Biography of Dawn Ferrett
First of all I'd like to say, straight off, that I'm no great wit. Nor am I more than moderately intelligent. Just because I can throw a few words and phrases together and make them rhyme does not make me a poet. In fact I prefer the term 'rhymester'. Honestly, anyone with half a brain can do it. All it really takes is an average vocabulary and a keen sense of rhythm.
When I was - well, let's say a FEW years younger, my friend and I used to play a game together that we called 'Word and Question'. What we did was to take little slips of paper, and on half of them we'd write single words - any that popped into our heads - and then fold them and place them in either a pile, or some sort of container. Then, on the other half we'd write a question - again, anything that occurred to us - and place these in another pile or container. Next, we'd shuffle them really well and each of us would take a slip of paper from each and write them both at the top of a sheet of paper. The object was to write a few lines of either verse or prose in which we would answer the question (or try to) but making sure that we used the word in our answer. Of course I always responded in rhyme.
I think this is when I realised how much easier it is to write in verse - for me at least. Perversely, I think it's because of the restrictions of rhyme and tempo. If you have something to say, it's often easier to know that you have to stay within the boundaries or rules of verse-making, rather like a child learning to colour pictures has to stay within the lines. I find a kind of comfort in it. You have more control - it doesn't run away from you.
Anyway, I digress! Word and Question! In most cases, the word had absolutely nothing in common with the question, or it's reply, so this was where you had to be a little creative. Still, to show you how easy it is, I'll tell you about one that my younger sister, who was then about seven or eight, did.
The word she picked was 'Arms', the question 'Did Nelson wear glasses? '. Here is her reply -
It's been asked if Horatio Nelson wore goggles.
If that is the case - My! How the mind boggles!
Whether he did or he didn't, I know not or care,
Still - no 'arms been done in the asking, has there?
You can see how proud I was of her! I remember it verbatim! Clever little thing wasn't she? Still is, actually. She can run rings round me in the brains department.
So, that was how I realised I could really do this! I can write verse! And so can any of you out there. Try it! I'm sure inside a few of you there's a Shelley or Keats - or even a Pam Ayres!
Good versifying! 8-)
- May God Bless & Keep You -new-
Dawn Ferrett Poems
Angels Are Rare
When someone touches your heart and soul, Shines through the dark like a star, Brings out the very best in you, Becomes part of who you are.
A Love Poem? ? ? ?
I've never known the love the poets write of. I've never felt that yearning deep inside. The passion of young Juliet for Romeo For me has, somehow, always been denied.
Flight Of Fancy
Our sofa was a spaceship. We soared between the stars Visiting distant planets Like Jupiter and Mars.
A Glutton's Lament
Why did I have that last slice of cake When I'd already eaten enough? I'm doubled up now with acute tummy ache And I'm feeling so horribly rough!
I remember... A street in the city where we used to play. Few cars to bother us, we'd frolic all day.
The sounds of children laughing, The fresh smell after rain, The new buds in the Springtime, The clatter of a train,
A Merry Dance
I never once suspected On the day we said 'I do' That you might be really saying 'I'll do what I want to do! '
An Old Joke, Told In Rhyme!
The teacher had asked her class to compose A sentence with 'fascinate' in it. Little Johnny Green, right at the back Had his hand up in a minute!
Three Limericks By Yours Truly!
1 A hunter, whilst riding to hound, Said, 'To catch a fox I am bound! '
Highways And Byways Of My Mind
As I wander through the endless roads That typify my thoughts and dreams, One question has always remained. Throughout the years, I've journeyed on;
The Fairy On The Christmas Tree
The fairy on the Christmas tree Is looking quite forlorn. Her wand is broken and splinted; Her wings, all tattered and torn.
Golden Memory: A (True?) Story
Daddy has a secret! He was woken by a light! Something or someone was moving through the garden late one night. He crept up to the window and, much to his surprise, He saw a band of tiny folk - about a foot in size.
Silently, stealthily he winds his way, Utilising the dark recesses, Creeping up on unsuspecting prey Made helpless in his deadly caresses.
Whatever Happened To Gratitude?
Whatever happened to gratitude? Is it dead, or just taking a break? Could somebody tell me why 'Thank you' Is so hard a gesture to make?
Just A State Of Mind
It's no fun growing old, you know.
Your joints seize up and creak.
You can remember what happened in years gone by,
But not what you did last week!
You once had luscious brunette locks.
They're thinner now, and grey.
Climbing the stairs was a doddle back then,
But now it takes all day!