ORIGINAL VERSE

Southland Times, Issue 20585, 8 September 1928, Page 22 (Supplement)

ORIGINAL VERSE

Two excellent verses have been sent to me by a rapidly improving verse-maker, Cousin Annie Williamson, who is quite one of my best poets. These twelve lines, although they contain many places which could be improved, are amazingly good. The idea is ambitious, and she has carried it out well, obtaining the atmosphere she desired with little obvious effort. “Legion” is an unnatural word, and spoils the first poem—its actual meaning is a division of the old Roman army, which is hardly suitable in this connection. The use of the same rhyme occurring in both poems is not wise. The rather unusual rhyme and rhythm pattern is distinctly good. Annie, I am proud of you. TWO POEMS. —The Wind— There is a pathos in the windy day That seems to charm my soul away To some enchanted region; Aq if the wildest vengeance of the breeze Had cast a spell upon the sighing tree* And had bewitched this legion. —The Breeze— There is a sweetness in the gentle breeze— A harmony of music in the trees As of a lonely singer. Each soothing note brings peace upon the air And gentleness is present everywhere To greet the music-bringer. —4 marks to Cousin Annie Williamson (14), P.O. Box 60, Balclutha. Cousin Violet Vincent is another promising verse-maker younger and much less experienced than the other two. Her poem on “Rain” shows a surer control of metre than she had formerly, and her rhmying is better. I was very pleased with it. RAIN. Pit-a-pat, pit-a-pat, Down came the rain, Bering with its mighty fores Against the window pane. Coming down in torrents Pelting, showering, through The hedges, trees and gardens And fresh’ning them anew. Running down the hillsides, In form of little streams Leaving the drops to play awhile Or sleep and have their dreams. —3 marks to Cousin Violet Vincent (11), 33 Elizabeth Street, Bluff. Cousin Elsie Amos has come back to us again after a temporary lapse, and really “A Child’s Puzzle” shows that she has benefitted by the spell. There is a little too much repetition of the same idea, involving a repetition of rhymes; but on the whole it is refreshing and entertaining, and quite well done A CHILD’S PUZZLE. Please tell me, daddy, if you can, What I’ll have to do to be a man, Will I have to work and never play, And be a good boy all the day? Is this what I will have to do To-be a man, daddy, just like you? Must I have clean hands and face, And always put things in their place Or must I never tease the cat, Or hide my little sister’s hat? And must I always be polite, And say my prayers every night; Is this what I have to do, To be a man, daddy, just like you? Sometimes I don’t know how I can, Ever grow into a man, Things all seem so hard to do, Daddy, were they hard for you? Did you have clean hands and face, And always put things in their place? Your sister did you never tease, Did you never do such things as these? Tell me daddy, if you can For some day I must be a man. —3 marks to Cousin Elsie Amos (15), Mabel Bush Cousin Mollie Burn is developing her natural aptiiute for childish poems very nicely. She must watch her rhyming, however. “Again’ ’and “same” do not rhyme. Her rhythm is steadier, and she uses her ideas well. BLANKET BAY. When I am snug in Blanket Bay Down in my cosy bed, I gaze at my dim surroundings Waiting for sleep’s soft tread. A silver moonbeam wandefs in, And strays around the room, Its brightness is enchanting Against the other gloom. I fancy I see dim phantom shapes Creeping around the walls So I bury my head in terror And listen for sly foot-falls. Then when nothing happens at aff Relief comes once again, I cautiously gaze around me To find things just the same. And when sleep still eludes me I think of things gone by, Things I want to happen again And things I’ll have to try. But then my memory wanders For sleep has claimed my sight And when I wake in the morning I find I’ve slept all night. —2 marks to Cousin Mollie Burn (15), 94 Duke Street, Gladstone. Cousin Emily Korrell’s chief trouble is that she is careless both in writing and spelling, which means that there is always a certain amount of work I have to decipher before attempting to criticise it. I wish she would watch these things, and form the habit of going over her work. SPRING. Spring has brought the darling birdies. Back again to sing; Dainty flowers in their beds, * Off their green frocks fling. The sun is gleaming in the sky, And the clouds all flee away; We don’t want them again Till a winter’s day. Oh, how soft is the breeze, That kisses flowers fair; Daffys, pansies, primroses, And violets everywhere. —1 mark to Cousin Emily Horrell (13), “Fairview,” Mandeville. Cousin Desmond Crowley is a very young Cousin indeed to be sending me a first attempt at verse making, and I must say his poem on “The Wind” surprised and pleased me ever so much. I consider it quite an achievement for a little boy only seven years old, and I hope it will spur older Cousins to follow his exam [de, besides encouraging him to carry on with the good work he has begun so admirably. THE WIND. I am the wind and I blow all day, x I blow over the meadow, and I’m always at play. The weather-cocks are there to tell which way I blow, And it is I who makes the great rivers flow. It’s very often I blow off men’s hats, And on my way I often see cats. 1 mark to Cousin Desmond Crowley (7), 85 Pomona Road, Georgetown.