Poor little sad confuséd duck,
born to quack but taught to cluck.
your adoptive mother, a broody hen,
never taught you to swim, and then,
taken roughly from the flock,
the humans stand, and point and mock
as you flap and panic in the drink,
wildly fearing that you will sink
and shuffle off this mortal globe,
my poor little ducky hydrophobe.
We decided the ducks, who think they’re chickens, needed a wash. They were coated in muddy muck from the chicken coop after lots of wet weather – Werribee (pictured) was living up to his name. So we threw them in the dam, much to their horror and outrage. Then one of the kids fell in too… It’s been a good day. 😀
This is for the dVerse monotetra challenge. A monotetra is :
“*Comprised of quatrains (four-line stanzas) in tetrameter (four metrical feet) for a total of 8 syllables per line
*Each quatrain consists of mono-rhymed lines (so each line in the first stanza has the same type of rhyme, as does each line in the second stanza, etc.)
*The final line of each stanza repeats the same four syllables.”
My rhymes aren’t perfect, and the rhythm’s not quite right… but this is it anyway:
Kookaburra laughs at the dawn,
all our night’s fears, banished by scorn.
Start afresh a new day is born.
Laugh for us all, laugh for us all.
Kookaburra laughs at nightfall,
all our day’s woes, gone, big and small.
Gone away, released by your call.
Laugh for us all, laugh for us all.
I was running through my magic pudding To Do list for the day while feeding the animals, after cooking breakfast for the kids, and feeling a bit grumpy and put-upon. Then a kookaburra started laughing. It’s just not possible to feel grumpy while listening to a kookaburra – it’s like the universe laughing at itself and everything in it. Unfortunately my free WP plan won’t allow me to post a sound file, but you can listen to a couple here. I bet you can’t get more than 30s in without at least smiling.
been up all night,
look where you’re at
in broad daylight!
You’ve none to blame.
This walk of shame
is all your fault.
Wombats are nocturnal, so I was surprised to see this one crossing the road at about 0800 recently. I think it must have been visiting at the nearby wombat sanctuary.
For the dVerse Monday quadrille prompt “stream“:
Dirt and ‘roos -> gravel -> tarmac, one lane -> two lanes -> white lines -> more lanes, highway barricades.
Trees -> fields -> farms -> villages -> outskirts -> suburbs -> cement-grey city towers.
Farm utes -> dusty wagons -> soccer-mums’ four-wheel drives -> city-cars – shiny bubbles of banality on wheels…
all of us joining the stream
This morning’s dVerse prompt from Claudia is garden(ing)!
I love gardening, but it’s a constant struggle here with the hungry wildlife and my own insatiable pig. Most recently the edge of the mouse plague has been the problem.
and bastard possums!
They’ve bent my trees and
eaten the blossoms!
And the cockatoos!
That hooligan mob,
chew off the branches
to finish the job. Continue reading
The giving grey sky
has sprinkled its final benediction
over the greening fields,
and now the still pools
mirror the changing heavens –
brightening from tarnished zinc
to burnished blue.
fire beckons to fire
calling the sun
summoning it to rise again
and end the longest night
It’s the winter solstice tomorrow, so we had a little bonfire – useful for calling the sun back after the longest night, and also for clearing up some fire hazard material before bushfire season. And a good excuse for some mulled wine too. But I didn’t sacrifice a chicken, although Nigel (the cock) is on thin ice.
I remember heat,
day after day, relentless.
I remember the air,
thick with smoke and fear, Continue reading
It’s OLN at dVerse tonight (this morning), and Lisa has provided, for our inspiration, Edward Lear’s “the duck and the kangaroo”.
With apologies to both Lear and Lisa:
Said the kangaroo to the ute
You’re a fine looking automobile
To travel with you would be beaut,
Strewth, mate, that’s how I feel.
I’m not asking you for a seat
On account of my ginormous feet,
I’m a macropod to me boots,
Said the kangaroo to the ute. Continue reading
Following on from “lower right cheek”….
So I’m hearin’ how way, way up north,
spring has sprung – flowers, so forth.
Well down here on mum Earth’s bum cheek,
it’s flamin’ freezin’, the sun’s gawn weak.
She’s gettin’ up, each day, more late,
still, she’ll be apples, no worries, mate –
no dunny budgies up me nose,
yeah, and all them bloody mozzies froze. Continue reading