Pompous Trees Speak Out

Autumn is the season
To impress when we undress
Our cascading leaves
Make a colourful mess
But we love the closeness of your touch
When you sweep us up in bags
To make recycling cheap
This we openly must confess

We are trees that are brown, and tall
Growing beside the garden wall
But the shrubs and moss are small
And they have no trunks at all

We bear fruits, berries, and dates
Put us in a bowl of corn flakes
To swim in a milky lake
We bring smiles on faces
Of kids when they awake

We are trees puny or tall, we enthrall
Those people in the mall
We decorate the rooms and the hall
A habitat for birds and insects that crawl

We are trees with flowers too
A kaleidoscope of colour, glowing for you
White, pink, red, orange and blue
And that is all so very true














©Paterika Hengreaves
September 2006/Ohio, USA

THE PANTOUM

Author's Comments

Victor-Marie Hugo is responsible for introducing the Malaysian Pantun to European writers. The Pantoum is a fixed form consisting of a varying number of four-line stanzas (quatrains) with a rhyme scheme of abab. The second and fourth lines of each stanza are repeated to form the first and third lines of the succeeding stanza, with the first and third lines of the first stanza forming the second and fourth of the last stanza, but in reverse order, so that the opening and closing lines of the poem are identical. The poems listed below are my modest attempts at creating the Pantoum:

* That Possums’ Wear

* The Asian Tsunami of 2004

Victor-Marie Hugo (February 26, 1802 - May 22, 1885) was a French poet, novelist, playwright, essayist, visual artist, statesman and human rights campaigner. He was recognized as the most influential Realist writer of the 19th Century. His birthplace was Besancon, France and is burial spot is in Paris, France.

What sets apart the Pantoum from the original Malaysian Pantun? The Pantun follows the same rhyme and line patterns of the Pantoum but differs in these essential respects. Though it is traditionally improvised, the theme or the meaning is conveyed in the second to lines of each quatrain, while the first two lines present an image or allusion which may or may not have an obvious connection with the theme.

An allusion is an implied or indirect reference to something assumed to be known, such as a historical event or personage, a well-known quotation from literature or famous work of art. It can be used by the poet as a means of imagery, since like a symbol; it can suggest ideas by connotation. Like allegories and parodies, its effectiveness depends upon the reader’s acquaintance with the reference alluded to in the write.

Imagery is any literary reference to the five senses (sight, touch, smell, hearing, taste). Essentially, imagery is any words that create a picture in one’s head. Such images can be planted by using figures of speech, such as similes, metaphors, personification, and assonance.

An allegory is the figurative illustration of truth or generalization about human conduct or experience in a narrative or description by the use of symbolic fictional figures and actions which the reader then interprets as a likeness to the subject’s properties and circumstances. Though similar to a series of symbols and an extended metaphor, the meaning of an allegory is more direct and less subject to ambiguity than a symbol. The allegory is distinguishable from an extended metaphor in that the literal equivalent of an allegory’s figurative comparison is not usually expressed. The best know allegory is English Literature is Edmund Spenser’s poem, “The faerie Queene.”

A parody is a ludicrous imitation, usually intended for comic effect but more so for ridicule, of both the style and content of another work. The humour depends upon the reader’s familiarity with the original. Sir John Suckling’s poem, “A Ballad upon a Wedding” is a parody of an epithalamium (a wedding song or poem in honour of the bride and bridegroom).

That Possums' Wear

(In Pantoum)

That possums’ wear!
It is unsightly, without a doubt,
On willows, and pollard outerwear.
The trees are finding it hard, this spring, to sprout.

It is unsightly, without a doubt.
We see such headless trunks, without leaves.
The trees are finding it hard, this spring, to sprout;
When rain doth fall, amid the breeze.

We see such headless trunks, without leaves,
On barren lands that slip away,
When rain doth fall, amid the breeze;
Afforestation is the challenge, day by day.

On barren lands that slip away,
Veggie roots no longer cling, to the ground.
Afforestation is the challenge, day by day,
When, omnivorous possums everywhere, abound.

