Exercise in syallable stress
#1
OK, let's try this again. I'm hating syllable stress, I might wind up liking free verse the best... I want to have a similar structure of soft HARD soft HARD soft throughout, please let me know where and when I falter.


The longing

Overused subjects still resound in one's mind,
these things we can all relate to.
Again a poem reaches to the defined
old mores we once abided by.

To live without need for luxury
Without power, or running water
The things we now consider needed.
While through all of our history,
they haven't been needed much at all

No cell phone, no TV, just books
A wood stove, no microwave to cook.
A shelter that was made by hand
The same as your grandad planned.

A well for water, cows for milk
Wool clothing, chickens for eggs
In the sights, deer for meat
And wheat from the store for bread.

Veggies in the garden provide
The vittles, important to life.
On trees grow fruit,
Underground grow roots,
And horses out back to ride.

Imagine constructing a horse-drawn cart
With only hand tools to use.
Then prancing along the lane, old school
Within your fine wooden art.

The bills are nill, so few between
A phone for friends and family;
Vetrinary care for your flocks;
Cabins rented for more income.

So few the costs, the land is paid,
The car is paid, school loans are paid,
Now setting down, relax, unwind
Of course not. Life is not so kind.
But enjoying it as it is, you have it made.

Run racehorses to pay for themselves,
You need little extra pay.
Rent and sale of produce, carven shelves,
Little things to earn your way.

You need not much more: books, feed, and grain.
The livestock fed, then pause to feed your brain
And read as you will, and paint as you will,
And write as you will, camp to your fill,

Or hunt or build fires,
Then stoke the blaze higher,
So free from these cares,
We bind ourselves with.

Just keep the plants alive,
Practice, so you need not strive,
And care for animals in your care,
Some goats to deal with weeds.

It's not easy, but so satisfying
To know that by your hands
This newborn calf is crying
For it's mother, alive and well.

I'll take the spring on a farm
Over millions in worthless lucre.
Give me friends, family, sufficiency,
And it will be all that I could need.
*Warning: blatant tomfoolery above this line
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#2
This poem could relate the same message with a quarter of its current length. It's way too long, which accentuates its flaws as the awkward rhythm and rhymes grow monotonous. Judging by your opening note, you're new to metered verse. Don't give up. I've been hacking away at it a while myself, and though I'm still no Shakespeare, or even a garden variety sonnet-machine, I've slowly got better. Part of the trick is to keep spitting out images, maintain a quick pace and be concise.
A problem you seem to be having right now is that you're so intent on making your rhymes and meter work you've forgotten to add texture. Without strong images and eloquent phrasing, a poem slips easily from your mind, especially when it's also as long as this one.
My critique is JMHO, of course, and really just some general advice as you move towards that perfect metered poem, which I'm certain you'll reach with a little guidance and perseveranceSmile
"We believe that we invent symbols. The truth is that they invent us; we are their creatures, shaped by their hard, defining edges." - Gene Wolfe
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