Three Things #6

Blabbing about three topics based on READING LOOKING THINKING.  This time a poetry collection, real live butterflies and overrating books.  One post in three parts, a neat idea started by blogger Paula Bardell-Hedley of Book Jotter.  Jump in! 😃 GBW.


BRUCE DAWE – POET

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bruce_Dawe

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READING:  The dust-jacket image of a wooden paling fence on Bruce Dawe’s outstanding 1969 poetry collection ‘Beyond the Subdivisions’ will be familiar to anyone who lived in Australia in the middle decades of the 20th century.  Timber mills must have worked overtime because everyone had a six-foot fence enclosing three sides of their quarter acre suburban block of land.  A subdivision was formed by building identical weatherboard or brick veneer homes.  Now called a housing estate or residential development but probably just as uniform.

Cravensville by Bruce Dawe

‘Run-of-the-mill’, you well might call this town
—A place where many go, but few remain,
Where you’d be mad to want to settle down,
Off the main road, too far from bus or train,
Neither backblocks enough to suit the likes
Of most of us, nor moderately supplied
With urban comforts, good for mystery hikes,
But not the place to take the happy bride.

Population : 750, the guide-books say . . .
After a week or two the hills close in,
And what you came to find here moves away
(If it was ever here . . .)
‘So what’s your sin?’
The barman says, with a wink, and the blowfly drone
Of justification starts, for him alone.

Bruce Dawe Poet Photo and QuotationThis slim grey poetry book with orange lining was purchased for one dollar at UQ Alumni Book Fair 2019.  The original 1969 price sticker on the front reads $1.95 which is confirmed on the inside flyleaf.  In fifty years it had never been opened.

Back to the paling fence—as a child, I remember thinking the fence was insurmountable.  Tall and ominous, it forbade me from seeing what was on the other side.  As I grew older, I tried to climb the cross struts (usually only on one side of the fence) and couldn’t get a toe-hold.  Splinters searing through my fingers, I fell back to ground.  However, this didn’t stop me.  Growing taller and bolder, one day I wrenched myself up and peeked over the top of the fence to see what our elderly nextdoor neighbour’s backyard looked like.  Pretty ordinary as I recall.  By this time, her children had moved away, the pets had passed away and I was way more interested in pop singers.

What has this got to do with Bruce Dawe, Australian poet extraordinaire?  Nothing really, except I love his gritty poetry about what goes on beyond those wooden fences.  Such insight, such lyrical, satirical prose.  His words may appear nostalgic, yet not, because human nature never really changes.  GBW.


BRIBIE ISLAND BUTTERFLY HOUSE

https://www.bribieislandbutterflyhouse.org/

LOOKING:  The Bribie Island Butterfly House, north of Brisbane, is a community organisation run by volunteers.  It is an incredibly tranquil experience to walk into a huge enclosure filled with beautiful flowers and thousands of butterflies.  There is not a sound.  Around a corner are small bubblers yet nothing detracts from the calm, delicate atmosphere.  I was lucky to visit on a sunny day because apparently this makes the butterflies more active—but as my photographs below will demonstrate, it was hard to get a still image.

Six blurry shots of a Lesser Wanderer butterfly, fluttering its wings so fast and furious I gave up trying to focus.  It was enjoying the nectar from the daisy-like flower and nothing was going to distract it.  I thought perhaps it would stop for a quick rest but it didn’t.  That flower must have been delicious!

As I was reading the information brochure, a Swamp Tiger butterfly landed on it.  They like light, bright colours and often landed on the visitors sunhats.  The spotted Monarch butterfly on the right was newly hatched and getting its bearings.

The next photo I took was of two butterflies mating . . . sorry, folks, but this post is only a trailer.  I have heaps more to tell you so please visit my full report with photos on Bribie Island Butterfly House Visit.  GBW.


