ORIGINAL VERSE

Southland Times, Issue 21097, 31 May 1930, Page 22

ORIGINAL VERSE

I am glad that Cousin Vera Gillespie has taken up writing verses again, because a year or two ago she was one of our most amusing verse-makers; and to be able to write humourous verse entertainingly is a very precious gift-—and one which should be cultivated assiduously. Vera’s pen has become rusty through disuse, it is true, and that is not to be wondered at. Ido want her to try and keep up thfe present industry, however, and these two poems she has sent this week form a good beginning. 'To a Tulip” is rather commonplace in its treatment of a beautiful subject. Its last line is over-crowded, and the repetition of queenly is not good; but the ideas are undoubtedly original, and she has ,an ease of expression which bodes well for her future work. ' TO A TULIP. Tall and stately tulip, Swaying in the breeze,Why are you so queenly And always at your ease? Violet is so shy and sweet, And pansy is the same, But tulip, you are queenly. As if you’d acquired fame. With your waxy petals, And your stem so slim, Tulip, you’re a beauty, And your beauty ne’er grows dim. —3 marks to Cousin Vera Gillespie (13), 2SB Dee street, Invercargill.

“When Father Cranks the Car” signifies a welcome return to her humorous verses, and it is here her “rustiness” is more in evidence. The rhythm is jerky in places, and at times the lines completely alter both in metre and pattern. In the first place, the title and style of the poem are reminiscent of that well-known poem “When Father Carves the Duck”; and in the second place I had better warn Vera that Mr Henry Ford has issued an ultimatum that he will prosecute anyone referring to the car he manufactures as “Lizzie” or any other such heresy! So let’s hope Mr Henry Ford doesn’t read the Little Southlanders’ Page this week! WHEN FATHER CRANKS THE CAR. My pa has got a car, you know, A placid purring Lizzie, And off to town he sometimes goes, At a pace that makes one dizzy. The car, of course, he has to crank, Not a very pleasant job; All the family gather round, Young Jim, and Jack, and Bob. When father starts to crank the car, Then the fun begins: It’s “Get me this,” and “Get me that” To cope with Lizzie’s sins. But soon she starts to growl or purr,— Liz is a great old tin can; So pleased, was she when Dad called her "Liz” She nearly cranked herself and ran. We’ve had some really pleasant times. Touring all around, ’Though Liz was born in nineteen-twelve, We’ve covered a lot. of ground. Her wheels arc solid and her engine sound, But her body has many a scar, So we have to stand well back, When father cranks the car. —2 marks to Cousin Vera Gillespie (13), 288 Dee street, Invercargill. Cousin Chrissie Ross, that clever young new-comer to this column, has written a poem in lighter vein this week, and has done it fairly well. This tjpe of verse, you will have discovered, is much more difficult to write than that on more “poetical” subjects. That is because the touch has to be both light and sustained throughout. I would have her know, too, that “air-ship” is an American term. WHEN THE FARM SAW AN AEROPLANE. Everything was quiet, The sheep were eating grass; But, oh! There was such turmoil When the aeroplane did pass. Old Ned (he is our gee-gee), Ran like a thunder-bolt; Before, he was so quiet, But then, just like a colt. The cows began to bellow, They made an awful din, And we were so excited That we each beat a tin. The calves quite jumped the fence, And stamped among our hay; So wc were glad that air-ships Did not pass every day. 2 marks to Cousin Christina Ross (11), “Mountview,' Puketiro, Gatlins. Cousin Margaret Macarthur’s “Lazy Dolly” sounds a little stilted, especially after the really freer work she has been sending me of late. I want her to watch even more carefully that, she isn’t sacrificing sense for her rhymes. LAZY DOLLY. I wish I had a pram To put in Miss Dolly, For she will not talk To me—it is just folly. I take out Miss Dolly, She is always the same; It’s wash her, and dress her, And give her a name. She will not talk, This Dolly of mine; I talk till I’m tired To this object of nine. Her ribbons well washed, Her dresses well made, For she makes up very pretty To take for a wade. —2 marks to Cousin Margaret Macarthur (11), Ohai. I am so glad Cousin Nita Finlay is persisting with her verse-making, which is certainly improving, although she has not yet conquered all the pit-falls laid by metre and the demands it makes'. “In the Country” gives a pleasant picture. IN THE COUNTRY. The sun is shining above me, And the birds are singing so sweet; The children, they play in the clover Which is cool in spite of the heat. The little brook beside me, Dances merrily on its way; It ripples and sings, as it flows along, Like a happy child at play. The cows and sheep in the meadow Are grazing, and are quite content; - But not a sound escapes their hearing Though their heads are every one bent. —1 mark to Cousin Nita Finlay (13), Te Tua. Cousin Rosemary Rowley always has excellent ideas—they make me sorrier than ever that she doesn’t practise more often. TWILIGHT. The flowers are all closing, The birds are flying home to the nest; The sky is turning rosy red, The moths are all a flirting; > The butterflies are going to rest, And all the little creatures are going to bed. —1 mark to Cousin Rosemary Rowley (12), Clifden. Cousin Rosemary Rowley does not try as often as I would like her to; but then I’m very greedy, I suppose, when it comes to my Cousins and what they can do. Rosemary has some good ideas, as in “Books”; but she does not rhyme consistently, and her rhythm falters in places. That, I must add, is through lack of practice. BOOKS. I have read many booksAnne of Green Gables And Fairy Fables, All about maids and cooks And Prince Charming, And beautiful princesses In gorgeous dresses, And huntsmen all a-smiling. I—l mark to Cousin Rosemary Rowley (12), Clifden House, Clifden.