Thoughts on poetry

[Maureen K Clifford]

Cockies Gates Dot - cursed bloody things - Ross wrote a great poem about them , which I used here - http://www.theaustraliatimes.com/emagaz ... sue2/#p=28


I like the poem you have quoted Dot - strangled with her own hair - OOOH...who ever would have thought

[Heather]

Good to see you here Dot. Murder by a strand of hair - ooh, chilling. Think I'd better get mine cut!

[DollyDot]

Hi Maureen
Yeah Cockies gate - invented by a man for sure. I hated them but if you were riding shotgun you had to open them except if you had a broken leg!!

Yes Maureen and Heather eerie isn't it. She wasn't able to 'lie with anyone else' after that. The moral is get in and strangle him first with your hair.
Though seriously the words are great. The images the words conjure up are so vivid. I know what my poetry lacks but....

Thanks ladies!

Dot

[Heather]

Babies are not brought by storks, and poets are not produced by workshops.
JAMES FENTON, Ronald Duncan Lecture, 1992

[warooa]

Babies are not brought by storks

Reminds me of that joke about the little kid, whose big sister is pregnant. When he asks the usual question his Mum tells him a baby will come from a stork in the night. He's confused because he overheard his big sister say it was from a shag on the beach.

Goood quote though Heather

[Vic Jefferies]

When I ran my little poetry workshop I used to tell people not to despair if they were not happy with their poem and to remember that when they read the great poets they were reading only their best work. Only the best poetry is published and even Lawson and Paterson, et al had many, many failures.

[Zondrae]

Thank you master,
I will keep trying.

[Heather]

Here's a beautiful piece of poetry by Yeats. See what he has done with the rhymes...

Aedh Wishes for the Cloths of Heaven

“Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.”

― W.B. Yeats, The Wind Among the Reeds 1899

[Neville Briggs]

The work of a master poet Heather. The last line there is famous and has been parodied many times.

[Vic Jefferies]

Marty, I have a sneaking suspiciaon that Yeats may have just known what he was doing.