OVERRATING BOOKS

Dangers Of Hyping Books
https://madamewriterblog.com/2019/05/27/dangers-of-hyping-books/

Discussion: To Read Or Not To Read Reviews
https://thoughtsstainedwithink.com/2019/01/28/discussion-to-read-or-not-to-read-reviews/

The Most Nonsensical Terms Used In Book Blurbs
https://litreactor.com/columns/the-most-nonsensical-terms-used-in-book-blurbs

THINKING:  First, I would like to thank Madame Writer and Thoughts Stained With Ink and Peter Derk of LitReactor for voicing several bookish Thoughts on subjects which I have mused over but never put into Words.  They raised some valid questions, none I can satisfactorily answer but I would like to respond—

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We all know book publicity takes many forms.  It’s a big leap from when William Shakespeare saw his posters printed off a hand-blocked press.  Currently we have literary journals, author talks, Facebook, dedicated websites, bloggers, online bookshops, the list goes on, all reviewing with a positive spin.  More on that further down.

I follow trusted book reviewers (you know who you are!) and receive publishers e-newsletters.  I don’t read backcover book blurb unless my mind is filled with a healthy dose of scepticism.  I don’t read a book review unless it’s from my independent sources or I am already halfway through the story.  Likewise I won’t read book hype, particularly on social media, until I’ve formed my own opinion.  When I finish a book, I read blurb, reviews and hype just to see if I agree with everyone.  Not always, but that’s the beauty of personal opinion.

Then there’s snappily worded book bolstering, raking through the coals of already formed opinions, to generate a spark in book sales and sway the undecided reader.  I don’t review most of the books I read but after reading I make a mental note of the merits of each one.  And the Choose-Your-Own process works for me.  I’ve read some great books which I originally knew nothing about.  Stubborn, yes, belief in book hype, no.

IMG_20190527_1655338Which brings me to the reviewers, particularly those who receive an ARC in return for an honest review.  Are their reviews strictly honest?  Do they leave out the bits they don’t like? Fudge the wording?  I’ve yet to read a scathing review for a publisher’s complimentary copy.  Someone out there must have written an unhappy book review, one where it genuinely states ‘This book is rubbish’ and not because they don’t like the genre.

Fear holds us back; fear of no longer receiving free copies; fear of being pilloried by other readers; fear of ridicule from fans; fear of not sounding smart enough; fear of being the kid in the classroom who stands out for all the wrong reasons.  We shouldn’t have any fear about expressing ourselves honestly but we do.  Be nice, be fair but does that mean be honest?  Rather than admit they don’t like a book, reviewers have been known NOT to write a review.  Almost misinformation for both reader and author.

I’m under no allusion that my Three Things #6 will make waves in the blogging community yet I still put myself out there, turning my Thoughts into Words, and trying not to be fearful of the result.  GBW.

Gretchen Bernet-Ward

Poetry Journey of Kate O’Neil

The personal experiences of poet Kate O’Neil offer a diverse and interesting look into the creative world of poetry.

After chatting to Kate over our shared memories of the old poem ‘Wynken, Blynken and Nod’ she kindly showed me her ‘waking up’ version (excerpt below) which fits beautifully with the original.  Kate then agreed to answer some tricky questions for me and her responses are both thoughtful and revealing.


Welcome, Kate!

Kate-ONeil-2001

Thank you so much for your time.
My favourite poem of yours is short and sweet; ‘Paragliders Bald Hill Lookout’ invokes in my mind’s eye vivid colour, movement and summer days at the beach.
Talking of short and sweet, I recall asking you which would you choose ‘Lollipop or Cake?’ and you immediately said ‘Cake’, supplying a recipe with almonds smothered on top.  I can identify with that!
I had read your work on Australian Children’s Poetry under Kate O’Neil and recently discovered your real name is Dianne Cook.  You explain why in our Q&A, and give readers a peek behind the scenes of your poetry life.

Okay, let’s get those thoughts into words…


What highlights stand out in your poetry journey?

I’ve been hanging out with poetry for most of my life, so there have been lots of decades for highlights to happen in.

