IMAGES

[Maureen K Clifford]

have been busy editing and revamping my old work as a result of my son nagging me to get everything together in one place instead of having it rambling all over the place like Browns cows. Fair comment - and it has been a good exercise in housekeeping as found an awful lot of double ups which have now been deleted giving me more room, It has also been amazing re reading some of it to see the errors jump out and hit me between the eyes, so hopefully it will have improved a lot of work as well and that can't be bad. Unfortunately I lost a file of Ipswich Poetry in the transition - just can't locate it at all but suspect there are hard copies of it in my old files, just have to go and see and retype whatever is missing - hopefully only around 10 but suspect there were a couple of good ones in there.

so this is a revamped old one that was on the old site - but is a personal favourite of mine and since the site is slow and where the hell is everyone? thought I would repost it here.


This is the rewrite of the rewrite - gee the original version must have been really crook.

IMAGES

Are they being mustered silently beneath a silver moon
by dogs long gone whose spirits still remain?
Can you sense the thrumming canter? Mobs of sheep upon the move
unseen by us, are felt crossing the plain.
Do you hear the bull whip cracking in the dark deserted night
as long departed stockmen move the flock?
Do you think you hear a bridle’s jingle coming up the track?
Are spirit horses pushing up the stock?

Could these paddocks tell a story? Well they’ve seen a thing or two -
they’d tell of sparse treed hills and dusty plains.
They have seen so many perish from the fires, and droughts and floods,
their bones now ground to dust, all that remains.
And here lie the bones of working dogs. Miss Jess and Ralph and Sam,
old Blacky. All those dogs who’ve gone before.
So the image is not hard to see when at night they all rise
all keen to work the ovine flock once more.

It’s been sold on once again this place and stands here lonely still,
no warming fires reflection in the house
and it’s sad the love that made this place a cherished family home,
has gone –it’s now just home to rat and mouse.
And the ghosts of dogs are lonely. Abandoned they linger near,
they’ve never even once been known to roam.
They all listen in the darkness and all cock a ghostly ear
for sounds to tell them they are not alone.

As that cold wind beats on rocky hillsides, flogs the frosted plains,
its ice-cold fingers beat on windows bare.
I recall those ghostly animals still yearning for their home,
abandoned, left behind with none to care;
and when thinking of those better times, my memory goes back.
Such memories I have they’ve not yet passed
and I sadly recollect each much loved animals sweet face
all sleeping now and still beneath the grass.

I hear the muffled bark, the clank of harness.
I see the sheep now coming down the track.
These memories and many more I cherish.
All I have now - for there’s no going back.


Maureen Clifford 22/08/07 re edited 08/12 and many times inbetween



IMAGES

Are they being mustered silently beneath a silver moon?
By dogs long gone. Only their ghosts remain.
The thrumming canter of a thousand sheep upon the move
unseen by us, they cross the starlit plain.
Can you faintly hear the cracking of a bullwhip in the night
as long departed stockmen move the flock?
Do you hear the bridle’s jingle and the creak of leather old,
as ghostly horses follow ghostly stock?

Could these paddocks tell a story? Well that would be a fair bet.
Sparse eroded granite hills and dusty plains.
Here so many head have perished from the fires, droughts and floods,
their bones now ground to dust, all that remains.
There are working dogs buried here. Miss Jess and Ralph and Sam,
Old Blacky, Tom and others gone before,
it’s not hard to imagine that at night they all rise up
and work the ghostly ovine flock once more.

Its been sold again this old place and it's standing lonely, empty.
No fires are lit – no sound comes from the house.
And after all the love that made this place a family home,
it’s again become domain to rat and mouse.
The ghosts of dogs are lonely and no doubt they linger near.
They know no other place this is their home.
They listen in the darkness and all cock a ghostly ear
hoping a sound tells them they're not alone.

As that cold wind beats on rocky hillsides, flogs the frosted plains,
its ice-cold fingers beat on windows bare.
I recall those ghostly animals still yearning for their home,
abandoned, left behind with none to care;
and when thinking of those better times, my memory goes back.
Such memories I have just will not pass
and I sadly recollect each much loved animals sweet face
all sleeping now and still beneath the grass.

I hear the muffled bark, the clank of harness
and in the night see coming down the track
the sheep, and dogs and horses. Cherished memories.
All I have now - for there’s no going back.




Maureen Clifford 22/08/07 re edited 07/12

[Neville Briggs]

I'm here !! Looks good to me Maureen.


read line one of stanza 1 and then line one of stanza 2 and see what you think of the metre in stanza 2's first line.

[Maureen K Clifford]

Just as well some of us are reliable Neville
Lines 1 in stanza 1 and 2 ????? please explain - what am I missing? Two soft/1 strong???? I changed the first line in stanza three I could see that was out - didn't notice that yesterday though

[Neville Briggs]

I thought that you were intending that the first line of each of the first four stanzas would have the same stress pattern. That doesn't seem to be the case if I read them out loud using the normal placing of stresses that occur in standard speech.

It seems to be needing a bit more adjustment to make it all scan. Of course I could be wrong .

[Maureen K Clifford]

I was and you weren't wrong Neville - do you think this is better?

[Neville Briggs]

Hmm. I won't keep pestering you on this Maureen, I'll put something in the General Poetry Discussion that I hope is helpful.

[Maureen K Clifford]

This is doing my head in - I have rewritten it to try and get that metre right. Don't know if I have though

[Peely]

G'day Maureen

Looking at the line that Neville referred to initially, the stresses look like this:

Could these paddocks tell a story? Well that would be a fair bet.

If you are looking at having a line with two weak syllables, followed by a strong, alternating between a single weak for each strong for the rest of the line, it is clear that the stresses fall awkwardly on the last few syllables. To keep the pattern that you are looking for, you would need to stress the 'a', which does not occur in ordinary speech. Since the final strong syllable is not required for a rhyme, a change like the following might work:

Could these paddocks tell a story? You can bet your life they could!

This is the sort of thing that you need to look at to help get your metre in order.

Regards


John Peel

[Neville Briggs]

You can do it Maureen patience.


What Peely said. Can you see that ?

[Maureen K Clifford]

Sorry John I wasn't ignoring you - I see what you are saying. How come it never sounds like that to me???? I am convinced I don't talk propa

Haven't thought of a better line yet but still working on it - appreciate your help Peely

would this work perhaps * Could these paddocks tell a story? Well they’ve seen a thing or two -

That's the problem Neville I can see it but I can't hear it. and to be able to write it down to see it I first have to hear it to see what are the stressed bits - apart from me.