Punctuation
Posted: Wed Sep 21, 2016 10:54 am
Hi folks,
I have entered some comps recently but keep falling down on punctuation!!
I have always been good at punctuation so am wondering are there any tips?
Do sentence structures work the same in poetry?
It really can be the difference in placing in a comp or not.
HELP!
Example below at the risk of you all laughing!
My 1942
The countryside for miles around beseeches drenching rain
for all is dry and blistered on the former fertile plain.
The creek is parched and all along its cracked and crusty bed
the bones of beasts are stripped of flesh where scavengers have fed.
The hardened earth refused to birth the harvest that was due,
we wring our hands despondently not knowing what to do.
Frustration and discouragement imbues the stifling air
both unbeliever and devout pursue a common prayer
that any God who’s listening would hear our earnest cry
and open up the heavens…PLEASE!...for all the tanks are dry.
A dormant devastation waiting such a scene to strike,
the nightmare that is fire, razing bush and town alike.
We’ve slaughtered half our flock of sheep, we’ll keep the ones we’re able
not slaughtered for their priceless wool but mutton for the table.
Some small tough vegies from the patch of earth beside the shed
I barter with the neighbours for some eggs and cheese and bread.
The Willy-willy swirls about and dust storms fill the skies
with fine red dust that infiltrates our mouth and nose and eyes.
Not one of us remembers when this awful time began
nor anyone foresee an end to nature’s brutal plan.
Forever in the middle of this agonizing tale,
to hope beyond tomorrow is to hope to no avail.
We’ll triumph over nature’s whims (our forefathers survived),
but nature’s wrath can never match what mankind has contrived.
Our sons are soldiers yet again, we mothers stand aghast
another war consumes the world, too soon upon the last.
The day that Mr Curtin wrote a letter to us all,
he said we took up cheerfully the Empire’s urgent call.
I see no cheer in neighbour’s eyes in fact it’s plain to see
mechanically we trudge on through the farce of normalcy.
I’m mother and I’m father while my menfolk face their death,
no time for lamentation, I’ve not time to draw a breath,
and if I did I’d risk that breath would fracture into sobs -
no help when fixing tractors or with sundry other jobs.
Three coupons for a pair of boots, a pair of gloves for two,
the night time sees me toiling still, I mend and I make do.
We may not see our sons again there’s some will not come back,
they fight in the Pacific and the fierce Kokoda track.
This year of nineteen forty two brought terror to our door,
attacks to North and East and West personified the war.
No gallant jaunt, no skirmish, nor affair across the foam,
when Aussies died on Aussie soil it brought the horror home,
This lonely and despairing life no woman ever chose,
I bond with unanimity the mothers of our foes.
They feel the heartache that I feel, they also cry at night,
we hold ourselves together and we hold our children tight.
So, steadfastly we carry on, we staunchly lift our chins
and flock to church on Sundays to confess our petty sins.
Now Christmas is upon us - it’s goodwill and festive fare,
it’s peace on earth and giving thanks, but really I don’t care.
Though for the kids the tree is up the gifts are wrapped but few,
some bonus ration coupons and a goose is cooking too.
Just maybe when the New Year dawns our lives will turn about,
an end to war and making do, an end to endless drought.
I have entered some comps recently but keep falling down on punctuation!!
I have always been good at punctuation so am wondering are there any tips?
Do sentence structures work the same in poetry?
It really can be the difference in placing in a comp or not.
HELP!
Example below at the risk of you all laughing!
My 1942
The countryside for miles around beseeches drenching rain
for all is dry and blistered on the former fertile plain.
The creek is parched and all along its cracked and crusty bed
the bones of beasts are stripped of flesh where scavengers have fed.
The hardened earth refused to birth the harvest that was due,
we wring our hands despondently not knowing what to do.
Frustration and discouragement imbues the stifling air
both unbeliever and devout pursue a common prayer
that any God who’s listening would hear our earnest cry
and open up the heavens…PLEASE!...for all the tanks are dry.
A dormant devastation waiting such a scene to strike,
the nightmare that is fire, razing bush and town alike.
We’ve slaughtered half our flock of sheep, we’ll keep the ones we’re able
not slaughtered for their priceless wool but mutton for the table.
Some small tough vegies from the patch of earth beside the shed
I barter with the neighbours for some eggs and cheese and bread.
The Willy-willy swirls about and dust storms fill the skies
with fine red dust that infiltrates our mouth and nose and eyes.
Not one of us remembers when this awful time began
nor anyone foresee an end to nature’s brutal plan.
Forever in the middle of this agonizing tale,
to hope beyond tomorrow is to hope to no avail.
We’ll triumph over nature’s whims (our forefathers survived),
but nature’s wrath can never match what mankind has contrived.
Our sons are soldiers yet again, we mothers stand aghast
another war consumes the world, too soon upon the last.
The day that Mr Curtin wrote a letter to us all,
he said we took up cheerfully the Empire’s urgent call.
I see no cheer in neighbour’s eyes in fact it’s plain to see
mechanically we trudge on through the farce of normalcy.
I’m mother and I’m father while my menfolk face their death,
no time for lamentation, I’ve not time to draw a breath,
and if I did I’d risk that breath would fracture into sobs -
no help when fixing tractors or with sundry other jobs.
Three coupons for a pair of boots, a pair of gloves for two,
the night time sees me toiling still, I mend and I make do.
We may not see our sons again there’s some will not come back,
they fight in the Pacific and the fierce Kokoda track.
This year of nineteen forty two brought terror to our door,
attacks to North and East and West personified the war.
No gallant jaunt, no skirmish, nor affair across the foam,
when Aussies died on Aussie soil it brought the horror home,
This lonely and despairing life no woman ever chose,
I bond with unanimity the mothers of our foes.
They feel the heartache that I feel, they also cry at night,
we hold ourselves together and we hold our children tight.
So, steadfastly we carry on, we staunchly lift our chins
and flock to church on Sundays to confess our petty sins.
Now Christmas is upon us - it’s goodwill and festive fare,
it’s peace on earth and giving thanks, but really I don’t care.
Though for the kids the tree is up the gifts are wrapped but few,
some bonus ration coupons and a goose is cooking too.
Just maybe when the New Year dawns our lives will turn about,
an end to war and making do, an end to endless drought.