The Poitry Competition (with due deference to CJ Dennis)

[Zondrae]

Congratulations Shelly,

It is a bit late but I was about to post .. 'is it in stanza six?' when I spotted Peely's post. I didn't spot it on first read through but had sorted it before I saw Johns reply.

Good on you Shelly. I can appreciate the work you have gone through to write in this style. My own effort 'Strike Me Pink', is written in this style so I know how hard it was. You have earned your 2nd place. Now we have to get together and nobble David, then we might have a chance at some firsts. What do you reckon?

[Shelley Hansen]

Thanks Terry and Zondrae ...

You're right Zondrae, David certainly sets the benchmark high! He has me constantly challenging myself.

But I have to say that without the advice he has given me over the last couple of years, I never would have pushed my boundaries as much as I have done. He has been very generous, so I have to thank him for pulling me out of my comfort zone and into the realm of the occasional award.

Thanks David - I've grown up a lot since 2011 when I took the lid off the shoebox and liberated my poetry.

Onward and upward (as they say)
Shelley

[David Campbell]

Shelley, if I was any help at all (and I don't think much was needed), then it's been an absolute pleasure. That shoebox has certainly turned up some real gems.

And as for the nobbling, Zondrae, I'm open to bribes with honey crunch ice cream!

Cheers
David

[Shelley Hansen]

Ah ha!! Now the secret is out. Zondrae, we need to arrange a refrigerated van delivery to David's front gate! If only we'd known it was that easy!!!

And you were (and still are) an immense help David, more than you realise, honestly! Some of my "gems" were pretty much in the rough till you gave me the encouragement to polish them.

Cheers, Shelley

[Shelley Hansen]

Greetings Again ...

Well, I've fiddled and faddled my errant sixth stanza for days (and nights). I've re-written it completely, made adjustments to adjoining stanzas, filled the virtual waste-basket with spoiled attempts ... and last night, it came to me! In the end, I altered just that one last line of the stanza. Obviously I had to follow the rhyming scheme and preserve the vernacular. But I was also striving for not just an interruption, but that tone of "superior" wisdom that Ginger Mick sometimes used with Bill. I hope I've succeeded - but in any case I think this is as good as it's going to get! Read on for the final revision ...

THE POITRY COMPETITION

I’m ’ere wiv pen in ’and, an’ feelin’ pore.
Me thorts ’as done a bunk fair out the door.
I’ve got a sheet o’ writin’ paper … blank.
“Wot for?” I ’ear yeh arstin’ me. “Wot for?”

It’s orl becors o’ Ginger Mick, ’oo sees
an item in the local rag, so ’e’s
come up wiv this fool notion that I write
some poitry fer money – if yeh please!

Sez Mick, “Now Kid, this competition ’ere
is worf its weight in gold – it sez quite clear –
Ten quid fer winnin’ poim – so I think
yeh’d best be gettin’ revved up inter gear.

“Why me?” I sez. “Why don’t you ’ave a shot?”
Sez Ginger, “Kid, don’t tork sich tommy rot!
It ain’t no use me wastin’ all me time –
I tell yeh – wot it takes I jist ain’t got!

Bill! Spare me days! I knoo it from the start –
this tuff-like tork o’ booze an’ stoush an’ tart
don’t sit the same wiv you like uvver broots –
Yer jist a sentimental bloke at ’eart!”

“A sentimental poit? Me? Fair go!
’Ere’s me ’oo thort I ’ad a bit ter show
frum stoushin’ down the back o’ Little Lon …”
But Ginger interrupts, “Yer wrong, yeh know ...!

Now Rose an’ me”, he sez, “we ’ave a larf –
we keeps the best, an’ blows away the charf.
But if I started wooin’ ’er in verse –
she’d send me ter the Funny Farm. Not ’arf!

That’s me. But you – yer diff’rent, Kid. I’ve seen
the way yeh moons about wiv yer Doreen
an’ torks about the starlight in ’er eyes.”
“It’s true,” I sez, “that bonzer peach is queen.”

“Yeh see,” sez Mick, “yeh’ll win it if yeh writes
them things yeh spouts at ’er on moonlit nights.
An’ when yeh strikes it rich I ’opes an’ prays
yeh’ll be a bloke ’oo’ll set ’is mates ter rights.”

An’ when I strikes it rich? Ar, strike me pink!
The way ’e spouts it out wivout a blink –
as if ’e thort that poitry appears
like magic, when I picks up pen an’ ink!

I’m up the pole, I’m ponderin’ in vain
the poitry of sun an’ moon an’ rain.
An’ thinkin’ I’d would rather be like Mick
when ’e goes courtin’ Rose of Spadger’s Lane.

The world is black an’ white fer Mick an’ Rose –
jus’ workin’ ’ard ter make a crust. Gawd knows
there ain’t much poitry in ’ungry nights.
There ain’t much time fer fun. An’ so it goes …

I dunno why I think these dilly thorts
uv Romance. Me an’ Doreen ain’t the sorts
ter live the ’igh-falutin’ life – that’s clear.
But when she looks at me, me ’eart cavorts!

Doreen! ’Ow can a bloke as thick as me
’ave landed sich a clarsy tart as she?
I want ter tell the world each bloomin’ day
Uv ’ow she fills me universe wiv glee …

An’ ’ow she bootifies the mooch o’ day,
an’ ’ow we went downtown ter see that play,
an’ ’ow ’er ’and ’eld mine down on the beach …
Let no toff stror ’at coot take ’er away!

Ar, spare me days ! Wot’s rattlin’ in me head
is … wait! Wot if I writes it down instead?
Some poit coves git famous! Wot if I
could make meself a forchin … like Mick said?

I ’opes I win! Wot if they publish me
an’ puts it in The Bulletin fer free
like Banjo an’ like ’Enry ’ad their start?
I’d larf at Mick then! Bli’me – so would ’e!

I sees it now. The swell coves dips their lids.
I’m signin’ ortygraphs fer little kids!
The ocshuneer is sellin’ orf me books
An’ millionaires is shoutin’ out their bids!

Ar, strike! I’m orf me beat – no flamin’ joke!
But still – me thorts keep flittin’ ter the foke
an ’undred years frum now. Will they recall
the verses of “A Sentimental Bloke”?

© Shelley Hansen 5/1/2015