Four Lines
The local cafe played with beans, imported froth and scalded skim. Doubled the cost from mug to brim, still we love our coffee machines. -Lynne
The local cafe played with beans, imported froth and scalded skim. Doubled the cost from mug to brim, still we love our coffee machines. -Lynne
Leaving me bored, lists of lattes slow down the lines and make me late. It’s a lottery ticket wait, played at the local drinks cafe. -Lynne
A new morning I’m ready for, a diet coke is my caffeine. Being no fan of coffee beans, the lists of lattes leave me bored. -Lynne
Don’t be quaint whatever you do, poems are to be read, not used. Maybe they should leave you amused and ready for a morning new. -Lynne
Palettes of words are poets’ paint, muddle them, mix them, add water. Run them through you and your daughter, whatever you do, don’t be quaint. -Lynne
Sparkling in time all words’ facets, phonemes and vowels spread glory. Yet still they carry their story, words are poets’ paint on palettes. -Lynne
Within my reach I keep a flock of words I shear like fleecy sheep. Into the herd I search and seek, plundering rhymes within my stock. -Lynne
The lines the meaning floats beneath temper rough wide thoughts into words. I tend my words like a shepherd, a flock I keep within my reach. -Lynne
That lines two, three, one and four rhyme seems strange and rather more like prose. The constraints keep the meter close, let meaning float beneath the lines. -Lynne
An envelope rhyme comes alive, when the lines have eight syllables. With strict straightforward simple rules, lines two, three, one and four must rhyme. -Lynne