Veggie roots, no longer cling to the ground,
So bees and birds, don’t build their nests,
When omnivorous possums, everywhere abound;
They are such invasive squirmy pests.

So bees and birds, don’t build their nests;
On account of these marauding bush tail rats,
For they are such invasive pests,
So very fat, they look like tabby cats.

On account of these marauding bush tail rats,
The environment, we must protect from this ragtag lot,
So very fat, they look like tabby cats;
They need to be dealt with on the spot.

The environment, we must protect from this ragtag lot,
Because their sticky underwear, truly clings.
They need to be dealt with on the spot;
We say, make their pelts, into all sorts of things.

Because their sticky underwear, truly clings,
On willows and pollard outerwear;
We say, make their pelts, into all sorts of things,
That possums’ wear.

©Paterika Hengreaves
Spring 2004/New Zealand

The Asian Tsunami of 2004

(In Pantoum)


Tsunami is only nodding in a water-bed, this creep,
After his Yuletide feast,
This beast, is never truly asleep
In the deep ocean in the east.

After his Yuletide feast,
Drunk with human gore,
In the deep ocean in the east,
And drenched in water, is the beast.

Drunk with human gore;
Churning, tossing and snoring as before,
And drenched in water, is the beast
In a restless mood.

Churning, tossing and snoring as before,
Thinking what his next meal would include.
In a restless mood,
Bereaved families, ride the waves of despair.

Thinking what his next meal would include,
After the devastation in Aceh and elsewhere,
Bereaved families, ride the waves of despair;
Horrendous events as such, flooded their minds.

After the devastation in Aceh and elsewhere,
The threat of hurricanes, cyclones and Kick ‘em Jenny,
Horrendous events as such, flooded their minds;
In reminiscent, of the Caribbean mighty, gusty winds.

The threat of hurricanes, cyclones and Kick ‘em Jenny,
Words of advice, from meteorologists are many.
In reminiscent, of the Caribbean mighty, gusty winds,
Much preparedness constantly must be.

Words of advice from meteorologists are many:
This beast, is never truly asleep,
Much preparedness constantly must be,
Tsunami is only nodding in a water-bed, this creep.

©Paterika Hengreaves
Summer 2004/New Zealand

OPEN FORM

Author's Comments

Open Form poetry for all intent and purposes is really Free Verse. It relies on the spontaneous process which comes when the poet is not ruled by poetic constructs. This is so because the use of regular rhythmic patterns, that is, the metrical feet is abandoned. Also, it does not usually rhyme but when there is rhyming it is natural and does not send off the feeling of being forced.

To sum this up, Open Form has freed itself from all the shackles commonly associated with traditional poetry. This liberation as it were, does free the mind from dictates established, but there is an upside and a downside to this paradigm shift, the latter being greater. Persons well versed in the traditional ways of writing poetry invariably do not find difficulty when it comes for them to write Open Form. This is therefore not hard to understand why. However, it is usually not the case the other way around.

I make no apologies for saying that Open Form does little in the way of pushing the poetic bar to newer and daring heights. Poets with a passion for aesthetic nature of poetry find themselves pushing poetry to even greater heights. They are not contented to merely be caught up in poetic complacency that is more often than not the case with Open Form for which this style has the tendency to do. Especially when Open Form poetry does not exhibit a rich imagery and a rhythmic cadence that is powerful. In the final analysis, without these two important aspects of Open Form for which there is no other way to evaluate its greatness, it is not hard to see this form being relegated to what some may say just another display of verbal diarrhea.

Mind you, I’m not saying that Open Form is bad poetry, all I’m trying to say is that it tends to stymie poetic growth especially when its imagery is not vibrant or the cadence flawed as is the case of much published free verse poetry. So, in a way as free as Open Form may sound without some basic structure for guidance it falls flat on its face. So can there be such a thing as free verse! Just think about that. We tend to pull down time tested walls to build on shifting sands but sooner or later we find ourselves shifting gears and returning to base camp again, and that’s what’s happening to poetry today. People are returning to structures of yesteryear or at least acknowledging the good to be gained when poetry is pushed far beyond the qualifying bar.

