Thoughts on Poetry

I like poetry. I like writing poetry and I like reading some of it.

I enjoy reading poetry that has a strong rhyme scheme like Sea Fever, or an interesting narrative or has a different way of looking at things, perhaps on nature, and emotions. To me, the best line in all poetry is:

And a grey mist on the sea’s face, and a grey dawn breaking.

If you have been to sea, you will know how apt and evocative this is.

I am a little old fashioned in that I am not keen on what is called poetry or free verse but is really just a jumble of words that don’t seem to say anything.

I do enjoy writing to a structure. I have had a go at couplets, pastiches of poets, I also enjoy words on the page that have a certain shape and perhaps tell you a little more about the poem, I really enjoy writing Haiku and other esoteric forms such as Tanka, Etheree and fibonacci. My favourite is the sonnet form, written in iambic pentameter such as:-



Shall I compare thee to a can of rice
Round of body but top and base conflate:
Financial storms inflate the bogof price,
Anne Summer’s lease hath all too short a date:

Sometime too hard the might of Tesco strike,
And oft his gold ramps up the price
as every fair trade cost from far oft places spike:
By chance or corporate plans change to gneiss

But thy internal dessert shall not decay,
Nor lose possession of that fair trade thou must;
Nor shall Death erode and change day to day
When time advances, to sell by or change to rust

So long as men can breathe, or palate can taste
So long lives this, not set to fall to waste


The chimney        

The first little pig built me from straw.
He realised me quickly, time to do more?
The reed was so cheap, soon thatched together
Everyone was happy, I kept out the weather.

The second little pig built me from wood
He put me together as a joiner should.
Wooden planks roamed all over the roof
Knocked into place with the little pig’s hoof.

The third little pig built me from brick
She built me strongly so that I would stick
in place on the roof in spite of the wind,
that the wolf huffed and could not rescind.

The moral of this story has to be
If you want strong chimneys, always choose she.


©Richard Kefford

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