Relief From Slavish Rhyme

The crime is over-rhyming,
an absurd affliction that
you’ve let yourself believe
is the utmost essence of

the greatest poetry.
Sadly, it isn’t true. Rhythm
and metre are too the key,
rhyme just compliments

the line that has a rhythmic
beat, contains the metric
feet that tap a tune, the
rhythm rolls on through,

carries cause and its effect,
pauses to elect a change
of pace, to slow with grace
the racing words,

words that take a gentle line
and drift and sway, winsome
words that trip and tumble
free of gravities constraints.

So what complaints
are issued out of that?
Your mastery is sorely tried
by rhythm, rhyme and metre,

these elements defeat the
things you want to say, take
away the power you had in
mind, abort the essence of

your thoughts. In the end
you have a pretty, witty verse
avowed as poetry which says
a cursed nothing much at all.

And that is the hidden moral. Just like
this verse you’re reading – I am
pleading for relief from slavish
rhyme. But did you even notice?
© I.D. Carswell 2006