The Beagle
Oct 28, 2018
Bodalla Poets’ Sunday Breakfast saw Sally Wickers, of Tuross presenting her much enjoyed poetry. Sally has presented in all of the nine annual events.
Originally from England, Sally has been a lover of poetry since a very young schoolgirl, when a teacher lit the spark which has stayed with her all her life. At aged about ten, she was introduced to poetry, and Shakespeare, and encouraged to write her own poetry.
After attending a course run by the Fellowship of Australian Writers in Moruya, she began writing autobiographical work and poems. Sally enjoys presenting her work to a supportive and interested audience at the Bodalla Poets’ Breakfast and and the quality and variety of other presented poems always delights her.
The annual Bodalla Poets’ Breakfast is held at at the Dairy Shed, Bodalla with a poet's breakfast cooked on the outdoor fireplace with the poetry starting at 9 a.m.
In this year's limerick competition we saw Leigh Jackson, Bob MacLeay, Bob Tomkins, Ursula Nixon and Peter Robinson present their work.
Missed out - then put a reminder on your fridge for next year.
There was a young maid from Bodalla
Who decided she needed a fella
though not a hard man
with hands rough as sand
but a townie, with soft wheatish pallor
To find such a man
she mastered a plan
to scrub up and wear something yella
so her complexion might seem
to appear like fresh cream
and present at first glance as quite steller
Her costume now set
she crafted her net
with a Tinder page few could resist
Skirt hoiked aloft
with a Come-Hither look
it was a selfie she took
whilst quite pissed
Our townie swiped right
and he dreamt the delights
in bedding this girl from Bodalla
Though he would hold back his cards
and not play too hard
For as a townie, he still had his valour
They met at the pub
with a peck and a hug
without his glasses
she looked pretty good
They drank and they talked
for what seemed like an age
and the passion progressed as it should
She seemed quite well versed
for a girl from a town
renowned for its dairy and cheese
and she seemed pretty keen
for she started to preen
while giving his thigh a wee squeeze
He wanted a wife
for the rest of his life
someone petite and demure
up until now
they'd all been right cows
who'd dumped him like rancid manure
But this one felt good
not a hint of a farm
as he feared she might be a maid
with fingers to crush
his man-teat to mush
If ever he came to get laid
But it all turned to poo
when he spotted at her shoes
which were Blunnies covered in dung
And our townie spun
right there on the spot
and alas the spell was undone.
.. editor