I write a quite a bit of prose, mainly short stories. A lot of them, but not all aimed at children. But poetry is a different matter, while I have always liked to read and listen to all sorts of poetry. I had always avoided trying to write it, mainly because. One; I hadn't a clue how to go about it (still haven't). Two: While I was able to understand the formula for formal sonnets, I didn't think my heart or soul was romantic enough to carry them off. That left option three: Free verse, what could I say? Except that while it appeared easy it was not.
Despite my misgivings, other members of the writing group that I attend, encouraged and persuaded me to give it a try. Like a fool I agreed, knowing full well that I could not in a million years meet their exacting standards. Not to worry I thought, I could only do my best, even if it turned out to be a load of old rubbish. Unable to get to grips with the formal sonnets, I decided to try my hand at free verse. But when the shredder motor burnt out and the bin overflowed, I gave it up as a bad job and decided to clear the garage instead.
Which turned out to be the best idea I'd had all day Because has I sorted through the accumulated junk, I came across one of my granddaughter Katie's old toys. It was a fuzzy, one-eyed monster from; "Monsters Inc" I think he was called Michael? But knowing my memory I am probably wrong. Anyway it started me off writing and the results are below.
Can't Find Him Anywhere.
I cannot find my Monster; I can't find him anywhere.
Last time that I saw him he was in the big armchair.
I only went to the kitchen to butter us both a scone.
When I returned, he wasn't there; I wonder where he's gone.
.
Have you seen my Monster? He's really, really tall.
You'll know him if you see him, he's like a fluffy ball.
I've looked everywhere in all the places I could think.
I've even searched the cupboard, beneath the kitchen sink.
.
If he comes toward you, while walking down the lane
Though he's big and strong and can be an awful pain.
He's really just a pussycat and wouldn't harm a fly.
So don't get all worried; he'll never make you cry.
.
If you find him hiding behind a big old tree
Give him lots of kisses and send him home to me
Tell him that I love him, because I really, really do
And I'll never try again, to flush him down the loo.
Copyright Fred Watson 2007
How About this one?
Mirror
Mirror, mirror, on the wall
Why am I so very small?
When will I start to grow?
Can you help me, yes, or, no?
.
Mirror, mirror, oh so wise
Can you tell me about my size?
Will I always be a little mite?
Or will I grow to reach the light?
.
Mirror, mirror, on the wall
Tell me please will I be tall?
Can't you help with my need?
Tell me if I'll stay a weed
.
Mirror, mirror, are you there?
Hang on a sec; I'll get a chair.
There, that's better. This is me.
Tell me true what do you see
.
Mirror, mirror, you're awfully dumb
I think I'll go and ask my mum.
Copyright Fred Watson 2007
