Blue Lady 1

[billy]

all poetry and poets are good enough to be here,  we care for anyone who wants to improve. welcome to the site.
i did read leanne's post and can't help but agree with her take. the rhyme is too expected, and not consistent. the poem shows you've put some thought into it and it has a start middle and end...not all poems do. for someone new to poetry it's excellnt...you will drastically improve in a fairly short space of time if you stick with the site and use some of the feedback you get

Hi folks

I'm new to this site and to poetry. I started writing a poem with themes that are dear to my heart - the ocean and fishing. In New Zealand, I used to go fishing over some hills and it was quite the walk to get to my secret spot.

I ended up writing an entire story, so broke it up into 3 poems. I will post the first one today just to be fair to others, and stick to the one-a-day policy.

As a beginner, I will appreciate any constructive feedback that comes my way. I really hope it is good enough to be in this forum.

Oh, yes. Bach = little old beach house in NZ. Dairy = convenience/corner store. 'Joa is feijoa = plentiful, yummy green fruit.

Blue Lady 1

A golden dawn peeps through a drape
While green verdure shimmers dew
The rustic bach needs some paint
But today’s without rush
On morrow I promise
I’ll give her the brush as was pointed out by another. drapes, verdure, [shimmers with dew] though shimmers feels a bit awkward for dew. tomorrow

For roar of blue lady is flung through the air
I walk down to see her, that’s twice feet bare
A thunderous crack
Angelic hush don't be to arty with words, angelic doesn't go well with the thunder, a suggestion is along the lines of [sinister]
Her brume on my lips
Her scent in my nose
Happily feeling her grain ‘tween toes

The thought of white paint is no real wish
I think I’d prefer a slithering dish
Back to the bach with sand on my feet
Not even stopping for something to eat

Sack and hooks, rod and bait
As I sneakily sneak, out of the gate
Down past the dairy I quickly walk
But Mrs. Reed spots me, and stops me to talk

Her grey banter’s the same, and the same as before watch out for repetition, only use it if it adds something to the poem.
Showing me pictures of grandson Joe
I want to say sorry I have to go
But can only stand there reflecting her smile
At least time’s on my side, it’s only a while

The path is familiar, there’s plenty to see
Breakfast’s a ‘joa plucked high from a tree
A glimpse of blue lady as I cross over the bridge
That’s last time I see her ‘til top of the ridge
Her wet swiftly flows between gnarly mangroves.
Carrying seeds to the sea with white foam
She looks kind of angry, should I go home?

But her pull is much stronger than my will to turn back
As I climb over fence and head up the track
The smell of green needles and red mud beneath me
A hole in the scrub; the home of a Kiwi

I arrive at the square on top of the hill
Arched granite rows where brown ghosts mill
I give my respect
Thanks, and wide berth
To those who lay sleeping deep in the earth

Down slippery slope and careful I go
To wandering water where taro grow
Over the drain where the black eels play
Past the old barn and a stack of wet hay

Now within sight
The top of the ridge
A crave, an itch, a pinch.