I like to give Jack his jacket once I know that it will fit well. I said that to say this, I have great respect for E. E. Cummings who experimented radically with form, punctuation, spelling and syntax by way of abandoning traditional techniques and structures to create a new, highly idiosyncratic means of poetic expression. He created the way for all and sundry to delve into poetry even more so for those who some people would say have no passion for academia. He amassed this gigantic following among the youth because his artistry’s simplicity and playful mode on his topics of war and sex.

No doubt, from reading the aforesaid, you may rush to conclude that I don’t like Open Form or wouldn’t write it. Far from the truth. I like all forms of poetry though some may score a higher rating nevertheless I try my head and hands at them all. It is the challenge they present and the satisfaction of striving for versatility in my creative artistry. However, there are essential aspects which I need to get from poetry whether from reading it or from writing it; to read me is to know me and here is the opening line of a poem, “If poetry be the food of the senses....” that gives a peek into what my poetic needs and what can bring me great and sustainable satisfaction. Click here to read the full poem.

Those Charming Birds

All over the town, people are talking,
About the six dimensions,
Of these evolving freaks,
Whose thunderous voices,
At dawn and dusk,
Rock the Aotearoa, mountain peaks.
These bizarre cases
Of nature, some how, do enthrall.

Their facial structure,
So very small,
And nostrils, out of place,
Which cosmetic surgery,
Could erase, the mystery.

Their social ways of life, are very weird,
And their eating habits, smeared.
With a crotch, clutch and drop,
Of an egg, so big,
In their burrow of grass, and twig,
They lay in the ground.

They are copycats, and prowlers
Of the night, not easily found;
They work, when others are fast asleep.

With so many talents and gifts;
Their camouflage is unique,
And the tattoo patches, too sleek
On their chests, and bellies,
They wear, these honorary celebrities.

We are superstars now,
But bemoan the fact,
That we are hunted, by the paparazzi,
The ferrets, every dog, and cat;
Stalking us, in our natural habitat…

These terrorist bands, with covert and overt plans,
Are ruining our heritage, and our lands.

We are confused,
By the bright light,
You are calling us, fur ball hermits;
Yet you are saying, we have a great smell,
And much finesse,
Wearing a saggy dress…

Naturally shy, these foul descriptors,
Don’t lower their self-esteem;
For their awesome skills are very well entrenched.
The mystic god of the forest, Tane...
Smiles on their freakish charm,
And they are revered, across the land.

Some are icons with flightless wings,
Flying remarkably well on high,
The national emblem bears their name,
At the Olympic games, for fame,
And across the food chain, for capital gain.

As agile as ever,
They do the polka, and the haka,
With great mouths to holler,
All birds in the air,
All fishes in the sea,
Do tell us what this poet
From another land, touring our town,
Is talking about!

The barb talks,
Not about the fruits,
Nor about the kiwis;
Only about Kiwi Birds,
Found in beautiful Niu Tireni.

©Paterika Hengreaves
August, 2004/Hibiscus Coast, New Zealand

Throwing Poetics to the Wind

Donning in softness they caress,
With gentle touch of lips,
The tender, dancing tongs,
Hold fast, the vase of love.

The taste of sweetness, takes a plunge;
Down the slope, with an angel twist,
Upon the swans, of a setting sun,
Like soft mounds, upon a dusky cheer.

The velvet yield, and gentle drop,
The whispering raiment, cast aside...
Falls to ground, and spinning
Like a rose, treasured love unfolds.

Gliding through to the very core,
Sipping with delicate pauses, at oasis spring,
Near the centre, at the border of gems,
Amorously rest, in lingering laps.

The damp, fiery tongs are seared;
Dipping into the flowery urn,
To scoop the laving juice of desire,
On quivering leaves from branches high.

Softly, planting tiny kisses,
Across the apple of the eye,
With hordes of dancing butterflies,
To dance, the dance lovers keep,
On the hill, they roll and creep.

