This is the third poem of yours that I've looked at; unlike the first two, which were in sonnet form, this one is "a much more free form poem," and you want to know if the structure is a mess or if it offers a more interesting rhythm to the piece.

Here's the thing about "free forms," or free verse: they aren't free. They cost as much in time and effort, more so, really, than any of the structured forms like sonnets. When you abandon the structured rules of an established form, it doesn't mean anything goes; It simply means that you must define the poem's form and structure from within. However that shows up, you are obligated to remain consistent in the overall sense of the poem, how it relates to its subject, how the subject relates to the content, and how the words sound.

You haven't done this. Your last three stanzas are more or less fixed meter, and they more or less rhyme. The second stanza sounds like a careless version of the forms of the remaining three, and the first stanza sounds like it came from a different poem. For the record, I'd like to see that poem, if you get around to writing it.

You are definitely working with images, and there's no question you are not writing prose. But it's not particularly good poetry either, and the reason is not to be found in this form or that; the trouble is, you just don't have language that's interesting enough. There are too many weak lines.

But my belief's worth living with,
the hope of better days -

stands out as a particularly egregious culprit, though the whole of stanza four does little to make me sit up and take notice.

I'm going to offer an example of a poem that I think is working is the same space as you. The poet is Judson Jerome, a solid, reliable poet who edited the Antioch Review for a couple of decades and wrote some of the best texts on writing poetry you will find. He was possibly a better teacher than a poet, though he published widely. This is a completely free form poem. There are no end rhymes though many internal rhymes, no stumbles into fixed meter—the poem remains true to the standards that it announces at the outset.

Note that it is about several things at once. It contains comments on abstract ideas such as discipline, love, art; it's about a relationship between a father and son; and it's about fly-fishing. Notice how sharp and precise is his language, how complex are the rhythms that roll from line to line. In short, the language is complex, interesting and musical.


ON MOUNTAIN FORK*
by Judson Jerome


discipline:
                the whispering s of line
above the canoe, the weightless fly thrown through
a gap in the branches, spitting to rest
on the still pool where the bass lay,
                                                 wrist true
in the toss and flick of the skipping lure.

love:
      silence and singing reel, the whip
of rod, chill smell of fish in the morning air,
green river easing heavily under, drip
of dew in brown light.
                               At the stern I learned
to steer us--wavering paddle like a fin.

art:
      tyrannous glances, passionate strategy,
the hush of nature, humanity slipping in,
arc of the line, ineffectual gift
of a hand-tied bug, then snag in the gill, the snap
and steady pull.
                     His life was squalid, his
temper mean, his affection like a trap.
I paddled on aching knees and took the hook.
My father shaped the heart beneath my skin
with love's precision:
                            the gift of grief, the art
of casting clean, the zeal, the discipline.

I think you can do something like this, but you aren't there yet.