Highlights of poetry reading still happen with amazing frequency.  They began when I first realised what magical particles words and sounds are, and what selection, arrangement, combination – even omission, can play in shaping and delivering meaning.  There were the ‘greats’ I studied at school – some fantastic stuff there, and I’ve stored many riches from them.  But the thing is – poetry keeps on coming.  There are poets all over the world publishing collections, submitting to competitions and anthologies and magazines – and sharing a way of seeing.  Some poems have knocked me flat, left me breathless.  Some have lifted me to heaven; it’s a great ride.

There have been highlights of poetry writing, too.  For years the only public airing of my poems was in eisteddfod performances by drama students for whom I had written them (but who did not know this – hence my use of a pen-name).  There have been lovely moments hearing something performed well.

A major ‘highlight’ was having my submission to the inaugural (and only) Manchester Writing for Children prize short-listed.  This competition was set up by Poet Laureate Carol Ann Duffy’s team at Manchester Uni.

There have been some wonderful outcomes from this.  These poems were published in Let in the Stars, the competition anthology, and one of them has since been chosen for inclusion by Roger McGough in his anthology Happy PoemsAND I have kept in touch with several other poets in the book.  I love the book.  I love so many of the poems in it, and the illustrations (by Manchester art students) are wonderful.

Since then I’ve made successful submissions to several magazines and anthologies – for adults and children.  See ‘Cool Poems’ information further down.  And I keep on submitting – (loads of rejections, of course).

Kate O'Neil Bookcovers 2019
See OOPS! at the end of Q&A for more book details.

Is there a significant thread through your creativity?

I would say not.  If anyone ever notices one I‘d like to be told.  At the Manchester Prize event, Mandy Coe (one of the judges) commented that I write in a variety of voices / styles.  She suggested it might be the influence of drama teaching.  I don’t know if that was praise or not.  Aren’t we writers meant to ‘find our voice’?

What challenges do you face when beginning a poem?

Nothing like the challenges of finishing it.  If a beginning (or middle) pops into my head at an inconvenient moment, I fear it will vanish if I don’t get it down on paper or in the notes on my phone.  This makes my amount of ‘screen time’ look dangerous.

Are you inspired or influenced by another poet?

Inevitably, and I could never know how many.  I’ve done some online workshops recently with UK poet Wendy Pratt, whose work I admire.  She, and others in the group, have helped me tighten my writing.  Lots of deleting went on.

Can you name just one of your favourite poems?

James Carter UK Children's Poet
James Carter UK Children’s Poet

You are asking this of someone whose word files are loaded with favourites!  If they are in the cloud, it will rain my favourite poems one day.  What if I narrow this to ‘favourite poem for children’?  Or better still, ‘favourite concrete / shape poem for children’?  I can do that.  It’s ‘The Moon Speaks!’ by James Carter.  It’s on his website:

http://www.jamescarterpoet.co.uk/poems.html

What is your definition of a successful poem?

This is getting difficult.  There are so many ways in which a poem can succeed (or fail).  I think I’d rate a poem’s success (for me) by the state I’m in after reading it.

How did you feel about poetry when growing up?

I’ve probably answered this in the first question.  I had no discrimination, but anything with rhyme, rhythm, sound patterns, imagery caught my attention.  Hymns, advertising jingles, greeting cards, bush ballads…

Do you draw on your own childhood memories?

Yes, at times, but much of that grist is still very much in the mill.

Kate O'Neil Poetry Cool Poems 04
Excerpt from Kate O’Neil verse expanding on the traditional children’s poem.

Have you experienced an awkward poetry moment?

Mostly private ones. (‘What? Did I really write that?’)

Are you a day dreamer or do you plan significant goals?

Genetically inclined to dreaming, but I try to impose goals to counter this.  (Hence the Wendy Pratt courses which involved writing on a prompt a day for four of the past six months).

Can you give us a hint about your work-in-progress?

