richest young people by far.
Summer marriage... and she's still a doll
after fifty-five years.


© MLee Dickens’son 2023
Daniel J Ricketts

[Larry]

I’ve Tried

I’ve tried three times after I’d fought
in Viet Nam; true love I sought
to heal my heart and mind. A bride;
both friend and lover by my side
forevermore as I’d been taught.

First two, we went to shop and bought
fine rings of gold with diamonds wrought
to pledge our vows. Those were denied!
I’ve tried.

It seemed, each time, my search was fraught
with broken dreams. Success was naught
but tears and prayers. God’s hand supplied
an angel in my life to guide
and share the happiness she brought.
I’ve tried!