Well, it's been a little quiet here the last month. I'll take the blame for that! As some will know my health isn't quite 100% and I've spent the past month in a series of workshops run by the NHS under the title of the Condition Management Programme. Excellent course, but very very tiring!
So just to try and inject a small squawk of excitement, I've rooted around my computerised archives and selected a piece of verse for you all.
This is a particular favourite of mine. I was in a Devon graveyard, as happens from time to time, and there was a fantastic, large old yew tree growing by the graves. And I could imagine the roots breaking through them and feeding from the natural compost that was available. Not as morbid as it sounds, I thought it quite a good thing. I could almost see the personalities being absorbed! [You won't necessarily pick that up from the work, it was just my inspiration].
Ok, have a read and let me know your thoughts...
Rae xx

The Tree.
(Inspired by the old yew tree in the graveyard at Dartington Hall Estate).

What a clash of battle-axes,
Panting breath and high rise taxes,
Never mind the sodden faxes,
Smudged out words and strange syntaxes.

Not that we care.

Lying 'neath the graveyard ware,
With grinning teeth and bones stripped bare,
Of rotting flesh without fanfare,
Who gives a toss for our welfare?

We dared.

And so became ensnared.

Ensnared through time,
Of centuries passing by, sublime,
Just doff yer cap and things are fine,
Pay your dues and I'll pay mine,
Through servitude.

And fortitude.

Then destitute,
Without the flute,
Of notes uncertain, substitutes,
That cast nets about the poor and mute.
Just take the loot.

And build your church to Gods gone by,
Control the mass, the worms, the flies,
Who look to hope but get denied,
Then racked and bent and torn, despised.
Through lies.

That terrorise and bastardise then canonise those who don't deserve it, just pervert it, repent then revert it, just to serve it up their own way.

You don't say.

Centuries come,
Centuries go,
Nothing changes, don't you know,
You only reap from what you sow,
Plant the seed and watch it grow,
Yeah. Watch the tree grow,
Be here yourself one day you know.

© Rae Kelcou

This post was edited by Rae K at April 19, 2011 7:39 PM BST

Hi Rae,

Your poem conjured up all sorts of mental images, everything from Beowulf to graveyard scenes in old Hammer movies to little country churches. I especially liked the the final verse (stanza? I don't know much about poetry.) The various ways the rhymes were written out kept it feeling alive in a way that a standardized format wouldn't have. I liked it.

Very sorry to hear about your health issues. Hope you are feeling well very soon.

Best,
Melody

Thankyou for your comments, Melody. I liked what you said about the images in your mind, from Beowulf to Hammer to little country churches. I was definately conscious of trying to imply some kind of centuries long time.
It is a better example of the type of verse I like and write. I write with an ear to oral poetry which is why my meter and rhythm change. If you want to try reading it aloud, I had to cheat a little to paste it here. The short verse starting 'That terrorise' should all be one line but it would have distorted the forum width!
Which brings me on to your last query, most of what I write tend to be verses. Stanzas are usually more uniformed in meter, line length, structure.
Take care
Rae