‘Progress’ plays tricks on me? I have drafts of picture books, a chapter book, jottings for poems – ALL OVER THE SHOP!  Sometimes something gets finished, usually unexpectedly, usually when I think I am working on something else – and I send it somewhere.  Results are mixed.  This morning, for instance, I learned I have TWO poems long-listed in a comp (adult) and they will be published in an anthology.  Last week I sent off a poem I quite liked to The School Magazine just before I left for Sydney.  By the time I got there it had been rejected.

Do you have some guiding words for emerging poets?

I think it better to share another poet’s words that have guided me.  The main one is READ.

Jo Bell web image credit Lee Allen
Jo Bell web image credit Lee Allen

Jo Bell quote:  “If there is one thing I want you to take from this book, it is this: Nobody writes good poetry without reading good poetry.  Those who don’t take this seriously invariably write cliched, derivative and unoriginal work – just what we all want to avoid – because they aren’t aware of the context in which they are writing.”

‘52: A Year of Poetry Writing Prompts’  p11.  Jo Bell   Nine Arches Press 2015

Poetry Clipart 04

OOPS!  I haven’t mentioned the publication last year of my ‘Cool Poems’.  This was a major highlight!  The book belongs in a series published by Triple D Press, Wagga Wagga NSW.  It was a nail-biting thing to have a book which would sit alongside collections by Australians Bill Scott, Anne Bell, Colin Thiele, Christobel Mattingley and Max Fatchen.  Many thanks to Zita Denholm (Triple D) and Christina Booth (illustrator) for helping it happen.

Di Bates, editor of Buzz Words Magazine, wrote a lovely review on 23 December 2018 ‘Buzz Words: Cool Poems’.

The book Cool Poems’ can be ordered through my website www.kateoneil.com.au or by messaging me through Facebook.

Front-Cover-for-web
‘Cool Poems’ The Kate O’Neil Reciter, illustrations Christina Booth, publisher Triple D Books.

Thank you, Kate!

It has been delightful making your acquaintance and learning more about the workings behind your poetry.  I look forward to reading many more of your beautiful poems.  Gretchen Bernet-Ward

Poetry Clipart 09

‘Wynken, Blynken and Nod’ Poem by Eugene Field

Childhood can come crashing back when you read something from your past.  I saw the words ‘Wynken, Blynken and Nod’ and instantly I was about five years old.

Unwilling to stay in bed, sleep seemingly a million miles away, I knew as soon as my mother recited this magic poem, I would drift off into dreamland.

Eugene Field may not have known the children around the world who fell asleep under the spell of his words, but I’m pretty sure his own kids were good examples.  Did they know the entire poem?  Every line, every verse, every nuance?  I certainly did not.

If you are in the same shoe-boat, read on to discover the complete original while you sip strong coffee…


Wynken, Blynken and Nod

Wynken, Blynken, and Nod one night
Sailed off in a wooden shoe —
Sailed on a river of crystal light,
Into a sea of dew.
“Where are you going, and what do you wish?”
The old moon asked the three.
“We have come to fish for the herring fish
That live in this beautiful sea;
Nets of silver and gold have we!”
Said Wynken, Blynken, and Nod.

The old moon laughed and sang a song,
As they rocked in the wooden shoe,
And the wind that sped them all night long
Ruffled the waves of dew.
The little stars were the herring fish
That lived in that beautiful sea —
“Now cast your nets wherever you wish —
Never afraid are we”;
So cried the stars to the fishermen three:
Wynken, Blynken, and Nod.

All night long their nets they threw
To the stars in the twinkling foam —
Then down from the skies came the wooden shoe,
Bringing the fishermen home;
‘Twas all so pretty a sail
 it seemed
As if it could not be,
And some folks thought ’twas a dream they’d dreamed
Of sailing that beautiful sea —
But I shall name you the fishermen three:
Wynken, Blynken, and Nod.

Wynken and Blynken are two little eyes,
And Nod is a little head,
And the wooden shoe that sailed the skies
Is a wee one’s trundle-bed.
So shut your eyes while mother sings
Of wonderful sights that be,
And you shall see the beautiful things
As you rock in the misty sea,
Where the old shoe rocked the fishermen three:
Wynken, Blynken, and Nod.