©Paterika Hengreaves
Spring 2006/Ohio, USA

Ode to the Ghost of Sam Lord

(Irregular Ode)

While in the air from Indiana to Detroit, I wrote this irregular ode after three days of seeing the city of Indianapolis, its Statues, Motor Speedway, the greatest in the world (heard so much about this motor speedway and watched numerous TV footage on various car racing events there, so had to see the real thing for myself) the Pyramids, a beautifully designed architectural building housing legal offices, and many other places of historical significance in the State of Indiana.

Those familiar with the legend of Sam Lord, the Celtic Bajan Plantation Owner who turned buccaneer should find this poem to be an interesting read...I hope...for Halloween. I know Bajans will be amused and so will you. Watch the video clip:



In Bimshire, the Castle stands on the land;
A Georgian fort, built by a Celtic man
Called Sam, a planter Lord who fooled them all,
With his wild songs, at the buccaneer’s brawl:
Bring me rum and spirits; watch how they fall
Under coconut palms, where lanterns shone,
Beneath dark moon; he cast his spell upon,
The ponderous beat, of the ebbing tide;
His tricks, and gooey treats he hid inside
Long Bay, with Atlantic swells, deep and wide;
With beaming flares, his evil ploy did sway
Sailors to anchor, in faked secured bay.

You know, treasure ships do give me a thrill;
My notions here this night, I must fulfill;
Merchants and pirates too, I take my pick
On their bloody bones, on rough rocks they stick;
Swirling in tumbling waves they come ashore,
On these precious, treacherous, rocks for sure,
Their treasures, my nightly pickings; I crave
For sailors, who dance in watery grave;
Derelicts of the sea, no longer brave.

Those blood-thirsty goblins, took all the loot;
Buried the sailors, with no gun salute;
The treasure, they hid, in the Castle ground
With eerie coconuts trees, all around
And to this day, it has never been found.

His ghost haunts, Cobblers’ Reef, on Halloween;
With eyes of green, his laugh is loud, and mean
Causing palm trees, to quake, shiver and shake,
And zombie sailors, to dance, when waves brake,
Upon those spooky lanterns’ blazing wake.

© Paterika Hengreaves
First released on October 28, 2006/Ohio, USA

Ode to the Buckeye Tree

(Homostrophic Ode in Iambic Pentameter Sexain of ababcc)
Since February, I have left behind,
The tropical shine to come to this place,
Where winter resting, brings much peace of mind,
Just to feel the Arctic wind on my face
In Cleveland Heights, and beyond Forest Hills,
I see seasons change with bounteous thrills.

Winter wonderland before my window,
Trees thick with dormant lines of fertile strand
On gray trunks like towers, fully aglow
In frozen wear in virgin snow they stand
Delicately balancing flowing air
They bow; these evergreens and pines with flair.

The thawing earth brings dandelions out,
With spinning wheels of fluff above the ground,
Ring in the spring and buckeye blazing shout,
Amid the trees, where many leaves abound;
Cardinals and jays perch, in bright array
Among the blooms they chirp and feed each day.

The lazy days of summer bring much fuss,
To back yard barbecues warm and cheery;
Beneath a smiling sky of blue caress
The “beautiful river” and Lake Erie,
A picture perfect nature paints the scene
Fish dance while squirrels sneak fruits from the green.

With palmate leaves buckeye trees stand so grand,
Deciduously so in Ohio,
These fetid buckeyes stall throughout the land,
With mystic stories told with con brio.
Huskless nuts, look like, the eyes of a deer
Disagreeable in taste I did hear.

With quintuple petals fused at the base,
Their showy candle-like blooms light the way
For pollinating insects swift embrace
Late in April and throughout early May;
On the buckeye wood, light, soft, weak and white,
Make crafty things, so eyes pop with delight.

Legends haunt the buckeye tree so we’ve got,
One nutty nut in the pocket brings luck,
Killing rheumatism right on the spot;
Where free leaves caught in ground-baked nuts were stuck;
And soapy buckeye tears cured cholera
During the mid nineteenth century era!

