Rhyme+North & South

"...I believe I have seen Hell. It is white. Snow white." --Margaret Hale, North & South

   Recently, I discovered BBC's 2004 mini-series North & South, based on the novel by Elizabeth Gaskell. Mr. Thornton is played by Richard Armitage (The Hobbit, Thorin, the dwarf king). It's my new fave!! although there are some things I wish were different about the story. I haven't finished the book yet, though, so I'll save my criticisms for a review.

  Here's just a quick summary: it's a love story about two middle-class people--ex-clergyman's daughter, Margaret Hale, and cotton mill owner and town magistrate, John Thornton. It's set mostly in the made-up town of Milton, in 1850, so it's quite a bit more modern than Pride & Prejudice (which I also like!) and has technology like trains and machines in factories.  The two main conflicts are between 1) Margaret and Mr. Thornton, obviously, and 2) the mill workers and the owners, the "masters."
   Like all the shows I suddenly become crazy about, North & South influenced my writing. It started me on a story set in 17th century England and inspired this week's poem. My assignment was to work with rhyme. I had a long list of different types of rhyme to choose from: masculine (which I tend to use the most), feminine, perfect, slant, implied (I'll have to try to use this one sometime...), assonant, consonant, internal, and alliteration.

   I know I usually skip past the long poems in anthologies, but I hope you don't skip this! I think (I hope) it will be worth your read.

Free photo courtesy of freedigitalphotos.net

"By Definition, Gentleman"

There was a man who fell asleep with head upon his desk

Linen collar, dinner parties—victories slowly won

A past of shoeless cold, and hunger, finally undone

The candle stubs left little room for empty flask or keg

He counted out no more or less than what his workers earned

A servant made the fire in his mother's sitting room

His sister wore new gowns and had a dowry for her groom

He lost no bets by making none, his businesses were firm

His strident shout was warning, and if scoundrels didn't know to run

They'd know his bloody knuckles, and boots would speed their flight,

Yet “Sym-pa-thy” he dictated and urchins learned to write—

Philosopher's and poet's works were ever on his tongue

But silence more than recitations bended ears his way

When most would boast or spit upon another fellow's pride

Or look the other way and twist the truth, he didn't lie

Curses, bribes, and flattery alike he brushed away

And though he rarely complimented ladies evening gowns

He rose when they approached and kept all crude remarks aside

And speaking of the ladies in their eyes were sparks alight

Some with scoffing, some with sighs—there was but one he called his own

Even in the streets his calloused hand kept hers enclosed

No one, no word, no weapon, and no will would come between

the guardian angel and the queen,

And though she stumble, turn away, his arms were never closed.

He may no longer tip his hat but he is still among the few

He who I see from time to time, changing flats in mid-July

Who puts his arm round baby sister still and lets her cry,

Passed down from eras past who if I find I'll hold onto, and who I shall never lose.

What...

         ...was your favorite type of rhyme?

         ...didn't make sense?

         ...did I leave out of the portrait?

Critique away.