By Eugene Field (1850 – 1895) poet and journalist.

https://www.poets.org/poetsorg/poet/eugene-field


Biography:Wynken Blyken and Nod by Eugene Field Poet Columnist 01

Eugene Field was born in St Louis, Missouri, on 2 September 1850 and by all accounts was a great practical joker.

In 1875 he married Julia Comstock and eventually they had eight children.  In 1883 he moved to Chicago, Illinois, to write a column for the Chicago Daily News.

His columns occasionally featured light verse for children and he became known as the ‘Poet of Childhood’.  These imaginative poems were both happy and sad (‘Little Boy Blue’ is a well-known tearjerker) and later published in collections including ‘The Tribune Primer’ in 1900 and ‘A Little Book of Western Verse’ in 1903.  Eugene Field died on 4 November 1895 in Chicago, Illinois.

Wynken Blyken and Nodd Artwork by Maxfield Parrish 1905Maxfield Parrish and other artists illustrated his earlier books, and artwork changed to reflect 20th century styles over the years while the eponymous characters remained constant.

Gretchen Bernet-Ward

 

‘Going to School’ Poem by C J Dennis

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Published by Random House Australia, November 2011 https://www.penguin.com.au/books/classic-australian-poems-9781742753621

Going to School

C J Dennis

 

Did you see them pass today, Billy, Kate and Robin,
All astride upon the back of old grey Dobbin?
Jigging, jogging off to school, down the dusty track––
What must Dobbin think of it––three upon his back?
Robin at the bridle-rein, in the middle Kate,
Billy holding on behind, his legs out straight.

Now they’re coming back from school, jig, jog, jig.
See them at the corner where the gums grow big;
Dobbin flicking off the flies and blinking at the sun––
Having three upon his back he thinks is splendid fun:
Robin at the bridle-rein, in the middle Kate,
Little Billy up behind, his legs out straight.

Poem originally published in ‘A Book for Kids’ 1921

 

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Poem by Clarence Michael James Dennis, better known as Australian poet C J Dennis (Sept 1876 – June 1938) who had a variety of jobs, from bar tender, secretary to a senator, to publisher and editor. He is fondly remembered for the humorous stories and verse he wrote for big city newspapers and was dubbed ‘laureate of the larrikin’ which means he penned prose about boisterous, unruly people. GBW.

Ever get poetry nostalgia?  Australian school children learn poems by C J Dennis, Henry Lawson, Banjo Paterson and many more.  Often a particular poet’s verse follows them through life, even though their lives are nothing like the rough and tumble era in which these pioneer poets wrote.

Changes were afoot in Australia in late nineteenth/early twentieth century and were reflected in the country’s poetry.  In the evening, after dinner, someone would recite a poem or two.  Years later, I grew up with Banjo Paterson’s ‘The Man From Snowy River’, a rollicking ode to bush men, stock riders, the dangerously rugged land and the great value of horses.

Gretchen Bernet-Ward

‘My Dragon Reads Books’ Rhyme

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My Dragon Reads Books

My dragon gives me dirty looks,

When I borrow his favourite books.

I settle down in cosy nooks,

Or rest beside babbling brooks,

To read about pirates with curvy hooks,

And wildly passionate celebrity cooks,

And scattered flocks of noisy rooks,

And a veggie patch of scratching chooks.

There’s even a dungeon full of crooks,

Trying to hide from shimmering spooks.

My dear dragon sulks and sooks,

He folds his wings and mutters ‘zooks’,

Then joins with me to read his books.

Gretchen Bernet-Ward

Dragon Computer Gretchen

Henry Lawson’s Birthday Tribute

Henry Lawson Photograph 1902
Henry Lawson 1902

It’s Henry Lawson’s birthday today.  Writer, poet and balladist, Henry Archibald Hertzberg Lawson (17 June 1867–2 Sept 1922) redefined and immortalised early Australian life despite suffering many hardships including deafness.  Along with his contemporary Andrew ‘Banjo’ Paterson, Henry Lawson is among the best-known Australian bush poets and fiction writers of the Colonial period.  He was the son of the poet, publisher and feminist Louisa Lawson.


