My, many thanks, to Ronald Hull, and Robert Whitford, without whose observations on a previous poem, this latest example of verse most probably would not, have been written.

It is a great shame that this site does not have a workshop, few poems are ever really finished most are merely resting.

Sometimes, it is not always desirable to employ perfect metre, or more correctly, uniform metre, such being the variables of stress employed in the English language.

Here is an example where perfect metre (uniform metre) would possibly be less than desirable.
 

I’ve travelled far with rede’s high-minded effort,
reached in vain for truth’s mirage of gain.
Gave my life searching, thro’ curse o’ its braggart
trusted fiducials; indehiscent achene.

Heaven and Hell  calcified in their creation
with few infernos, Dante saw fit to efface.
Whilst many so live, on turn edge of station
Let’s their souls rival, man-made Gods of disgrace.

For they’d so gather up, sticks for back breaking
seize stones, their righteousness does so decree.
What Gods of true r nature, stoops to an impairing
if they were so worthy, as to let man’s self be free...

Still they that decry, man’s considered enquiry
seek Erinyes determine desire’s dehortation.
When there’s no path, to process a sensed query,
excepting death, to baulk, dubiosities equation.

Back from peregrination and world weary chatter
past meliorator signs, of its west’rn way.
For desire’s dominion, is truth of the matter
debts of a longing, it now wishes to pay.

O’er a new bridge, where once, plied an old ferry
down metalled roads, I‘d never known there before.
Parvenu’s now illume tergiversation and skerry:
Ne’er a black peat to be seen at their door...

Yet in rêveur twilight, I hear sounds of music
waulking’s rhythmic brio alters my pace.
I auscult to words, sung in true Gaelic.
with auras bestowment of my native race.

Mouth music ushers an uncanny passim
with fulling melodies of spirits unseen.
Suant euphuism,a  joie de vivre dream
wafts, sweetest ambiance, like anthesis’s gean.

Where emulous life attains vibrant beauties,
voices so clear in emotions own show.
Song kerfs through to the heart of our cutis
Oh! What resurgence, our empathies trow.

I now return to what youth has remembered
ignoring newness that now has a place.
For here is life; it somehow not encumbered
as I seek, aspergation’s own chrismal, of grace.

Past repair tells, o’ hard ship and labour
a stern, way of life that few have now seen
Intents entente, worked with each and its neighbour
peat’s fires fair kindled and all was beseen.

For here is life’s catch-pool of dreams and their making
tensity’s of nature and fine balanced mien...
What man choose from others, a needs undertaking
then seeks his past, in time’s prevised new scene.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ez1O5swf1IM

Mor.