A Christmas Gift
A Christmas Gift
In another thread, you call yourself "a story teller in rhymes" which helps to make your intent a little more clear and helps me to understand how to view the rhymes here.

What I like: the story plays out well enough, and you don't keep yourself to an overly-rigid structure for this piece. The separation of your strophes isn't forced into an artificial consistency, which I enjoy.

What I don't like: inconsistent meter makes the rhymes feel burdensome. I can often forgive a small break of one or two syllables, especially when sung with music, but it's just far too inconsistent here. Also, the lines themselves are often full sentences or clauses. This results in hard stops within each stanza that break the flow of the rhyme. In some cases I had to force myself into forgetting the rhyme so I wouldn't be jarred by the flow of the stanza.

Storytelling like this doesn't seem to make a big enough show on this forum. I'd like to see more folky, blue-grassy storytelling in the future.
If you're the smartest person in the room, you're in the wrong room.

"Or, if a poet writes a poem, then immediately commits suicide (as any decent poet should)..." -- Erthona
hi mike, if you can get a constant meter, it will improve the poem 5fold. you can have differing meter on each line but it would help if each verse. shows the same meter as all the other verse

an example that is just a suggestion and not a rewrite;

All day the wind blew large white flakes
to blanket maples and hedgerow.
Snow devils swirled on frozen lakes,
and danced to the whim of a cold arctic flow

Deep drifts piled along our fence line
county roads had an icy sheen
A broke-down truck by the stop sign
an old Ford buried by snow-blower machine

not perfect by a long shot but it's just there to give you an idea on the meter aspect.

(05-22-2019, 12:56 PM)Matroz Wrote:  A Christmas Gift
All day the wind blew large white flakes  
The blizzard blanketed the maples and the hedgerow
Snow devils swirled over the frozen lakes
They danced to the blustery whim of an arctic flow
Deep drifts piled up along our fence line
The county road glistened with an icy sheen
A broke-down truck was abandoned by the stop sign
The old Ford was half buried by the snow-blower machine
I could barely make out the streetlamps glow
The single bulb was no match for the dense wintry mix
I’ll never forget that blustery night many years ago
Santa came early that year with his bag of tricks
Our house was filled with a festive atmosphere
A freshly cut evergreen glistened in its decked out splendor
Father stole a measure from mother’s liquid cheer
The brandy was reserved for her shiny eggnog blender
Tantalizing aromas wafted from the kitchen
The smell of roasting turkey filled every room and hallway
Grandma made up the table with our finest linen
My sister banged out, O Holy Night, on the old Steinway
Grandpa reclined in his rocker by the hearth
In his well-worn pipe, he used an aromatic blend
Gramps stoically listened to what passed for high art
There was no escaping Mary’s unrelenting hand
Above our polished mantle hung a large photo
The frame was adorned with an intricate golden border
The picture was of my big brother Joe
He was dressed in the dashing uniform of a soldier
We bowed our heads; father asked for God’s grace
Mother seamed a bit unsteady on her feet
She was keenly aware of the empty place
At the right hand of father, Joe used to take his seat
There was a desperate battle on a distant shore
The papers were filled with the names of the casualties
Official telegrams arrived by the score
We knew many of the grief-stricken families
Mom haven’t heard from Joe in quite a spell
His unit was in the thick of the fray
The fighting was hand-to-hand in a frozen hell
Father said; The Good Lord will help Joe find his way  
I tossed and turned in my upstairs nook
Our farm slumbered under a blanket of white
I reached for my favorite picture book
The pages were filled with the deeds of a valiant knight
I imagined the knight to be my big brother Joe
He wielded Excalibur and wore Arthur's polished armor
He vanquished the wicked with a mighty blow
The clashing of broadsword sounded like thunder
I was still awake about quarter after four
The city snowplow came by on its regular route
There was a commotion outside the front door
Someone was on the porch shuffling about
I heard a rattling of keys and hinges creaking
A familiar voice sounded a muffled alarm
I thought I heard mother weeping
Our visitor brought late tidings to our farm
I snuck downstairs and hid behind the banister
Through the open door a gust blew in a dusting of snow
I instantly recognized the crutch bound visitor
Mother was hugging my big brother Joe
© Mike F. Gombas Sr.

Users browsing this thread: 1 Guest(s)
Do NOT follow this link or you will be banned from the site!