Long Ducks Poems
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physical form anchors reality
By: Professor Uxas
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In ancient Greece: Farmers built wooden statues
of Priapus, the god of fertility and viticulture,
to protect crops and scare away animals This tradation
was still used when these farmers came to America
. They settled in places and grew Sorghum × drummondii,
or Sudan Grass Ducks, geese, quail, doves, and various
backyard birds like sparrows eat Sudan grass seeds and the culm
Erecting a scarecrow taller than the 7 to eight feet stalks helps
fear off these bird who feast on the seeds and plant it self.
In 2027 a sceintist had a plan to create a scarecrow
that could be used at night. It would be a robot that creeped
alongside with the animals to scare them off. Ussing his knowledge and
standing true to his feild, he used the teaching from LuthorCorp. College,
where he had a degree in Robotics Engineering. He first created a simulation
using his computer. Rigging: Building a digital skeleton hierarchy of joints
and bones inside a 3D model so it can be posed and moved He then created the robot. It needed an itellegent software to allow it to almost micmic a human Biomimetic humanoid
he stride to have the robot as creature like as possible but in a human like way". Features were created and borrowed he said". To the warning of his assists, who warned against certain upgrades and patent violations ".Human-like and autonomous robots are becoming dangerously capable as they enter public spaces and battlefields with limited safety regulations and unpredictable behaviors" said one who wished to be removed from the project.
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magnetohydrodynamics
Hannes Olof Gösta Alfvén
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low-brass instruments, heavy industrial percussion, and the pipe organ
Foley sound
Facing one's mortality isn't easy.
Would death be better hear ringtone swiftly,
unexpectedly_ pass from life breezy
to eternal life, sustainable upward drift.
Or be granted extended life on earth.
Maybe through simple living great deed do.
Book about life's problems solved_ could birth.
Review life, help youth before bid adieu.
No way would want to linger; a problem
to family, unable to care for self.
No way have choice how I go, no stratagem
can alter what fate life gives oneself.
I would want all my ducks in a neat row.
Life's accomplishments completed then go_
Words used: ringtone, sustainable,simple living
Theme: 7)Eternal Questions
Sponsor: Cyndi MacMillan
Contest: Timeless Yet Contemporary A Sonnet Thang
Here comes a mom duck a crackling,
All her flock close by following—
All of the chicks seventeen
That makes alive wetland scene.
In fresh-water swamps comb ducks breed,
Togetherness their sole creed
Till they disperse in wet season,
So scorching when gets the sun.
Reaching up to a huge hundred,
O Knob-billed ducks, appears your deed
That has no leader to lead,
A serpentine tail there’s, nor head.
To us men, a few things ye teach—
Sticking to no chairs as if leech,
You’re no proud frogs, nor cocky cocks,
You have leaders that foster flocks.
Ye haply feed on swampy green,
Or else on sturdy water weeds,
On smaller fish and sundry seeds,
Peace and order seems your scene.
I admire how your life you lead,
Glad with your girth, shorn still of greed—
Yea, to see any of you lean
Be rare as your tinge, blue with green.
Who can call you ugly duckling?
And beauty there's in white and black,
Just one thing you perhaps still lack—
The way you sing— a coarse crackling.
With feathers black and body white,
And hints of dark blue tinged with green,
A speckled neck, greyish, yet bright,
Your claws I’m sure should peace-prize win—
Webbed, for hunt nor for fight are made,
Nor your beak an aggression shows,
Nor is there any war-like red,
Nor hunting, harming a duck knows.
As mom you seem considerate,
And care-worn, eggs to incubate,
Ye raise chicks all by you alone,
A dozen and more all your own!
______________________________________
Comb duck, or knob-billed duck an unusual pan-tropical bird is found in tropical wetlands of sub-Saharan Africa, Madagascar, South Asia from far of Pakistan through India to Laos and extreme South China. Everywhere, these so-called ugly ducklings have a beauty of their own.
Nature | 08.08.11 |
Countless generations lapsed since height of Greco-Roman mythology conceived, birthed and populated vast canopy of sky and expanse of terrestrial firmament, whereat obeisant propinquity quintessentially remains stalwart this day and age as guise dolls dote demonstrably come Valentine’s Day, when Cupid plucked from the quiver, notched in bowstring and launched Eros tinged arrow induces love struck swain to swoon upon a lassie faire, whence fecund female feast proliferates progeny.
Yours truly not necessarily romantic at heart
more accurately methinks myself
lame and inadequate sorry excuse
for reasonably rhyming spouse,
but courtesy after sipping
(née - chugging away
like snorting caboose)
Welch's sparkling white grape juice
accompanied with entree couscous
generic and garden variety
run of the mill by the floss husband
ordinarily fancy free and footloose
feigned being inebriated
noisily squawking - imitating
deafening honking lunging goose
creating ruckus whereby resultant outcome,
whereby wife playfully threatened me
to hang me (all choking aside) with noose,
(I needed to gibbet a chance)
as ye can accurately dead deuce
nearly turning unnatural shade of chartreuse,
thus I immediately called truce
after hiring team of animated experts
Rocky the squirrel
and Bullwinkle the moose.
Ring with no feather in my cap only envy
at handsome man drakes with bucks,
who could bank on "hot chicks" willingly
aligned in arrow emitting clucks
fluffing their respective tail feathers amidst
loud squawking out quacking,
yet straight as an arrow nock king,
establishing pecking order like ducks,
or any other foxy fowl billetted
within walled din noisy hen house
preening, each be solder self flux
sing wings and waddling, flirting, casting...
webbed wide good lucks
The bread bin been raided, dungarees on
Down to the park with the ducks and my mum.
