The rondel is yet another short poetic form that evolved from the songs of medieval French troubadours, using repeated refrain lines to create a circular motion in the poem so that it wraps back around itself. The word “rondel” comes from the French for “little round,” and the French rondel is a fixed form of 13 lines, arranged in two quatrains and a quintet (or in the case of the 14-line rondel prime, two quatrains and a sestet). The first two lines of the first quatrain are the refrain, repeated as the last two lines of the second and third stanzas, and the whole poem uses only two rhymes, following ABba abAB abbaA. The capital letters are the refrains, or repeats.
WALT’S CIRCUIT:
This past Saturday I had attended our 40th Reunion of the Class of 1974 from my alma mater, Lackawanna High School. The response and celebration was wonderful, and seeing old friends and even meeting some classmates for the first time, forty years after we had graduated made for a memorable night. So, inspired by that milestone, here is my Rondel:
REUNION RONDEL
Forty years of memories held dear
as time had found a way to rocket by,
and classmates came to gather with a sigh,
amazed at how quickly that special day drew near.
Familiar faces framed in hues of grey and sere,
wistful eyes that squint to an azure sky,
forty years of memories held dear
as time had found a way to rocket by.
Reunited amidst the hugs and cheers,
friendships that had strengthened by-and-by;
these men and women bound in lifelong ties.
We’ll hold these moments long past leaving here.
Forty years of memories held dear.
© Walter J Wojtanik, 2014
POETIC BLOOMINGS 
Responses
A happy Rondel, Walt. I’ve moved around too much ever to have attended a school reunion, but I can imagine yours.
I love this, Walt! My 40th is next year – and if it’s anything like your poem, we’re in for a wonderful time! 😀
Never been to any of my reunions… yours sounds like it was fun.
Tom Malone
Tom Malone was a handsome man
and all the lassies loved his grin
made the lads want to sock his chin
he just laughed and away he ran
right to the arms of bonny Anne
then kissed the lips of Lady Gwyn.
Tom Malone was a handsome man
and all the lassies loved his grin
Anne clipped him with an iron pan
and swept his teeth into the bin
toothless he was to his chagrin…
though when he didn’t smile a span
Tom Malone was a handsome man.
Ah, this sounds pure folk Irish.
Indeed it does. I want to sing, “Hay nahnie nahnie nah!” after each stanza. Well done!
fun, fun, fun!
You wove a humorous tale here, Debi! Fun one!
probably “woven” 😉
Love this, Debi. It’s like an Irish folk tale.
TROUBADOUR
I sing a song of ancient days,
when knights were bright and love was pure;
I sing of one whose sole allure
was beauty, manifest in ways
more numerous than sun-shone rays
that grace a vale as if on tour.
I sing a song of ancient days,
when knights were bright and love was pure
and lovers, lost in life’s great plays,
were wont to revel, swift and sure,
to confound primogeniture.
And so, with might that might amaze,
I sing a song of ancient days.
copyright 2014, William Preston
Ah, you are a true troubadour!
primogeniture – had to look it up – cool word. I agree with RJ. I can see you in your velvet cap and poufy short pants strumming your lute.
What a troubadour you are, William. I love the rhythm of this.
It’s good that those ties are lifelong, Walt, and your poem captures well the depth of that feeling.
The Monsters
The monsters messed around with me
They leered and grinned and sang a song
The tune was off, the words were wrong
They danced about too clumsily
They stomped upon my self esteem
And shattered feelings like a gong
The monsters messed around with me
They leered and grinned and sang a song
They told me lies convincingly
They said the storms would last too long
I looked to whom I do belong
And in the end they had to flee
The monsters messed around with me
oh, Connie, one of my favorites of yours. I can identify
This feels like a triumph, in the end. I love it.
What a greeat party we had tonight
Sorry if I sound a little high
It’s just that I hate to say good-bye
A cup of black coffee and I’ll be all right.
Big grin here.
It’s good to get together now and then
Like in the old days, remembering when
Life was so simple, we didn;t care
we thought our friends would always be there
We believed we could go on
without a care.
Lots of nostalgia and truth here. I love it.
Walt, I’ve always been afraid of my class reunions. I’m so glad you enjoyed yours.
SEASONED CHOREOGRAPHY
As gently falling autumn leaves
begin their final dance,
their fascinating tale enchants,
though subtly deceives.
A complicated story weaves
throughout the yard’s expanse
as gently falling autumn leaves
begin their final dance.
In graceful moves, each leaf conceives
to hold us in a trance.
With this ballet we see, perchance,
more than the eye perceives
as gently falling autumn leaves.
© Susan Schoeffield
I love the dream-like quality of this; it’s almost otherworldly, in my view.
