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Honest Abel

In an alley past the hollow
there lies a field, and a shack
with an easement allowing traffic but one way;

Abel's existence is hard to swallow
he can't help but to look back
ever wishing that he knew what he would say.

With his hound dog at his heels
Abel's living with his ghosts
long ago, his woman left him in the night;

I know exactly how he feels
and, he's not the sort who boasts
in fact, he's usually, ordinarily polite;

Everybody seems to know this man
he's no hero, so no parade
however, he's as honest as the day is, long;

to help them better understand
a peace he'd never trade
so, by example he teaches best he can, his song!

Then, after the moon has risen, high
illuminating night's, shadowy grounds
we spy a view of one man's level of integrity;

Abel's raised the bar so we all can try
to pay heed to integrity "Grand",
sing along to a dear, old song called "Honesty"!

Style / type: 
Structured: Western
Review Request (Intensity): 
I want the raw truth, feel free to knock me on my back
Review Request (Direction): 
What did you think of my title?
How was my language use?
Is the internal logic consistent?
Editing stage: 


A great story but i found it a little choppy, maybe you could smooth it out a little by removing or adding some words. Example below. Hope this is of some help. Regards Roscoe...

Then after the moon had risen high,
illuminating the night. On shadowy ground
we spy, a veiw, of one man's own integrity.

Roscoe Llane,

Religion will rip your faith off, and return
for the mask of disbelief that's left.

...your feedback is always greatly appreciated. I would like having a way for me to be heard reading this, as I did seriously edit my draft of those extra words, already.
I must have some kind of sporadic cadence in my way of phrasing, because I get that all the time. Seriously, thanx again;

Neopoet is "newtriffic" !
...from the heart, or a reasonable faxcimile;
david a. goodwin #{:>{)} @==

author comment honestly, greatly appreciated!
Yours sincerely;

Neopoet is "newtriffic" !
...from the heart, or a reasonable faxcimile;
david a. goodwin #{:>{)} @==

author comment

I have found that a lot of poets when reading their own work inadvertently add little pauses to make it flow. Often they don't notice they are doing it with their poetry when they would never allow it to happen while reading someone else. I've caught myself doing it too many times to count. It's a virus, I suppose.
I'm with Roscoe in that the last lines of the last three stanza didn't quite gel as did the first ones. The first five rolled along like a well oiled machine, the last three (last lines only) did not.
Example, in six I would lose both commas. When I ignored them, it fixed the line for me.
Just a thought.

W. H. Snow

A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds. Percy Bysshe Shelley

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