Ronnie McGinn's Poetry Page

What a poem says is of primary importance. A poem makes a statement or a declaration; it expresses a feeling or a mood; it relates a story or conveys an idea. These constitute meaning in poetry. But a poem is more than a statement, a declaration, a feeling, a mood, a story or an idea. If that were all, prose would be enough. A poem is itself; it is an act of magic, an imaginative creation. No one can analyse its magic fully.

One thing we can say, however: a poem is made up of words. Words have not only meaning, but also form and sound.

Words are to poetry what notes are to music and every good poem contains come elements of playing with words: if that element is not there, we are reading prose.

This week's poem from Yvonne O'Connor of Mount Pleasant, Kent Road, Cork, Ireland, has all the magic and contains all the indescribable ingredients that create a truly worthwhile poem. Yvonne, of course is no stranger to poetry, her poems have appeared in many publications over the years and I'm sure few would contradict me if I were to state that she is one of Cork's finest poets.

GULL SONNET

BIRDS... Feather-dressed in Lavender-grey Sheen

Perched on the Roof-tops High ... to preen

They make a pretty Sonnet there, thought I

Sunbathing ... 'Twixt Earth and the Sky-Blue Sky.

'Twice seven there was...of similar Frame

Fourteen Birds...exactly the same !

Uncannily Silent they remained thoughtfully there

Close-by ... Churchbells were announcing Angelus Prayer..

Did they have a Gourmet Lunch... Feeling too welI-fed to fly?

Were they over-tired from capers in the Sunny - Blue Sky?

Was it an Omen of Portending Doom ?

Forecasting Foul Weather of abysmal doom?

Be the Omen Good Bad or Mean...A Sonnet came a-wing

This Well-Groomed Fourteen!

© Yvonne O'Connor