ABPA - Australian Bush Poets Association

THE HOUSE WHERE WE USED TO LIVE.


The world back then was black and white
in simple printed paper smiles.
Plain food, plain talk and homemade play;
Imagination ranged for miles
at the house where we used to live.

The roof-scape; mystery unsolved
as some far misty mountain peak,
and strange and ancient artefacts
lay, like the Pharaoh's tomb, beneath.

And in one room ( for only one )
a rough brick wall showed in the light
those faces that held silent watch.
And an angel stood in the bright moonlight
At the house where we used to live.

I like it Neville...I haven't worked out why yet, I just do....I will be reading it again as I already have done several times.

Thanks Ross. I was trying to do something that I probably haven't done well .I didn't mean to be so cryptic, I couldn't quite get the images clear enough. Needs more work.
There is a line in the poem that tells you what it is about.

Me too - this is delightful Neville. It just somehow has an intriguing, and good feeling about it.

Thanks for the interest Matt, Catherine, Ross.

Most of the bush poems tend to be stories or narratives. Which is traditional I think, poems have always been stories.
Poems have also been about emotion and feelings and making images to convey a sense of emotion. That's what I am trying to learn how to do. Not very well
Telling the reader that something is sad, or funny or memorable is not enough in poetry, you have to help the reader feel the sadness, humour or nostalgia.
Otherwise it might be more useful just to write prose.

So how do I give the feeling I have when all that is left of childhood is a pile of old Box Brownie photos.
How do I convey the feeling that our family of those photos didn't have much, we were ordinary, we had to invent an exciting world from imagination.

How do I convey the feeling of a little child mystified in imagination by the far off big roof that he could never reach, what is it like up there ? and dark mysterious things under the house where he was scared to go and could only imagine what they were and who had put them there.
How can I convey the feeling of a lonely kid, in a room by himself where there was no TV, no radio, no records, no internet ( some books ; good for imagination ) He could imagine in the rough texture of the wall seeing shapes like faces and animals and clouds and things. Even a trick of the moonlight in the night seemed to be a shining figure that he had heard about in Sunday school.

How do I convey the feeling of imagining imagination in a few images. I'll keep trying, because I think that is poetry.

I like it too Neville and I certainly get the simpler time and a child's imagination. It is a little mysterious which makes the reader think a bit - and I like that.

Heather

The poem brings back memories of my great grandmother's house - the black and white family photos on the mantle, and sepia prints of angelic images on the walls. The smells of pots of broth on the boil, and family members and neighbours dropping in for a bowl of soup, cuppa and a chat.

This may not be the intent of the poem, but this is where I was transported while reading.

I like it a lot, and its cryptic form just adds to the enjoyment.

Well done, Neville

Thanks Allan. Thanks Heather, yeah I used to be a little kid

We're all still little kids if we want to be Neville, we're just bigger, slower and we ache more.