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The Spectrum (rhyme crimes)

Opposite ends of the wheel
the distance far too great
you've lost your sense of feel
and for me it's way too late.

Review Request (Intensity): 
I want the raw truth, feel free to knock me on my back
Editing stage: 
Workshop: 

Comments

Good to see you use my favorite rhyme pattern (abab). Rhymes are exact. One of these days you'll write a lengthy poem and I'll die from shock (just kidding.......I think)...............stan

This was merely a quatrain with proper rhyme,
more could be added but wouldn't want to be guilty
of shocking you (lol)

author comment

contenct lacking

cheers,
Jess
A new workshop on the most important element of poetry-
'Rhythm and Meter in Poetry'
https://www.neopoet.com/workshop/rhythm-and-meter-poetry

ahhh, I'll have to work on it.

author comment

and like what it says. almost japanese in succinctity.

You can always trust me to be honest, but you can never trust my mood [grins]

cheers,
Jess
A new workshop on the most important element of poetry-
'Rhythm and Meter in Poetry'
https://www.neopoet.com/workshop/rhythm-and-meter-poetry

so far .... lol
wesley wanted at least two verses, so you'd better add another before he gets here and gives you the hardest assignment :)
and anyway - this needs more elaboration imho
as you well know - this is perfect rhyme xx

love judy
xxx

'Each for the joy of the working, and each, in his separate star,
shall draw the Thing as he sees It, for the God of Things as They are.'
(Rudyard Kipling)

so we both always want more. I think I said "one OR two quatrains", but I'm not wading through it all to find out .
At any rate, we wanted a demonstration that the poet understood the leader's definition of a "proper" rhyme and you do.
I like the poem despite what Judy and Jess feel. Sure it needs fleshing out- it's only one and I'm not asking for quality until the third poem (at which time I may lose some participants due the complexity I'll demand).
wesley

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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