Sing Iroquois for the buckeye tree,
In Ohio Indians planted me.
Hetuck! Hetuck! Hetuck! Oh! I love thee,
There Brutus, the buckeye mascot we see
The emblem of the University,
And Ohio since nineteen fifty three.

©Paterika Hengreaves
August 2006/Ohio, USA


The State of Ohio is full of trees when compared with my native land. Wow! I have to say we need to start planting more trees on the island not only on Arbor Day. Indigenous ones I would say. Hope it is not too late for surely Barbados could do with more trees. I'm absolutely amazed at the rich vegetation and fauna that abound in this yankee State. The buckeye tree took my fancy and having been told that it is the State tree of Ohio I saw this as an opportunity to write a landmark poem called, "Ode to the Buckeye Tree. Native Americans of Ohio called the nut from this tree "hetuck" or "buck eye" for indeed, it looks like an eye of a buck.

THE ODE

Author's Comments

The Ode is a majestic and intricate form of lyrical verse unlike the epic and dramatic poetry which tells a story. The Ode, rather than depicting characters and actions, the poet’s narrator addresses the reader directly, portraying his/her own feelings, states of mind and perception.
There are many forms of Odes I have come across. So we have got

- Dorian or Choric Ode designed for singing.

- The Pindaric Verse which emerged from the Dorian or Choric Ode. In Greek literature, a poem designed for song, of various meters and of lofty style named after its creator, the classical Greek poet, Pindar. The Pindaric Verse though metrically complex, and varies from one ode to another, regularly consists of a similarly-structured strophe and antistrophe, followed by an epode of different length and structure.

In classical poetry, a strophe is the first division in the triadic framework of Pindaric Verse, corresponding metrically to the antistrophe in ancient lyric poetry. In modern poetry, a stanza or rhythmic structure of two or more verses arranged as a unit.

Antistrophe is the second division in the triadic framework of the Pindaric Verse, corresponding metrically to the strophe. Also, the stanza following or alternating with and responding to the strophe in ancient lyric poetry.

An epode is a type of lyric poem in which a long verse is followed by a shorter one, or the third and last part of an Ode, or the third part of a triadic Greek poem or Pindaric Verse following the strophe and the antistrophe.

Jonson used the terms: turn, counterturn and stand in place of the strophe, antistrophe, and epode of the Pindaric ode. The counterturn repeats the metrical pattern of the turn, while meter of the stand is varied. The pattern established in the first triad is then repeated in the remaining groups. Click here for an example.

- Aeolic or Horatian ode relates to or resembles the work and style of the Roman poet, Horace. This form of ode consists of a series of uniform stanzas, complex in their metrical system and rhyme scheme. The Greek version is called the Aeolic Ode. Horatian odes are characteristically less elaborate and more restrained than Pindaric odes. John Keats’ “Ode to a Nightingale” is an example of a Horatian ode. Click here to read his poem.

- The Irregular Ode is most commonly used in English poetry. It contains the lofty Pindaric style, but allows each stanza to establish its own pattern, rather than follow a regular strophic structure. William Wordsworth is exemplified by this type of ode. Click here to read his ode

- The Homostrophic Ode consists of a number of stanzas alike in structure and rhyme scheme; the poet is free to choose – the structure of the basic structure, its number of lines, line length, and rhyme scheme – in accordance with the demands of the contents.

- Epinicion is an ode in praise of a victory in the Greek games or in war.

- Anacreon Ode is a style created by the Greek poet, Anacreon. Convivial in tone or theme, it relates to the praise of wine and love, as in Abraham Cowley’s Anacreontiques. Click here to read Cowley's poems.

Not an American I was pleasantly surprised to learn that the National Anthem of the United States of America, “The Star Spankled Banner, Francis Scott Key’s 1814 poem was set to the song of the day, “To Anacreon in Heaven”, composed by John Stafford Smith as a drinking son for London’s Anacreontic Society. In 1931 it was officially adopted by the United States Congress as the National Anthem.

to read the words of this lovely ode, the Star Spankled Banner. Oh! I tell you live and you learn. Quite an interesting piece of facts, I’d say. I read all the words to the Star Spankled Banner and they are absolutely magnificent and the musical rendition awesome as well. It is a pity that one only gets to hear the first stanza at ball games. As the world stands now I think the time is right for all the words to this majestic anthem, the “Star Spankled Banner” is sung no cropping of the lyrics.

