Ronnie McGinn's Poetry Page

For hundreds of years before the beginnings of poetry written by individuals whose names are known, there was in existence a vast oral culture and a body of poems handed down from one generation to another by word of mouth only.

Nowadays we call this ballad literature. In the musical world a ballad is often misconstrued and given a totally different meaning but that is a subject for another day.

Ballads employ the basic speech rhythms of language, highlighted and formalized to suit a fixed purpose.

One common characteristic is often an over use of adjectives and incorrect grammar.

There is an opportunity for an endless discussion on the topic here, which unfortunately space won't permit, suffice to say many modern poets frown on the ballad but I find it a rewarding challenge.

The Ol' Kitchen Table

There was an ol' table that stood in our kitchen,
And somehow or other it always stood there,
'Twas many a sock, that me Ma put a stitch in,
While humming along, on her ol' kitchen chair.

I still see her smiling, thank God she was able
To smile at the trophies I'd drag through the door,
The birds eggs and tadpoles I'd land on the table,
The jar of blackberries I'd spill on the floor.

The chair by the fire, that me Granda spent hours in,
Wore out and got wasted and faded away.
The pot on the window, Grandma grew flowers in
Like last summers sunshine, it too had its day.

The years and the seasons, like people, must move on
For five generations that table served true,
Is past really something the future improves on?
Still it's out with the old and in with the new.

Downloads and game boys and things that you power on,
It's funny the values the children grow rich in,
From the chair by the fire, that I spend my hours on
I bless the ol' table that stood in our kitchen.

© Ronnie McGinn