The Rondeau

photgraphs by D.R. Wagner

First: The prompt for the assignment then we will look at what everyone did with the form

The rondeau is a form of verse also used in English language poetry. It makes use of refrains, repeated according to a certain stylized pattern. It was customarily regarded as a challenge to arrange for these refrains to contribute to the meaning of the poem in as succinct and poignant a manner as possible. The rondeau consists of thirteen lines of eight syllables, plus two refrains (which are half lines, each of four syllables), employing, altogether, only three rhymes. It has three stanzas and its rhyme scheme is as follows: (1) A A B B A (2) A A B with refrain: C (3) A A B B A with concluding refrain C. The refrain must be identical with the beginning of the first line.

IN FLANDERS FIELDS
by John McCrae:
In Flanders fields the poppies grow
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.

We Wear the Mask

Paul Lawrence Dunbar (1872-1906)

We wear the mask that grins and lies,
It hides our cheeks and shades our eyes,
This debt we pay to human guile;
With torn and bleeding hearts we smile,
And mouth with myriad subtleties
Why should the world be over-wise
In counting all our tears and sighs?
Nay, let them only see up, while
We wear the mask
We smile, but, O great Christ, our cries
To thee from tortured souls arise.
We sing, but oh the clay is vile
Beneath our feet, and long the mile;
But let the world dream otherwise,
We wear the mask!

The challenge of writing a rondeau is finding an opening line worth repeating and choosing two rhyme sounds that offer enough word choices. Modern rondeaus are often playful; for example, "Rondel" by Frank O’Hara begins with this mysterious directive: "Door of America, mention my fear to the cigars," which becomes the poem’s refrain.

Here is the student work: Not everyone is represented but they eventually will be

-Dillon Shaw

I need to be alone

I need to be alone, you see

Some time to explore why I'm me

For too long I've relied on you

On my own I don't know what's true

That's why when you approach I flee

I need some time for discovery

It's time I made a recovery

So please don't be so sad and blue

I need to be

I once thought we fit to a tee

I know now that I was crazy

We both need to find something new

Where to go next I have no clue

All I know is that I'm lonely

I need to be

Lynn Park

This is our feast

In this dry, sun-scorched land, we scramble with busy feet

If you ask us why we run, we’ll say we are preparing to eat

Fruit galore, potatoes and steaks

What’s for desserts? Perhaps lemon cake

Brownies with frosting, sugared and sweet

Aroma of juicy steaks, we smell on the street

People stop and ask us, ”Is there some kind of meat?”

Of course, of course, join us and take a break

This is our feast

With smiles and welcomes, heartwarmingly we greet

Such feast in this weather, Isn’t this neat?

Savor the taste, don’t worry about a stomachache!

This is the reason why we grill and bake

Rejuvenate and feed all the hungry to meet

This is our feast

-

Salena Huang

On Our Journey

On our journey as we set sail,

Leaving behind our old dirt trail

Our desire to go and explore,

What lies under the ocean floor

Is on a whole different scale.

Rest assured it won't be junk mail,

For we refuse to concede fail

Upon our grim graves we last swore.

On our journey,

After months the food had turned stale,

Our complexion turned sheet-white pale,

The days passed we couldn't keep score

Before we returned back to shore.

For I can't go in more detail,

On our journey.

Zeeniya Yahiya

When I see you. . .

When I see you the world seems a little brighter

The sun grins and the clouds soar a little higher

Every scar and every tear becomes worthwhile

The snow drops melt at the sight of your smile

My heart, in your arms, feels a lot lighter

I forget the world as you hug me tighter

I look in your eyes and every moment feels sweeter

It fades it vanishes, even an obstacle most vile

When I see you.

The mid-spring white rose blooms a little prettier

And the summer night breeze swirls a little warmer

With you, I would go the extra mile

Your sincere soft kisses make this ride worthwhile

The dark clouds withdraw and the sky is clearer

When I see you.

