Joe Walker

I wanted to like the poems so much more. I like old books. This one was first published in 1929. The thick pages are 'with many Illustrations in Colour by G.L.Stampa.' The illustrations are cute in an old fashioned way capturing the essence of different dogs. I like having the feel of olden days in my hand from this little blue book with the gold trim on the cover.

Overall though, the poems just did not completely grab me. The flow didn't always keep going the way I thought, like they would show more be going well and then end awkwardly. I know a poem is all about making you feel, and I would get a glimpse of a strong feeling from a sentence or two, but not often the whole way through. There were a couple I enjoyed more than the others and I will post them for your thoughts.

My First Kill
‘Twas Burton showed me where it was and told me not to wait,
Whilst Walter moved the dust bin out and shut the garden gate;
Then master said, “Now, here’s your chance; come on, my flop-eared son”
(I must admit, until he spoke, I felt inclined to run);
Maria whacked it with her broom, and then sat down and cried,
And Cookie screamed and frightened it before she ran inside;
The cat said, “After you, old chap; he’s rather big for me,
So I shan’t interfere at all,” and scrambled up a tree;
Next someone threw a lump of coal and made the beast turn round;
Then—I went in and finished it and flung it on the ground.
So that is how I caught the rate entirely on my own,
And Master’s pleased as pleased can be; he’s gone to fetch a bone.

The Blank

Somebody’s left the garden gate ajar;
He won’t run out. No need to back the car
So carefully because . . . And in the hall
You will not trip against that much-chewed ball
(I bought a new one, just a week ago,
For his next birthday. He will never know).
We’ve cleared up everything; there’s not a trace-
Lead, collar, basket -- yet his wistful face
Peers round each corner; halfway down the stair
One turns expectant . . . surely he is there?
Then you remember, and the silence dear
Answers our question. “No, he is not here.” show less

I wanted to like the poems so much more. I like old books. This one was first published in 1929. The thick pages are 'with many Illustrations in Colour by G.L.Stampa.' The illustrations are cute in an old fashioned way capturing the essence of different dogs. I like having the feel of olden days in my hand from this little blue book with the gold trim on the cover.

Overall though, the poems just did not completely grab me. The flow didn't always keep going the way I thought, like they would show more be going well and then end awkwardly. I know a poem is all about making you feel, and I would get a glimpse of a strong feeling from a sentence or two, but not often the whole way through. There were a couple I enjoyed more than the others and I will post them for your thoughts.

My First Kill
‘Twas Burton showed me where it was and told me not to wait,
Whilst Walter moved the dust bin out and shut the garden gate;
Then master said, “Now, here’s your chance; come on, my flop-eared son”
(I must admit, until he spoke, I felt inclined to run);
Maria whacked it with her broom, and then sat down and cried,
And Cookie screamed and frightened it before she ran inside;
The cat said, “After you, old chap; he’s rather big for me,
So I shan’t interfere at all,” and scrambled up a tree;
Next someone threw a lump of coal and made the beast turn round;
Then—I went in and finished it and flung it on the ground.
So that is how I caught the rate entirely on my own,
And Master’s pleased as pleased can be; he’s gone to fetch a bone.

The Blank

Somebody’s left the garden gate ajar;
He won’t run out. No need to back the car
So carefully because . . . And in the hall
You will not trip against that much-chewed ball
(I bought a new one, just a week ago,
For his next birthday. He will never know).
We’ve cleared up everything; there’s not a trace-
Lead, collar, basket -- yet his wistful face
Peers round each corner; halfway down the stair
One turns expectant . . . surely he is there?
Then you remember, and the silence dear
Answers our question. “No, he is not here.” show less