The need for rhyme makes a writer mix in the mind registers
and topic fields in an unpredictable way and this enables
surprising and imaginative expressions to be developed
which will be enhanced if the rhyme also contributes
as it should to the sonic structure of the poem.
Megan Stringfellow, pistol-fury at Dracula's
A poem that uses rhyme with sophistication is like a painting that casts a new light on a familiar subject or scene.
I love rhyme when it is done well, when you are so taken by imagery and message that you for a moment forget the echo of sound. GREAT rhyme becomes a mere backdrop that somehow holds you there, the rhythm of the words start to match your heartbeat. There is nothing safe about the rhythm. There is nothing predictable about the rhythm. The rhythm is hypnotic, entrancing. The beat has you.
Sometimes, the beat is slow, comforting, a cool lake on a hot day. Sometimes, the beat is savage, has you gasping as you run from the tiger at your heels.And sometimes, the beat is so clever that you hold your breath, forget the need for air.
Here are two new poets to Soup who are MASTER rhymers. Rhyme deserves respect AND applause when it is done THIS well. Hey, poets, I forgot to breathe!
By Ira Dawson
Member since: Nov 2012
She hallowed out her heart again,
She tore out all the black.
Then scraped the walls with her bare hands,
Until she reached the back.
She washed off all the rusted screws,
And broken veins, and pounding wounds.
She tried to make sense of this scene,
But honestly, she could not think.
She knew she had to start fresh,
But in her chest was left a mess.
But in her hands was left the flesh,
Of memories and secrets kept.
No Road Returns
By Florian Beauchamp
Member since: Nov 2012
No road returns
but turns instead
around the words
you should have said
and leads at last
to this damp bed
flicker in your head
and all around
the books you’ve read
can’t tell you why
the white swan bled
and tore itself
to pieces overhead
while you, in doubt,
read on instead.
The strangest sights
the strangest sounds
now reach the earth
your place betrayed
your hiding found
your heart is measured
pound for pound.
And all those words
you never said
must heavy weigh
your heart like lead
and burdened so
in your sick bed
must leave the light
to join the dead.
From your sponsor...
Please, leave your news,
leave your views,
leave us a few bars of fresh blues,
leave a line of verse that may confuse,
leave the pieces that others refuse.
Though I understand life can lay you low,
take a break,
take a month,
take a holiday,
take that hurt and peel its decay,
take as long as you need,
take a look and make it bleed,
take a walk with a friend,
take an ear and force it to bend,
take time for yourself, for family,
take heartbreak and set it free,
take your loss and let it grieve,
oh, but sweet friends
think twice before you go,
and please do not take your leave.