Frogola

[billy]

the first half is prtty okay the latter half feels the worse for the mishmashed meter. it has a nursery rhyme feel to it that works well wit the content.

i mention something about the format of the 1st verse, here's an example.

Where do they go when they're tucked in their beds?
and just what are the voices
they hear heard in their heads?

just an example; the meter can be laid down in many ways but i do like how you did it in the first verse. the main thing is the meter, it needs to be as perfect as you can make it.

My first poem here, be brutal please - I want to get together a book of verse and this will be the first of many.

you asked for it; it's fucking shite, please leave...just kidding i haven't read it yet ><

1sr review - thanks to flourescent for some great input

Frogola

When it rains outside and the night choirs grow:
while the crickets sing high,
the frogs sing low. this would be a good format for most of the verse you have.

Just where do they go when they're tucked in their beds? no need for just, it screws with the meter. who are they?
What are the voices they hear in their heads?
How loud are the screams that echo in their dreams, no need for their, again it cocks up the meter
and the sighs and the moans of the life in between? same with [and] it's shags the meter

Who gives them warts on their necks and and their hands? two ands in this instance are not better than one
Whose legs do they eat?
What fate will they meet?
Which prince will they kiss just to make him their own, no need for just; same reason maybe a period and delete the [and] on the next line
and where do they go when their frogging is done?

If I were you my little friends,
I'd make this vow to make amends,
with the green blood splattered on the cold roadside
and twitching arms trying to stay alive - the meter here as gone to cock. [you were doing pretty well with it till this point]

Because from the dark there are eyes that peer
and amphibious ears that are longing to hear of
a hardened tongue
a wicked stare
crooked hands that will lay a snare...

For whoever owns that
sorrowless,
merciless,
cruel and incompassionate glare;
will find his end on a gondola,
while the night creatures doom him
to Frogola.


Original
Frogola

When it rains outside
and their choirs grow,
while the crickets sing high,
the frogs sing low.

But where do they go when they're tucked in there beds?
And what are the voices they hear in their heads?
How loud are the screams that echo their dreams?
And the sighs and the moans of the life in between?

Who gives them warts on their necks and and their hands?
Whose legs do they eat?
What fate will they meet?
Which prince will they kiss just to make him their own,
and where do they go when their frogging is done?

If I were you my little friends,
I'd make this vow to make amends,
with the green blood splattered on the cold road side
and the twitching arms trying to stay alive -

Because from the dark there are eyes that peer
and amphibious ears that are longing to hear,
of a hardened tongue and a wicked stare,
and crooked hands that will lay a snare.

For whoever owns that
sorrowless,
merciless,
cruel and in-compassionate glare;
will find his end on a gondola,
while the night creatures doom him
to Frogola.