Diane of
On the Border is supplying us with topics for this weekly endeavour,
sometimes with the help of others - If you have any good ideas, just say so in the comments. She and Mimi of
Messymimi's Meanderings also write wonderful, funny,
thought-provoking, ingenious and honestly well written verse. Go and
read.
SpikesBestMate
often publishes a nice verse in the comments, and helps out at topic
supplying.
Karen of
Baking in a Tornado
has joined us in this crazy pursuit, and promises us at least a poem a month -
we hope for more.
Jenny at
Procrastinating Donkey
is taking a break due to her husband's illness and passing from
this world. Let's continue to send warm thoughts, good energy, and lots of
prayers her way.
I have something more to ask of you: If you read this and the
poetry of others, would you please leave a comment. Half - if not more - the
fun of these challenges is receiving the responses of others.
From my pet's point of view ... but I have no pet.
And as I wrote when the theme was The Antics of Pets back in June last year, I did not
have many pets and certainly not normal ones as a child. Apart from a
white mouse that died after only a few days, a
crazy, inbred cat which was euthanised, goldfish who lost their tails
to some mysterious disease and were flushed down the toilet, and a
couple of Guinea pigs belonging to my sister, I only kept crabs that
invariably died in our play pool, spiders, ladybugs, worms, bumblebees
and such like wild bug-lifey pets in an old fishtank.
I've beem pulligg my hair and thinking all day ... here's what came out of it:
Me:
We talk of pets, but for my part
The only pets I have and had
Are chicken in my garden
And if you think that they are smart
Intelligent - but just a tad
I really beg your pardon.
Chicken:
Where am I? Who did this? Can I eat that?
I'm hungry, I'm thirsty. Is that a hawk?
Oh, I've got to lay an egg. Now what?
Bawk, cluck, bagog, bawk, bawk!
Next Monday's topic: Favourite Word that Starts With D.
My partner's sister adores her chickens. She had a rooster for a while who used to sit in her lap and watch television with her in the evenings. He had to go because his morning song woke too many, and he now lives on a farm - without a lap and without television.
SvarSletI do like your poem and can just hear their song in your final stanza...
You did very well, telling what your chickens may be thinking.
SvarSlet