Based from the background knowledge I have on the various kinds of odes I took on the task of writing odes to coincide with some of the ode structures. However, I'm not ready for the Pindaric Verse. I did have a crack at the Horatian Ode, the Irregular Ode and the Homostrophic Ode as listed below. These are my recent but modest strivings so please be gentle with me...smiling.

Ode to Poetry (Irregular Ode)

Ode to a Buckeye Tree ( Homostrophic Ode in Iambic Pentameter Sexain with rhyme scheme ababcc)

Ode to a Hibiscus Bush (Horatian Ode in Iambic Pentameter with rhyme scheme ababcdedce)

Ode to a Swing Bridge Bulldozed (Homostrophic Ode in Septet with rhyme scheme abcddee)

Ode to the Ghost of Sam Lord (Irregular Ode)

The Cry of the Birdies

(In Tercet Tetrameter stanzas of abb)

Ah fluffing, puffing and picking
Out, each other‘s nose, eyes unfair;
Two birdies fighting in midair.

Ah fluffing, puffing and singing
Tweet-tweet-tweet! Give me back my share,
For it’s only right, fair and square.

Ah fluffing, puffing and tugging;
Give me the apple I saw first;
Juicy and red it dropped and burst.

Ah fluffing, puffing and striking
Adam’s head, lying nest to Eve;
That sneaky devil don't believe.

Ah fluffing, puffing and feuding;
Oh my! What a shameful display
In public, on this very day.

Ah fluffing, puffing and cuffing;
Feathers flying on the highway,
Dropped to the ground, dirty and grey.

©Paterika Hengreaves
April 22, 2006/Ohio, USA

THE NURSERY RHYME

Author's Comments

Nursery rhyme is a traditional song or poem taught to young children, originally in the nursery. The country of my birth was a British colony until it became a self-governing nation in 1966 and became a member of the British Commonwealth. This orientation quite naturally accounted for why our nursery rhymes were of European origin and because of the island's position as being one of the gateways to North America the influence of Americanized nursery rhymes were present. Those nursery rhymes taught in primary school stayed with me. When I became a mother in the post colonial era I recalled singing such nursery rhymes as: "Sing a Song of Sixpence", "Pop Goes the Weasel", "Ba Ba Black Sheep", "Jack and Jill", "Ring a Ring O' Roses, "Little Mary had a lamb" and many others. Traditional nursery rhymes are no longer taught in post colonial schools. Kids only know about them for their elders who would have experienced the indoctrination of the colonial era with its pluses and minuses. In the era of colonial rule, nursery rhymes in education were taught because rote learning played a significant role in classroom instruction. The educators of that time firmly believed that this poetic genre helped to a great extent in the development of vocabulary and rudimentary counting skills (e.g. Eeny, meeny, miny, moe"). In addition, specific actions, motion, or dances were often associated with particular songs.

I venture to say that there are some indigenous people around the globe, like those in New Zealand, with whom recently I have had the distinct pleasure of being in their midst for over nine months, would no doubt, have a different story to tell about nursery rhymes I suppose. If I might say that the Maoris and similar tribes consider music sacred, so that only the elders may sing songs and the songs are taught during sacred rituals in adulthood. So it is unlikely for these children to have these kinds of nursery songs which provide the topic of this dissertation. On this assumption you are free to correct me because we all know that there are exceptions to the general rule.

