A social site for poets in Sydney.
Welcome to Member Poetry, I hope you enjoy your time here.
The purpose of this section of the site is for member poets to share their work.
Comments are welcome, but we do expect they will be constructive in content, and positive in tone.
As my dear departed brother Ern used to say "if you don't have something nice to say it's best to say nothing at all."
If you would like to share your poetry on the site without receiving comments, or with comments that you moderate, then the best thing to do is share your poems as a blog post, or even just link to them on your own site.
There are just a few points of moderation.
When commenting please bear in mind that someone sharing their creative work may be greatly affected by what you say. So in addition to common sense and sensitivity, there are a few tests you should apply to your comment:
Yes it's an affirming love-in and that's how we like it.
What happens next?
If material has been posted that doesn't meet with the moderation policy the contributor will get a firm but polite email requesting that posts and comments be made in line with these rules.
In egregious cases the contributor may be asked to remove poems and comments from the site. And no-one enjoys that moment, except me.
Repeat offenders might like to consider if this is the right site for them. I'll help them with that consideration too.
That's how I roll.
Current category moderators:
Comments welcome. Add yours below.
Hello, David Wakeling adds comments on a lot of peoples poetry that is far from constructive and or encouraging. Just to let you know.
Dear Ethel and Adrian
You must now be aware of the David Wakeling raining down of detritus limiting the appeal of ‘Poetry Sydney’ and seriously damaging its reputation and long term viability.
After first reading your ‘Welcome’ blurb I thought ‘what a rational and worthy policy of moderation this is, some moderators go mad with power but this all looks eminently sensible’.
Sadly, I appear to have been mistaken. Your inaction over the offensive ravings of David Wakeling makes a mockery of your fine words. Your apparent reluctance to ‘moderate’ Wakeling suggests that you agree and support his on-going rain of insults or, at the very least; you are asleep at the switch. When did post facto moderation become no moderation at all?
How can any member have a trust relationship with ‘Poetry Sydney’ for as long as you, the moderators, allow David Wakeling to rave on unrestrained?
Why you are willing to accept his comment of ‘Rubbish’ when describing the work of a poet, this is not a constructive criticism.
Why you are willing to accept his comment of ‘Wog’ this is a racial slur.
Why you are willing to accept his comment of ‘Liar’ this is an egregious insult.
In the recent past I have encouraged several people to join ‘Poetry Sydney’. To those that have joined I have now suggested that they do not add their work to this site for as long as David Wakeling remains a destructive member.
To those people that I have encouraged to join, that have not done so I have suggested that they do not join ‘Poetry Sydney’. There are many other cyber opportunities, numerous rationally conducted sites on which to display and share cherished work and gain informed and creative comment.
Surely, ‘the moderators’ have questioned David Wakeling’s motives? Why does he attack everything and everybody? Is he simply a saboteur seeking to drive away members?
Does your lack of action over the past weeks suggest that ‘the moderators’, for some bizarre reason of their own, are complicit in this Wakeling campaign of bile. If not, then perhaps now is the time to wake up and throw the switch on David Wakeling and plunge him into invisible mime.
You have raised some important questions that demand answers.
There must be members who are also be waiting to hear the response from the mediators of the site.
There must be manymore members awaiting a little hush before they place their work on the site.
Being called a fat woman, a liar, a wog, that you have a sicilian curse place upon you, that your mother wears army boots , that your work is rubbish, that his dog speaks better english, and I may have missed a few. Is not a good look.
Thanks Adrian! This happened while I was away and was taken care of by the time I got back, so much appreciated (I found out only because the comment got emailed to me). It gave me a good start for my next improv - and a lot of support from the audience I am happy to say.
Cheers, Lou Steer
Thanks now we can all breathe easy
Dear Ethel and Adrian
Thank You Both.
… And thank you, team of volunteers.
I think it is good to see some people standing up for pure common decency.
As for David, perhaps he has just experienced some poetic justice!
When the clock struck 13
We knew we were lost
Our time was up yet still we must
Hurtle not round and round the clock
But off the face, distracted, disenchanted
To another place – Leningrad.
Herr Blitzkrieg had much to say
he smiled and sneered as if in play
Yet with the passing of each day -
As if underwater bubbling away
his speech all agarble though lucid
and elegant came all ajargle
German, French, Italian,
Swedish, Hottentot and Cantonese
He was speaking none of these
His prose it soared and dived and blew
Straight through our ears without a clue
Myriad names he dropped and caught
Flashed his chops and dropped us short
By day 3 he told us there’d be 3 more
The gypsy Sailor stamped and swore
One juror fainted hitting the floor
Two passed away –would there be more?
Lord Talon. Lord Fate. Lord No!
All Hail Lord Fate. Lord Talon.
A holiday declared for all
Nine whole days
The stars align with Her Majesty’s birth
In this way restored our mirth.
The siege delayed upon our senses
After Blitzkrieg left us senseless
Day 4 the jurors cried
No No No more
Though holidays beckon
2 further days our pain wont lessen
Barely can stifle yawns
Before we slump afloor.
Cruel and unusual punishment indeed
We recall on parent’s knee
Better a smack easily forgotten
Than the lecture no easy escape
Of kids and adults good and bad
And tales of Johnny Rotten
Full 3 days more he bored us all
Till the ref cried Halt
Day 4 a call from the floor
Struck him like a lightning bolt
He spoke of wholes and yet was halved
And halved again once more
What was his plan? Who knows?
Eh, What? What did he say again?
He spoke of pockets. Of halves and wholes
Wheels and nights on the town
Of breakfast dinner and lunch
And doing it all again
unknown males demand what
unknown females demand when
a dragon “Puff “ made a guest appearance and
chased them round and round.
Where 12 had stood to judge 12
ten pondered the fate of 8
Who had supplied? Who had made?
Who had planned what ?
Do Details matter - time and place ?
Or is it all Fate?
Blitzkrieg’s charm had reaped the field
They led 6 down the 7th flew
The 8th released to wander…(to be continued)
Perhaps if David Wakeling has a site people might feel moved to visit it?