Original Verse

Southland Times, Issue 25312, 15 June 1935, Page 23

Original Verse

There are two very good reasons why I am not attaching detailed criticisms to the original verse this week. The first is that the number of poems waiting to be published is growing again; and the second is—plays. I haven't quite as much time as I would like this week.

HAVE YOU? Have you, like me, fear of the dark? Of supernatural things; Of witches, goblins, elves and sprites That haunt you in the dead of night And do not let you sleep? Have you?

And have you undressed in the dark? With shadows all around; That frighten you, and make you hot— Then cold and hot by turns you grow! Until you are in bed. Have you?

—3 marks to Cousin Patricia Summers (15), Orepuki.

WINTER. Oh listen to the winter rain, And how the trees do blow. Making the leaves tumble down, Like butterflies they go.

Winter is here with silvery frost, All the flowers are gone to rest. Cuddled away from frost and snow. Winter’s the season I love the best. —2 marks to Cousin Pat Henderson (10), Waikaia.

RAIN. Oh! who would grumble at the summer shower. To faded plants it is a sacred hour. It leaves the slender grass soft pearled with dew And to the swaying flowers adds richer hue.

It wakes to fragrance, scents grown thick with heat, And cools the faded grass, with twinkling feet. It fills the flowers with nectar for the bees, And plays with merry sparkles in the trees.

I do not mind the sting of driving rain It stings and tingles on my face again. I do not mind its touch upon my cheek The world is changed to picturesque, from bleak.

The gleaming pools, all dimpled with the drops, On trees rain opals swing, until it stops.• Oh! who could grumble for a walk delayed Or will not go in rain, but is dismayed.

I would not let the rain my hopes defeat But go; and if a breeze I chance to meet. I’d watch it ripple waves in' model seas. Oh! who would miss the beauty in all these.

How blue and clear the sky, when clouds have passed. How fresh, how cool, the world, sweet peace at last. Now everything is changed, all life is joy. How can the beat of rain, someone annoy. —3 marks to Cousin Isobel McKenzie (13), Dipton.

THE CHILD WHO WAS LONELY.

She pressed her tear-stained face against the window, And wished the world was not quite so unkind. For sad was she; this lonely little maiden, And sad the thoughts which occupied her mind. The playmates that she loved, were taken from her; Were bidden to depart, without delay. She pleaded for them, but her heart was broken, Her parents cruel refused to let them stay.

They said she was above that class of people, For they were rich, disliking all the poor; But she knew they were friends, so true faithful, With them she’d played so oft upon the moor.

And now with all her playthings scattered round her, The little maiden sat forlorn and sad. And wished with all her heart that was within her, To be a happy, carefree, little lad. —3 marks to Cousin Patrica Summers (15), Orepuki.

The last line has an extra syllable and the rhyme pattern in the second verse should be the same as in the first. Your rhythm is improving, Kath.

THE FIRST CROCUS. Down yonder, by a sodden creek, There was a wayside flower, And with a stifled yawn it turned, From its leafy bower.

I couldn’t see it, first, at all, For it was very small, But it soon grew I’m glad to say, And by it, I did love to stay. —1 mark to Cousin Kath Springford (12), 304 Yarrow street.

PETER PAN. He’s the cutest little, kitten Who ever saw the light of day, For his dainty paws are bandy And his coat a smoky grey.

His tail is quite the largest, Of all the cats I’ve seen. His purr the most contented, And his eyes the brightest green.

His cry is really plaintive If his milk we long delay, And when he’s had the meat he loves, He’s ready for a play.

Although Gray may be a Persian, Quite as pretty as the rest. This is everybody’s version, Peter Pan is far the best. —2 marks to Cousin Sylvia Scott (14), Queenstown,

JOHN'S HOUSEKEEPING. When Mary went on holiday, She was the wife you see, John said, “I’ll have a happy time, I’ll fry some chops for tea."

First he set the fire aright, It went well from the start, Then he melted all the lard, “This game cheers up my heart.”

Alas! Alas! What luck for John, As to the pan he turned, His/precious tea was ruined quite, The chops were black and burned. When Mary came home from the town, They laughed throughout the day. And Mary said, “Oh! John, next time You’ll try another way” —3 marks to Cousin Margaret Tither (13), “Terrace Farm,” Edendale.

THE VAGABOND.

Oh sing me a song of the open road, And the meadows wet with dew; A song of the bushlands green, leafy hall, With the sunlight sifting through.

Oh sing me a song of a bubbling brook, Where the sleepy brown trout lie; Where the willows sway to a gentle breeze And a winding road runs by.

Oh sing me a song of a mountain path, Where my lagging footsteps stray; Where I can climb to the grey rocky heights, And rest at the close of day.

Oh sing me a song of the ocean deep, A song of the running tide, For my heart is off to a distant land, Far over the ocean wide. —2 marks to Cousin Matty Winsloe (15), Merrivale.

THE LADY WITH THE LAMP. There moved a womanly figure White amid the gloom. With lamp held tight within her hand She flits from room to room.

She came to a sick man. Lying moaning in his bed, And put put a firm cool hand Upon his feverish head.

How greatly she was loved by all, . And not once did she fail, As gentle as an angel girl, Was Florence Nightingale. —2 marks to Cousin Daphne McLeay (12), Otahu, Blackmount, Otautau R.D.