Yes Rona, indeed, that is a good idea to discuss the matter.

I am sorry I haven't got the time nor the inspiration to write something for this contest of June, and I hope the contest of July will be fruitful, and will allow me to write some verses.

I have usually two "technics," more like grandmothers' recipes, when it comes to write poetry:

One of them begins with a clear idea of what I want to express or talk about. Then I literally "see" the verses, and write them down. This happens rarely, and gives most of the times some of my favored lines.

The other is within a given task, like writting an Ochtfochlach for a contest. When I have rules to follow, I must say I am far more efficient, if not poor in images. Of course, one could add that English is not my first language, but that would be more of an excuse than anything else. As soon as I have the time, I think I can write something in English. Where you would make three entire corrections of your writings, though, think that I am actually rewriting tenfold this amount, which is very tiring for my brain who's always been weary of following codes and conventions. One free form contest could perhaps take place one of these days here, and who knows, I could perhaps come up with something readable.

Anyways, when I am writing with actual guidelines, I first wrote a gross idea of what I will be talking about. Then, I write some verses or, more likely, words that I will include into the work. I make them match, rhyme, and play until I come up with something pleasing my imagination. This is not often satisfying for me, but sometimes, I can produce something that other people will enjoy.

A few lines that some of you know, while some others don't, from an earlier contest:

Burning crows in amber dawn,
Shattered waves shine through gold
In arcs of drops and silvery foam
As years fade in childish games of old.

Beaches and cliffs dancing in half-light,
Sea gulls flirting with rain and cloud,
My heart beats and shivers with delight
As my soul cries memories so loud.

Sacred groves and blessed hawthorns,
Venerable oaks and hidden forms,
Ancient oaths and promises fade away
As gentle spines lead my lonely way.

Glorious battle born from an alliance
Covered the grass with tender crimson.
Salty tears and memories kill vengeance
As mothers' mourns ramble in off-season.

Dream-like birds and kites in dawn
Recalls a forbidden childhood
For which today I quietly moan,
Creating verses for our brotherhood.

Burning crows in amber dawn,
Shattered waves breaking in rays of gold,
Arcs of pearls shine in silvery foam
As years fade in childish games of old.