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