Dandelions and Daffodils decorate the bank.
Big dogs and little dogs staging fake fights.
Daisy chains necklaces made for fun, petals pulled off, love me, love me not
I'm down in the park feeding the ducks.
Dads down on the bank side drowning a maggot.
I'm sat on a pier with my dangling legs, just feeding the ducks.
Ducklings are quacking and following mum
The drake diving for food and fine dining on grubs
The day light is fading and my mind wonders off
And I remember reading Beatrix Potters books
And just can't help but wonder if this is the original jemina puddleduck
These days are for dreaming and feeding the ducks
As daddy long legs dance on the pond
and then it's time for dinner and a nice drive home .
04052016 comp entry
The Three Little Pigs
The three little pigs
Had lost their wigs
So now all the animals saw
Was three little bald wiggly pigs
They had pen and paper
Pigs writing poetry
They said oinking and inking was in their nature
We have to change the laws of the legislature
Pigs and poetry was made a crime
The horses sneered, well it was about time
They wrote dirty prose and broken verse
Why even Orwell felt this was totally perverse
The ducks just clucked
As ducks normally doo
They chuckled at pig poets going to the loo
They would soon fly away, or else they would be forced to sue
The three little pigs
For their poetry stew
Nuwas rode in on his donkey grey
Looked at the pigs and said oh no don’t you stay
When Abu yelled to the sheep over there
He said bring me a sheepskin and a little of him
Wine flowed as he spun his tales from jail
Of the young couple Mary and Joseph, he laughed and he wailed
Why he said of the three little pigs
Thought themselves Royals cause they wrote with pig-pens
At the wave of his glass, is said be off to your dens
I of antiquity, shall cheer and dance with my fellow turkmen
Seeking justice the pigs went to the owl
However the goats looked up and cried that’s a fowl
Now the farmer was away paying his taxes in town
When he came back to the farm
He found three little pigs had drowned
Notes: This was inspired by a combination of ideas concepts, the first being George Orwell’s Animal Farm, then the controversial proclivities of Abu Nuwas, and the common thread, other than the bizarre, is the freedom to question all things, the failure to do so, only slows down the advancement of science and new ideas.
Breadcrumbs
When we were children, we used to go to the park
that had a small like and feed the duck. A trivial pursuit
a the park was for the benefit of the people
and the local authorities paid for its upkeep.
This couldn`t go on everything has to have a purpose,
so it was bought by a private firm fenced in and a gate
it cost to feed the ducks.
I should know writing poetry which is trivial and few
publishers take me on, then my risk of losing money.
As few poets make money and have few readers
yet poetry is the few places left where one can express
thoughts not accepted elsewhere.
Success is judged by “best seller books”, they might be crap
but reflects the time we live in.
As for the ducks, they have mostly flown away to find
a less obnoxious place to get their breadcrumbs.
Echoed giggles remain hysterical in Spring
Abundant greenery grows tall along the river
Both sides of the banks merge their foliage
Connecting branches together overhead
Trees become an arching canopy above it all
Creating shade for children paddling on
Now bouncing on the Cannon traveling down
On inner tubes absconded from some ugly trucks
Filled with air to carry them to who knows where
Dark waters run cold and deep in Spring
People don’t mind because the sun is hot
The river keeps them cool on Summer’s path
Soon to come again around the bend
The mountain takes a breath of fresher air
Winter melts along the river distance in a mist
A cold dip, another drink, steeped in mystery
Slips into a dream of drifting
Beyond the twisting and the winding
Spinning from the past into the future
We all sail on together in a song worth listening to
Ducks and fish and even bugs float by
Who just happen to be there for a good time
On the fly
Tubing through the narrows splashing
Try not to get wet while laughing
On an adventure bending space and time
It goes on for hours if not longer
Sometimes forever if you sing along and try
*Authors Note: Cannon River- Minnesota. I have never been there but I understand it is a blast.
A small path
stippled with the print
of wind slurries,
it runs along a snowy edge,
scrub-oak nails down
tilting stumps of ice.
How old must the year become
before a cockled bark
sheds its wind-blighted hide?
The creek is a stretch;
I tread through a sleet blurred flurry,
zag a rooted track to its frigid bank.
Standing by the water, crow wings
flying form my black overcoat,
I watch a flotilla of ducks
pilot a channel through small ice floes.
Then the ducks disappear; we disappear together
as a hard mist crashes-in.
I hear the creaking of tree-hung clouds,
the crunch of frost-bitten shoots,
a grinding of raw jaw bones,
on sapless sprigs.
Only my hot breath pushes
through a clearing of sky -
all has returned with tints of sunlight.
Saplings are carried by blackened limbs
toward lichenous openings.
And is that a greening moss -
is that a young crocus leaf reaching?
In the evening of this beautiful sunshine day
I took a cooling-off walk through the park.
There I saw buoyant ducks and little ducklings
Watching a bullfrog sitting on his lily pad throne;
His pulsating neck aped silent crocking rhythms.
The greenish hued pond water was as still as death
Until the little ducklings began flapping their wings
In a manner that seemed as if they were in a game
Playing Rock! Paper! Scissors! or skiing with wings.
As I strolled past this joyous view, a distant car backfired!
Suddenly, but for the water, the pond became empty and
Looking around, not an amphibian nor avian was in sight.
Assured by nature that all was well, I continued my walk.
Having returned home, I now sit here out on the verandah
And gazing up into the eastern sky I wait for the rising moon.
Come,” let the church say amen!” For a man “born by the river”, the
Change that’s “gonna come”…allegorically revealed itself today.