At last, I have discarded rotten fruit.
They say it’s hard, but I must disagree
Why! Old potatoes growing long white roots!

The old wives attempted myself to recruit
They say we spar but I do what suits me
At last, I have discarded all his loot

I rather fancied hunting Dad’s black boot.
They say aha but would you come to see
My cold relations wearing birthday suits!

I found poor Sylvia wrapped in winding sheets
Her Daddy barred her dying in his shoe.
She won the Prize but lost her children sweet

Some women say they  just desire a  brute.
Love is tardy when the wife is blue
If only she’d  turned down his  wedding suite

Love is hard but no worse than the flu
Life on guard is tense   but very now
Oh blast, I have discarded  the wrong lout
His hair was dyed but not right to the roots!

Photos Mike Flemming copyright 2017

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rondel_(poem)

Quote

A rondel is a verse form originating in French lyrical poetry of the 14th century. It was later used in the verse of other languages as well, such as English and Romanian. It is a variation of the rondeau consisting of two quatrains followed by a quintet (13 lines total) or a sestet (14 lines total). It is not to be confused with the roundel, a similar verse form with repeating refrain.

The first two lines of the first stanza are refrains, repeating as the last two lines of the second stanza and the third stanza. (Alternately, only the first line is repeated at the end of the final stanza). For instance, if A and B are the refrains, a rondel will have a rhyme scheme of ABba abAB abbaA(B)

The meter is open, but typically has eight syllables.

There are several variations of the rondel, and some inconsistencies. For example, sometimes only the first line of the poem is repeated at the end, or the second refrain may return at the end of the last stanza. Henry Austin Dobson provides the following example of a rondel:

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The gravity of loss brought me to earth
Beneath the rotting leaves, I lay with worms.
I wondered if I were of any worth

No more to be enchanted by love’s mirth,
I  with unnamed particles was turned.
The weight of loss bears down the heart to earth.

The weight of  love has readied us for birth
The fragments moulded with the love that burns.
I learned we need  not wonder  over  worth

My sorrow brought no guilt nor fear of wrath
I am both  sharp eyed eagle ,twisted worm.
In my little grave, I  loved the earth.

Like the adder, shocked into rebirth.
I from silent underworld had learned
Not to judge my soul nor think of worth.

I shall not  fear the flames of hell that burn.
When blackness is accepted, may one learn?
The weight of loss breaks down the soul to earth
With dusty shredded leaves, we then converse

 

It is terrible to desire and not possess
It is terrible to possess and not desie.

W B Yeats

What we love in other human
beings is the hoped for satisfaction
.of our desire.We do not love their
desire.If what we loved in them
was their desire, then we should
love them as ourself.

Simone Weil

Quoted in ” Tenebrae” by Geoffrey Hill