There’s a sense of satisfaction
when your thoughts down deep within
reach fruition and you know it
’cause you sit there with a grin
and you wonder if your peers,
for you welcome their critiques,
would they praise the rhyme and rhythm,
but suggest the verse is weak.
There’s a competition running
so you send your masterpiece
with the hope they’ll treat you kindly,
but the butterflies increase.
For you’ve heard they can be brutal
or just honest, should I say
and your nerves are shot to pieces
when the Postie comes each day.
Then among the mail one morning
is the letter you await;
How you seem to be all fingers,
’cause you’re in an anxious state.
Still you’ve torn the env’lope open
and you scan down through the text
not quite knowing how to take aboard
the comments that come next.
“I have read your little poem
and this comment bears no grudge.
Put more fire into your poems
or vice versa.” Yours – the Judge.
From the Book You’re Joking – Milk in Billy Tea.
It has always been my goal in bush poetry to be recognised not only for my ability to perform Bush Verse, but to be recognised for my efforts as a writer of original works. I have, over the past years, entered a number of competitions presenting various singular pieces of verse and also at times collective pieces in the way of my books resulting in varied and rather interesting comments from judges. Some giving praise and awards, others more on the line of the above verse.