Henry Lawson Bush Poem

Read the full version of this ballad on Australian Poetry Library website.


Henry Lawson Poetry Book
‘While the Billy Boils’ is a collection of short stories in prose and verse by iconic Australian writer Henry Lawson, published by Angus and Robertson in 1896.  It includes ‘The Drover’s Wife’, ‘On the Edge of a Plain’ and ‘The Union Buries Its Dead’.

Quote: “Old Mathews drank to drown sorrow, which is the strongest swimmer in the world.”  The Ridiculous Family, from ‘Triangles of Life and Other Stories’ (1913)

Gretchen Bernet-Ward

Exquisite Corpse Parlour Game

Scribbles Masterclass Melbourne May 2018 05
Test your memory and see if you can name any poets from the lines I picked randomly during a timed exercise. “Like gold to airy thinness beat” is from Valediction, Forbidding Mourning by John Donne (1573–1631)

This game can be adapted for writers, artists, poets and movie fans!

 

  • There are two versions.  The version attributed to the Surrealist Movement is when the weirdest possible head, torso, legs of the Exquisite Corpse are drawn by three different players, each folding over the paper so the next person can’t see the results until it is unfolded at the end of the game.

 

  • “Consequences” is the original name of this literary pen and paper parlour game which has been played since the 1800s Victorian Era.  A random sentence is written near the top of the page.  The paper is folded over then passed to several other participants who add to it and fold until it reaches the last person, or the bottom of the page.  The paper is unfolded and the whole “story” is revealed––often with hilarious results.

 

  • Alternatively, photocopied lines from classic poems can be cut into strips and jumbled into a bowl.  Each player blindly chooses nine strips but uses only seven to form a poem.  The mind takes over, sorting and assembling into a reasonably cohesive format.  The verse pictured above is what I put together in a recent Masterclass during a timed exercise.  My Exquisite Corpse earned the comment “feels Gothic and dark”.

 

  • To quote Academy of American Poets: “The only hard and fast rule of Exquisite Corpse is that each participant is unaware of what the others have written, thus producing a surprising—sometimes absurd—yet often beautiful poem. Exquisite Corpse is a great way to collaborate with other poets, and to free oneself from imaginative constraints or habits.”

 

  • Minor changes have been added to Exquisite Corpse over time, from using a single word to including famous lines from books and movies.  For example, you can jot down your favourite movie quote, fold over the paper then pass it on.  See what you can pitch with Arnold Schwarzenegger or Hugh Jackman.  In book mode, an amalgamation of Germaine Greer and Nora Roberts could prove interesting.

 

  • This formula for fun was kindly supplied by WordPress blogger Life After Sixty-Five who wrote––“Here is my favourite version of Exquisite Corpse, though I have played the version where a human body is drawn”––

    He (male name, fold) – someone we all knew, or someone famous
    met She (female name, fold) – could be someone famous, or someone playing the game etc.
    at (place, fold)
    He wore (description of clothes, fold)
    She wore (description of clothes, fold)
    He asked, (question, fold)
    She replied, (answers question, fold)
    And along came (person, fold)
    And so they decided to (decision, fold)
    And in the end…(finish, fold)
    “…the gales of laughter at the silly stories…”


Language Is A Virus
website has the history of Exquisite Corpse and suggested books on the subject.  They started a poem which has been running since 2000 and you can add to the silliness.

Gretchen Bernet-Ward

Exquisite Corpse Quill and Inkpot

 

A Clogyrnach Poem

It’s always enjoyable learning something new, and the format of James Aitchison’s eye-opening Clogyrnach poem is new to me. It’s cleverly gruesome and funny!Dentist Drilling Teeth

Australian Children’s Poetry Website

A CLOGYRNACH GOES

TO THE DENTIST

           (A clogyrnach is a six-line Welsh poem.  

