Wednesday 30 September 2015

Morning Is Broken

The light chill of the morning is chased playfully from the fur by the emergence of the suns rays. Like magical shiny waves they roll and tumble over the line of trees on the horizon before surging across the fields warming everything they touch. Shadows move and stretch as the day wakes and shakes the sleepiness of the night from its every part.

A lone lagomorph leans forwards with curious interest as the boundary of his home is crossed - a familiar visitor with a familiar and nourishing bounty. He fixes the visitor with a steely glare. The visitor bows their head to the height of this beautiful and majestic rabbit, leaning in, and in response the small furry resident seems to communicate something back...

"Will you quit with the commentary and get with the breakfast already? Yes, it's sunny, but while you're chatting this bunny's gettin' hungry over here!"

5 comments:

  1. I think your poetry is quite beautiful, even if your immediate audience doesn't agree. :)

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    Replies
    1. But doesn't poetry need rhythm and or rhyme? Like...

      There once was a bun from Nantucket
      Who instead of a hat wore a bucket
      Though they called him insane
      Kept him dry from the rain...

      See? No good - I can't think of a last line. Something about being popular at the beach...avoiding responsibilities...something something something duck it... I don't know, I bet Auntie Jane will come in with a good one here...

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    2. Your writing, your humour, and the their relationship to the visual tableau are sublime. I'm always catching little echoes of great novelists, but in fact it is pure you. It is just so good. I don't tell people what to do anymore, at least not in serious contexts, so enjoy the sunshine. We are definitely enjoying the rolling waves of your writing. Oh, can you do something about that annoying little chap in the last frame.

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    3. The last line is 'What do you expect from a rabbit?' isn't it?

      Roses are red,
      Violets are blue,
      Most poems rhyme,
      But this one doesn't.

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    4. I think you're right, that's a perfect last line!

      How about

      Roses are red
      Violets are blue
      Rabbits eat carrots
      And leave me all their poo

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