In contemporary society nursery rhymes have fallen out of favour for modern thinkers and educators see them as having negative connotations and prejudices, racial and otherwise. The new era nursery rhymes and fairy tales, because of this, are couched in "political correctness." Be that as it may, traditional nursery rhymes were looked upon as performing the functions of catharsis for children, or they allowed the children to imaginatively deal with violence and anger. As a product of the traditional nursery rhyme culture, I'd say this does hold much currency as I reflected now on my life experiences growing up in colonial era until reaching my middle teen years then having to bridge the gap as it were between the colonial and post colonial era. By the time I crossed the bridge into the independence era I was in the workforce as an educator having not reached the voting age of 21 years at that time. Now the voting age is pegged at eighteen years, a step in the right direction, having considered all possible things. I must say experiences of those two worlds made me the richer in so many ways but that is another subject. This I would like to say though, I'm glad I had the opportunity to teach my children ( now young adults) those traditional nursery rhymes and fairy tales handed to me in my early childhood education, an aspect which my children did not get in their early childhood education. As I sang these nursery rhymes or recited them along with their favourite bedtime stories by Uncle Arthur (The American, Arthur S. Maxwell) during their tender years, these precious moments provided me with opportunities to discuss with them my own early childhood experiences (lighting up their eyes like a Christmas tree, lol, as I recalled some of the things they considered weired, lol) values, which nowadays seem to be obsolete and the sensitive topics of prejudices in its various manifestations, as relative to our environment.

I adore nursery rhymes. So what is a nursery rhyme? A nursery rhyme is a short poem for children written in rhyming verse spiced up with a pinch of some folklore. Whenever I write a nursery rhyme I would test it out on my many great nieces and nephews who are at this juncture are at the nursery stage in their human development. Some of these kids are products of interracial marriages with awesome harmony among themselves (and that's how things should be). Truly, looking at these children of mixed ethnicity I say that civilization has evolved in many wonderful ways for bigotry has been given the boot. Yes, I've said it with no apologies because optimism has always been my forte, it still is. So what more is let for me to say! This for sure, the kid still in me does adore nursery rhymes, absolutely! This mindset gives me the inspiration I need to compose nursery rhymes.

Now that you have been a good audience, in staying with me as I chatted my way into your hearts I like very much to share one of my nursery rhyme poems with you entitled, "The Cry of the Birdies". This one has become a favourite with the kids in my family and indeed should be with the kids in your family, for kids will be kids wherever they are. Just click on the link on the right-side of this blog to read the poem. Thank you for your time and your comments. Cheers, Paterika.

MONODY in OCTET TETRAMETER

Author's Comments

The poem, "This Fort" is written in the form of the Monody in Octet Tetrameter style.

A verse consisting of four (4) metrical feet in English verse is known as a Tetrameter. In this poem each stanza contains eight (8) verses thus making each stanza an Octet or Octave. The last two verses in the Octet are written as couplets. In previous writings explanations were given for couplets. Now the question to you is this: Can you tell me if these are closed or opened couplets? Place your answer with your comments and I shall get back to you on this.

You should notice as well that all the verses in this Monody poem are 4 feet long. In poetry, a Monody refers to a poem in which one person laments another's death. You should see that in this poem rhymes appear at the end of all the verses. They are placed there for the purpose of echoing the end of another line of verse. End rhymes are the most common. These end rhymes occur in a rhyme scheme of abcabcff. Do you see any internal or middle rhymes in this poem? Please let me know and I'll tell if your right or wrong in my return comment to you. So let's trade knowledge here. One more thing, do you recognize any feminine or masculine rhymes in this poem? What are they? Now have fun until my next blog post. Cheers!

A Widow's Torment

Eleven years he passed away
His frozen frame in bed of clay
Such buried treasures are so cold
My ways and fashion he did mole
This handsome bobby was sincere
Now World Cup games are here this year
Hear I no more my lover's call
Nor wash the pajamas of Paul.

He taught me the rules of cricket
And gave me a season ticket
To view a field set specific
His line and length were terrific
Hopes held high for a Windies win
I saw leg-before and off-spin
Now clad indeed with widow's weeds
My loving mate no longer breathes.

Memories’ grief is awful sad
This, I've pondered with mom and dad
Him crossing glory's open door
Abandon nights for me in store
Seeing him on his dying bed
These few last words to me he said
"This fort I cannot hold again"
Rain drops fell from the eyes of Payne.

(June 12, 2006)
©Paterika Hengreaves