Nancy Pulciano

Peaceful was the water

Peaceful was the water, pretty and blue.
A knowledge provided to very few.
How I wished to be the wave,
crashing down so brave.
Like a love I once knew,
a love that was true.
But now it’s an apathetic stew,
tasting bitter and grave.
Peaceful was the water.
A peace so profound and new.
Envious was I of the water’s hues.
Happiness it gave
to those who always quave,
from a love as I still do.
Peaceful was the water.

Kate DeCoste

WE COVER OUR FACES

We cover our faces to hide our eyes

Swollen with tears and angered with lies

Cornered within, we watch in denial

A blond little boy who can't even smile

In truth we know, no one denies

He's different, not normal, the truth we despise

But even though there's lows, there's gonna be highs

We just have to wait awhile

We cover our faces

Because it's too hard otherwise

To watch as he cries

One more step, just to make the mile

He will always have one more, to pass the smallest trial

In the mean time we wait and hope to grow wise

We cover our faces

Gregory Tam

By The Lakeside

By the lakeside the people lay

Beautiful view just like the bay

The flowers continue to grow

Spring is a-coming, that we know

The rocks by the lakeside are grey

Simple, but they reside with grace

Some fallen branches rest sideways

Fish in the lake swim fast below

By the lakeside

There is an elegant cafe

Sailboats in the lake slightly sway

Reflections of the mountain snow

Above the lake a bright rainbow

Many children come out to play

By the lakeside

WHERE THERE'S SMOKE

photographs by D.R. Wagner

Kathy Kieth the editor/publisher of Rattlesnake Press visited the class a week ago. The students were asked to write and submit a poem to the 'Seed of the Week' feature at http;//medusaskitchen.blogspot.com on the subject...Where There's Smoke...

Here are the results.

Dillon Shaw

I actually sent in two separate poems in response to the "where there's smoke" prompt

Where there's smoke

there are children

whose mothers left nothing

but asthma and tears

***

I savor the smoke, so ashy and dry

I remind myself it's the last one

Yesterday I smoked because I wanted to die

Today I stop because of my son

A cowardly way for a man to go

I recall it only with shame

The delicious poison lifted my woe

And promised a death free of blame

But today is the last sweetness I puff

For I now have a child to rear

Living is hard but it is enough

To have beautiful new life grow near

Nancy Pulciano

not only sent the smoke poem but all these others as well.

Where the smoke comes from…

Haven’t you heard?
Everyone knows.
Everyone knows-
Where the smoke comes from.

Talons and teeth
scales and rage
dated from history’s page.
A medieval dragon named Groth.

Don’t get him mad
He’ll surely blow
and you will know
because his eyes will begin to squint.

His temper will tip,
his nose will scrunch,
his lips will bunch,
he will hiss and flash white, white teeth

Then out of his mouth
or maybe his nose,
fire will burst like a lovely rose.
And then you will see.

Where the smoke comes from.

The hills were golden:

And the hills were golden

And the children would play

And the birds would sing

And the sky would open

And the trees would sway

And the wind would whistle

And the grass would tickle

And the acorn would fall

And the squirrels would chase

And the flower would blossom

And the night would come

And the stars would twinkle

And the dawn would break

And the sun would yawn

And the hills would glisten

And the dream couldn't wait

Cause none of this happened

but the hills were golden on

this dark and gloomy day

Bitterness Bites:

The bitterness bites at me.

Another day not happy to say,

nonetheless a bitter Monday.

I cried in the shower on one knee.

Asking for forgiveness,

begging for a plea.

I cried silently.

But nobody came or answered

my call. The bitterness bites at me;

like an unripe persimmon

teasing my tongue.

And bitter is my heart,

nothing more than a bird.

trapped in my ribs:

its cage.

But nonetheless,

it was nothing more than a bitter day.

Raindrops:

The sky is crying, putting a dampness on my page.

I can barely write with the weather's new profound rage.

The wind is drying out my eyes

and pushing tears on my face.

Looking up

I yell with contempt,

"I won't cry as well".

Lightning strikes profusely

A quick reaction in response.

I have no choice but to remain.

