[stylist] try at a rondeau

[Barbara Hammel]

Well, your first attempt was better than mine in form.
Sometimes don't you wish you could hold other people's memories and 
knowledge in your own brain so you could write beyond your own stuff?
Barbara




Poetry is an echo, asking a shadow to dance. -- Carl Sandburg
-----Original Message----- 
From: Jacobson, Shawn D
Sent: Tuesday, January 22, 2013 9:29 AM
To: 'Writer's Division Mailing List'
Subject: Re: [stylist] try at a rondeau

OK

Here's my first attempt at a rondeau.

Shawn

The man from space
by Shawn Jacobson

The man from space is hard to love
His dear ones cry to God above,
he will not share with me my sight.
He sees the world in alien light
this light from him you’ll want to shove.

When his hands reach for you in love,
they will not fit into your glove.
He may not find you in darkest night.
The man from space

Were you as winged as a dove
you might fly with him above
and see with new and wondrous sight
His own rhelm so sky like bright.
Then finally you’d learn to love
the man from space.

-----Original Message-----
From: stylist [mailto:stylist-bounces at nfbnet.org] On Behalf Of Barbara 
Hammel
Sent: Sunday, January 06, 2013 10:48 PM
To: stylist at nfbnet.org
Subject: [stylist] try at a rondeau

Okay, here’s my first attempt at a rondeau.  I think it’s terrible and 
something is wrong with it but I can’t figure out how to fix it.

A rondeau is a fifteen-line poem, each line generally consisting of eight 
syllables but that’s not set in stone.  The rhyme scheme is: quintet is a a 
b b a, quatrain is a a b r(efrain wich is the beginning of line one), the 
sestet is a a b b a r.
First of all, I started out with perfect rhyme but ran out of wrods – this 
would be the end words: sorrow, tomorrow, borrow, marrow and burrow.  Does 
this detract from it as much as I think it does?
Well, here’s the poem, and I’ll attach it, too.
Barbara


     PIECES



PIECES of the rainbow lie there,

Bits of color everywhere,

Fragments of forgotten sorrow,

Shards of hopes for joys tomorrow,

>From darkest blues to pinks so fair.



Once, this rainbow graced the air,

A shimmering arc with shine to spare,

Plenty of hues one could borrow,

Pieces of the rainbow.



But gravity was wont to share,

So grabbed the whole without a care,

And buried it within Earth's marrow,

Shattering it in its burrow,

A puzzle seeming past repair.

Pieces of the rainbow.






Poetry is an echo, asking a shadow to dance. -- Carl Sandburg
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