This is the first time I've posted, after a few weeks reading what the list
members are saying.
I have only for comparison a few months browsing of a list called
PoetryEspresso. 
They run a poem a day, organized by a chosen selector to whom you send your
offering back channel.
I have the impression that everyone who contributes takes care to send a
friendly response to each new poem.
Not surprisingly, most say such things as Loved your new piece, especially
the image towards the end. Or whatever.
Now I see on Poetryetc some searching and unconvinced responses to poems, it
is time I exposed myself.
I liked the recent contributor's mention of his age. I am 64 (brought up on
the New Criticism) and know full well that the way I write looks dated to
most readers.
And I have been using anecdote a lot, aspiring to narrative, and that helps
my style look dated.
I send this one because it mentions those towers which apart from everything
else must have occasioned much stock-response versifying. (The possums
mentioned are small and harmless, except when transplanted to NZ where they
are destroying forests.)


Max Richards (Melbourne)

    In a Melbourne Park
     24 September 2001

ŒNow you go and shop as long as you can
and see how much money you can spend.
The dog and I will just go and stand
in the park in the rain.¹ This we do:
the rain is mere drizzle, relaxing,
allowing dog and my gaze to wander.

Our curator of parks has decreed
our possums must be de-treed ­
selectively. A plastic sleeve
like a defective or burst condom
encompasses ­ embraces ­ the most erect palm,
at whose summit sprays out a set
of green fans, infested once with possums galore ­
infested no more. 

Now comes a couple,
young and slim and nimble,
fingers twined, turning round the palm-tree.
Once it would have seemed a courtship dance,
but in this age of recreational sex
most likely it is foreplay of a graceful,
fully-clothed sort.

Thirteen days have passed
since the New York towers fell;
suffering galore. Now it is almost
possible here to get through a day
without thinking about it. Avoid the news.
Frequent the park. Confine casual chats
to weather and animals and children.
It is our public duty to practice normality
and contribute to consumer confidence.

The children now here have a trike to share,
a helmet to share, a slope to push it up,
and then coast down. Protect them.

Now returns the confident consumer,
loaded with how-to-make-music books,
and a magic machine which tunes your guitar,
your violin, and even your piano,
should you be nifty with a spanner.

The rain, restrained throughout, adds a smart
shine to an otherwise dull twilight.
The park lights have a Victorian air,
the rainproof rotunda is spick and span.
The children are taking their mothers home.