Dwelling in the skies sadness.

Sadness of my own won't manifest today.

Rain drops fell from my eyes only to sympathize with the pain.

Life's waiting room:

It was half past two

and we sat there

we sat there in life's waiting room.

I can't remember who was talking

my focus was on me and you,

and the sea foam blue

that brushed the walls.

we just sat there.

you held my hand.

like our eyes held the distant light

it was far and near but ever so bright.

there was life and death

all balanced on a rope pulled so tight

The clock stroke three

and its just me

the chairs all left and all I see

the blinding light that couldn't wait

I felt your touch

And when I opened my eyes

You weren't there.

I left life's waiting room.

Thoughts about love:

I once experienced love.

there is a difference, not infatuation.

Here I can describe it:

It's a burden.

Everyone holds the burden.

but once love is felt,

the burden will be lifted.

Lovers will be so free.

So free they will have no idea what to do with themselves.

That is why I write about love.

Where there’s smoke. . .

Zeeniya Yahiya

Where there is smoke

There is fire

The red, yellow flames soaring with desire

As the smoke attempts to reach

The blinking glittery stars

The night is vast, mystic and inviting

The heat of the flames

Combined with the heat of our love

Is at war with the cool night breeze

The embers trickle away

Cackling, as if mocking, yet approving

The rhythm of the embers and the fire that rises

Sweet harmony in our ears

Where there is smoke

There is fire

And two bodies in love, in desire.

Lynn Park

When there's smoke..

my mother's cooking fish

the aroma fills the kitchen

sniffing and water at the mouth

when there's too much smoke,

smoke detector starts beeping

we scramble around and panic

fan and blanket at the fire

when there's finally no smoke,

that's when we gather together

have a nice meal with each other

with a smile and the fish on our plates

***

Errin Hadnot

Where There's Smoke

It's winter-time,

cold wind blows,

in an empty room

nothing but a fire place and I,

chills run up my spine

causing goosebumps to arise.

Flip the switch,

turning the blazing flames on,

where there's smoke,

in the red brick chimney.

***

Salena Huang

Where There's Smoke

Where does my mind travel?

When I am forcefully caught

Helplessly planted in the gravel

And held hostage past the lot

What I remember becomes a fog

My adrenaline pumps and

My eyes peeled shut like a dysfunctional cog

To my surprise, I see a hand

As it have never looked so reliable

I reached out with all my strength

A determined grasp was undeniable

Just grateful for going to such lengths

The smoke was thick and unbearable

The smoke left everything incomparable

***

Allison Ferrini

Where there’s smoke

Where there’s smoke

There’s friction between bodies

Hot flame breath

There’s skin burning

Love and lust and heat

Wrapped around your ribs

Where there’s smoke

There’s dust

Gaunt coyotes and insanity

Parched brush

Scorching sand and talking skulls

Insincere sun tattooed onto flesh

Where there’s smoke

There’s explosions

Plumes of Armageddon

Missiles through the sky

Bright gun flashes

And shiny beetle helmets

Where there’s smoke

There’s history

Ancient battles lost

Gods dueling, mortal devastation

A heart kept in a box still beating

Useless hope

Where there’s smoke

There’s snakes in a pit

Preachers screaming temptation

Chlorine baptisms, plastic crucifixions

Tequila communion

Group suicides and poisoned punch

Where there’s smoke

There’s your hair

White cloud around your head

Whipped by the searing wind like a candle

In your inferno eyes

In your branding mouth

So don’t tell me where there’s smoke all you see is fire

***

Calista Baramki-Azar

Where There’s Smoke

It rises

Furling, twisting up chimneys

Caught on a breeze

Taken

Somewhere far, light under a bird’s wing

Stumbling, stretching its embrace through sky and clouds

Descending

Kissing willows, trailing fingers through streams

Rolling, expanding, whistling through your hair

Seeping

Hiding behind boulders, taking cover from the searching wind

Caught

On a breeze, sucked under the doorway

Only to escape.

Furling and twisting

Up your chimney again