           Lines 1 and 2 have eight syllables with an a rhyme;

           lines 3 and 4 have five syllables with a b rhyme;

           line 5 has three syllables with a b rhyme;

           line 6 has three syllables with an a rhyme.)

I went to the dentist last week;

he opened my mouth for a peek.

When he saw inside,    

his eyes goggled wide.

What he spied

made him shriek.

The news he gave me was chilling,

All of your front teeth need filling;

they’re full of decay,

I’ll fix them today!

I said, “Yay!

s

View original post 79 more words

A Poem by Pete Crowther

‘On Holding a Granite Pebble Found on the Beach’

Beach 04

How many tides

have rolled it round,

this stone I hold

warm in my hand?

 

Rose-pink and grey

it is, you’d say,

the sky at dawn,

or held this way,

the silver glitter

of sun on water.

 

Sea-washed and smooth

it seems to breathe,

familiar there

like an old friend,

or a father’s warm palm

to the hand of a child.

 

Poem by Pete Crowther

‘On Holding a Granite Pebble Found on the Beach’
https://www.poemhunter.com/poems/beach/page-2/613435/
Pete Crowther
https://www.poemhunter.com/pete-crowther/biography/
Website
https://www.poemhunter.com/

 

This is a break from my poetry and I do love this one.

Gretchen Bernet-Ward

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Burning Cauldron of Summer

Maud Fitch 05
Maud Fitch lives in a subtropical climate and 2018 summer has been extremely hot.

Hot nights, boiling days
Anger bites, temper frays.

Clothes stick, sweat drips
Fans click, weekend trips.

Seaside splashes, kids squeal
Sand rashes, sunburn peel.

Straw hats, ice-cream soothes
Cricket bats, sluggish moves.

Lush green, drooping leaves
Magpies preen, beetle weaves.

Shimmering heat, mown grass
Barbecued meat, chilled glass.

Family spats, neighbour snoops
Buzzing gnats, endless loops.

Afternoon heat, swaying palm
Tired feet, wanting calm.

Soft breeze, cooler places
Air-con freeze, calmer faces.

Car toots, dog greets
Unlace boots, cotton sheets.

Dissolving day, warm rain
Moonlight ray, night again.

Maud Fitch – Guest blogger

Saturday is young … then

Sebastian 003

Boredom sets in––

Think of something
Not cooking
Not cleaning
Not walking
Not tai chi
Not writing
Not doing anything

Boredom sets in––

Start a project
Ideas flow
Creativity expands
Love it
Best work ever
I can do more
Much more

Boredom sets in––

It is tricky
It is hard
It will never end
Why did I start
I don’t like it
I hate this thing
Had enough

Boredom sets in.

Gretchen Bernet-Ward

 


Boredom – even the explanations are boring!  Etymology and terminology:

(1) In conventional usage, boredom is an emotional or psychological state experienced when an individual is left without anything in particular to do, is not interested in his or her surroundings or feels that a day or period is dull or tedious.

(2) ‎The word boredom comes from a device called a “boring tool”, a kind of drill that works slowly and repetitively; around 1768, bore, meaning “be tiresome” became a popular slang term and the word “boredom” soon followed.


 

Springtime Ode

September and spring is emerging in the southern hemisphere. And my garden!

Luminous Fluoro Flowers
My ode to springtime using DooDooLite

I have just found out what Crocosmia means!  Small, brightly coloured funnel-shaped blooms, sword-shaped foliage, grown from bulbs similar to the Iris family.  Grouped together they make ideal, butterfly-friendly floral displays.  Such a variety of colours and shapes to gladden the heart of any artistic gardener.

On Gardenia Creating Gardens website, companion planting with Crocosmia is reminiscent of English cottage gardens (see below) although they are natives of South Africa.  I haven’t planted Crocosmia, I should, they tolerate Brisbane’s subtropical climate, humidity, heat and current drought-like conditions.

Flower Crocosmia
https://www.gardenia.net/guide/Great-Companion-Plants-for-Your-Crocosmia

Since Queensland won’t be getting tropical rainfall for a couple of months yet, I will satisfy myself with what I can photograph in my own meagre garden; and add excerpts from some famous poems about springtime.