It does have a gentle, peaceful feel.
I so enjoy watching the leaves fall and you’ve gathered in this dance in words well, Susan!
ah, the essence of fall. I was looking out at the green leaves on the tree by my window, and wondered when the leaves will change. . .
A perfect lullaby for Autumn!
AN AUTUMN REVERIE
The grapes are purple once again
and asters vie with goldenrod;
the rains have softened down the sod
with sounds that seemed to say, “amen.”
Now orange glows where green had been
and hostas all have gone to pod;
the grapes are purple once again
and asters vie with goldenrod
as sunset shimmers on the fen
and I, like grasses, start to nod
as all creation hails its god
in autumn, as it should, for then
the grapes are purple once again.
copyright 2014, William Preston
the grapes are purple once again
and asters vie with goldenrod… love that
Oh, William…sigh…you worked magic of this…a song for autumn, so beautiful.
I loved the comparison of the grapes, asters, and goldenrod. Left a beautiful picture I my mind.
[…] for the 9/10/14 prompt at Creative Bloomings “Inform Poets” to write a Rondel […]
A RONDEL THAT WARNS
OF DECEIT
Listen to your heart, true words so sweetly
Told in quiet moments, the whispered voice
You can depend upon. You have a choice.
You can pretend that love comes easily,
Each new affair a reason to rejoice.
Listen to your heart, true words so sweetly
Told in quiet moments, the whispered voice.
Think before you give yourself too freely.
Beware deceit by those whose love destroys.
When love is false, what reason to rejoice?
Listen to your heart, those words so sweetly
Told in quiet moments, the whispered voice
You can depend upon. You have a choice.
#
True story, Sal and given so clearly and poignantly.
the whispered voice You can depend upon. You have a choice… nice, Sal, now if they will just listen to the voice.
This is profound, in my view, especially, “When love is false, what reason to rejoice?”
This poem makes me sad. I feel deeply, unexpectedly, wholeheartedly, in love last year. And then learned the man courting me was married.
[…] Bloomings – INFORM POETS – RONDEL The rondel is yet another short poetic form that evolved from the songs of medieval French […]
The Loop
On this path I’d rambled every day for a week
with eyes alert for roots and stones
I barely took notice of fauna or pinecones,
hoping to avert a fall with accidental feet.
In preparation for the great-granite-peak
with boots to break – I’ve delved into a hiking zone
on this path I’d rambled every day for a week,
with eyes alert for roots and stones.
After miles on this trail, suddenly I see…
now I’ve mastered balance my eyes may roam –
I visually gather all these bits I’ve missed in earthen loam;
round a small turn – surprise – a snowy mushroom speaks,
on this path I’d rambled every day for a week.
Copyright © Hannah Gosselin 2014
now I’ve mastered balance my eyes may roam – Sounds like a wonderful hike.
I love this, especially its appreciation for the unexpected.
a lovely walk and poem . . .and I understand “accidental feet”!
Excellent poem, Walt!
New Love
When he spoke of love so gallantly,
she could feel her melting heart
beating wildly like the start
of drumbeats from a melody.
He took her hand, as if in reverie,
of his soul, she felt a part.
When he spoke of love so gallantly,
she could feel her melting heart.
He pledged his love tenderly,
like a lovely work of art.
Nothing would tear them apart.
She thought herself in a fantasy,
when he spoke of love so gallantly.
Exactly the right images for the feelings of new love.
Thanks, Debi!
I love this, and am intrigued by the penultimate line. What if it is a fantasy?
Thanks so much, William. So funny that you mentioned that line. Originally, I had it reading . . .she knew this was no fairy tale . .
oh, how well you captured the rapture of new love.
Thanks, Darlene!
A Sea Rondel
You can sense its myth, and smell its sprit
before you hear its cello band
its eager roll to meet the sand
helter skelter rows half slit
Excitedly with open mitts
it brings its salt to shifting sands
you can sense its myth, and smell its sprit
before you hear its cello band
A rolling journey waving splits
wagging, bragging, grabbing strands
slobbering some happy hands
no hanging on, reversing knits
you can sense its myth, and smell its sprit
The word choices convey the feeling of swells and waves. Wonderful.
I want to wash my feet in the waves. . .love it
Agree with William about the word choices. Beautiful.
DREAMS
Not so long ago, what dreams were mine
When days were long and years, forever
Love and words and music together stir
With such ingredients, my future must shine
I packed my hopes in a box of cedar
And added trinkets found along the line
Not so long ago, what dreams were mine
When days were long and years, forever
The flavors changed, soaked in brine
Mixed anew by God’s egg-beater
My birthday cake adds one new layer
Undone, revised, what taste divine
Not so long ago, what dreams were mine