BOB
     Bob's poetry took a sudden change this month with Dreamtime, a poem I've started to think of as the jabberwocky poem.

       The time of dreams
       the Jabberwocky screams
       the rivers flush with pride
       and the dreams within them ride.

       Dreamtime is the lifeline
       of the aboriginal vine
       the wonders, the difference
       with life's interference.

He reinforced this new insight with the poem Unsung: a haunting piece that- while it is not technically perfect, certainly handles the
drifting images in a very telling and evocative way. I'm watching this development with a great deal of pleasure..

       A whispered song upon the air
       as time stood still to stand and care
       a silent lyric clings to the heart
       and makes the whole seem just a part
       of life and that which makes it real
       that if we could we would but steal
       to make ourselves a piece of the song
       and cease to be so often wrong

The hanging lines, and inversions of the expected (time - stood still - to - care; a silent lyric) make this a very special piece of work, and one well worth thinking about, technically as well as in terms of its content.

CARL
Carl bounded his way through the month, full of zest and confidence. Much of his work was in response to that of other people. A good example of how inspiring we can be to each other: Carl is very good at finding and reposting other people's work for our entertainment and inspiration. He posted this astonishing 'filk' :writer unknown, tune well remembered by everyone:

       It went zap when it fired,
       And cursed when it missed,
       And whirred as it took aim:
       It didn't know if we were friend or foe -
       But attacked us just the same!

(Is it my imagination or was there some disturbing work out there this month?) Be that as it may, my favourite of all his postings was written to Emily - about swinging on a rope over the water and being too afraid to let go:

       The Water jump Blues 

       Swingin low, out o'er the water
       Wondrin how I'll ever let goooo!
       Swingin low, out o'er the water
       Wondrin how I'll ever let gooo.

       I looked down the water an' what did I see?
       Wondrin how I'll ever let gooo.
       A terrified face a-lookin up at me-ee!
       Wondrin how I'll ever let go.

DAVE
We've missed Dave. I liked his 'commentary on Emily'

       Poor Em, writing her piece
       and trying hard to please all of them;
       Poor Em, listening with ear and eye
       wondering which advice to bring and buy;

I also enjoyed his messages, explaining the absence to come

       Yep, the landlord has just informed me
       That he has sold his property and elsewhere we must go
       (now I know and you know too, 
       that that line above could be more fine
       but I don't give a damn
       just so my grouching in this song has some rhyme)
 

EDDIE

Eddie posted some interesting, though rather lighter work. Bold Sir Robin gave me a laugh, 

Brave Sir Robin was a hero whose quests would usually fail A man who when faced with even odds would quickly turn his tail
      Who could look you in your eyes and as you turn his way
      Would take the opportunity to quietly sneak away.

oranges made me a trifle rueful:

       Its been some time since I sat a while
       Whilst fondly remembering with a smile,
       All the things we used to do,
       and how long it's been since I saw you,
       And I want to reach out for the dial.
. . .
       As the fading light casts growing shadows
       The memory fades with the light from my windows
       The photograph still sits there, to aid my sleep,
       An image of you stares down and makes me weep
       as I relax to the whoosh as the wind blows.

and his 'valentines day' song, (since repudiated as unrecalled and
uncalled for in his own opinion) was also memorable. But all the time,

       I waited for a punch line,
       but nothing came,
       and it did not sound the same,
       it was a genuine love poem,
       unlike any I have know'en.
       And left me thinking 'Frig'...,
       they ain't such sexist pigs.'
       I wish that I could say
       What that poem was today
       But I am afraid its gone,
       to some waikato man's mom.

He's been working on a 'Retrospective' for the Web Site, which I'm looking forward to seeing up and in place.