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“Spring” by Gerard Manley Hopkins
Nothing is so beautiful as Spring –
When weeds, in wheels, shoot long and lovely and lush;
Thrush’s eggs look little low heavens, and thrush
Through the echoing timber does so rinse and wring
The ear, it strikes like lightnings to hear him sing;
The glassy pear tree leaves and blooms, they brush
The descending blue; that blue is all in a rush
With richness; the racing lambs too have fair their fling.
IMG_3818
“A Light Exists in Spring” by Emily Dickinson
A Colour stands abroad
On Solitary Fields
That Science cannot overtake
But Human Nature feels.
It waits upon the Lawn,
It shows the furthest Tree
Upon the furthest Slope you know
It almost speaks to you.
IMG_3822
“September in Australia” by Henry Kendall 
Grey Winter hath gone, like a wearisome guest,
And, behold, for repayment,
September comes in with the wind of the West
And the Spring in her raiment!
The ways of the frost have been filled of the flowers,
While the forest discovers
Wild wings, with the halo of hyaline hours,
And the music of lovers.
Azalea and Dragon
“Lines Written in Early Spring” by William Wordsworth
Through primrose tufts, in that green bower,
The periwinkle trailed its wreaths;
And ’tis my faith that every flower
Enjoys the air it breathes.
Gnomes
“Australian Spring” by Hugh McCrae
And jolly Spring, with love and laughter gay
Full fountaining, lets loose her tide of bees
Upon the waking ember-flame of bloom
New kindled in the honey-scented trees.
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“Spring” by Christina Georgina Rossetti
There is no time like Spring,
When life’s alive in everything,
Before new nestlings sing,
Before cleft swallows speed their journey back
Along the trackless track –
God guides their wing,
He spreads their table that they nothing lack –
Before the daisy grows a common flower
Before the sun has power
To scorch the world up in his noontide hour.

Gretchen Bernet-Ward

My Poésie Comique

Writing Quill 04

STAY HOME DAY

A clock that ticks
A window that sticks
A wet, scrubbed floor
A locked front door
Home for the day.

A shelf that needs dusting
A tap that is rusting
A load of dirty dishes
A long list of wishes
Home for the day.

A basketful of laundry
A mess from all and sundry
A need to be freed
A desire to read
Home for the day.

♥ Gretchen Bernet-Ward



ODE TO MY COLD

My chest wheezes
My nose sneezes
I continually sniff
Every muscle is stiff.

My eyes are blurry
My tongue is furry
My back is sore
My nerves are raw.

How my head aches
Oh, for heaven’s sakes
Get rid of this pain
I want to be normal again.

♥ Gretchen Bernet-Ward



XBOX LIFESTYLE

My daughter is not a tot
She’s a futuristic robot
The years are a passin’
Now she’s an assassin.

She’s finished her tour of duty
Her score’s a beauty
Masterful chief is circled by gore
Dead aliens become a bore.

Her swearing is profuse
I really should call a truce
She’s grandly thieving cars
And meets a hit man in bars.

My daughter is another girl
Keeping track makes me whirl
A lizard tail on the rim of sky
Oh, dear my brain will fry.

Perhaps limit the time
That she fights crime
When taking on every role
On her Xbox console.

She’s scaly, she’s rough, she’s tough
That’s it, I’ve had enough
I look very smug
In my hand I hold the plug.

 Gretchen Bernet-Ward



BLOGGER

Got myself a WordPress blog
To give my thoughts a jog
I guess I’m just another cog
In the internet machine.

Remember to post every day
So readers won’t go away
But, eh, come what may
On the internet machine.

A photograph looks nice
Attract readers at any price
Make my blog their vice
On the internet machine.

Followers, likes and tags
Stats with peaks and sags
My enthusiasm lags
On the internet machine.

A thought has stirred
I will not be deterred
Write down every word
On the internet machine.

 Gretchen Bernet-Ward

Gears and Cogs 06