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Written by fellpony
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09 April 2008 |
An unsuspected visitor this evening. If she had realised she would end up as a tanka, she might have been a bit quicker off the starting blocks.
Frost-bent daffodils
at sunset hang defeated.
I pick the fallen.
Behind the leaves, a brown stone –
furred, flat-eared, with wild black eyes.
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On the oher hand
Written by patterjack (1179 comments posted) 8th April 2008 | for the material of the tanka
you should thank - a
patterjack
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Written by fellpony (1603 comments posted) 9th April 2008 | | GROAN. |
Written by Veronica_Milvus (603 comments posted) 9th April 2008 | | That is really sweet, Sue. They do tend to freeze when scared, so I expect it's not hard to mistake them for stones at first. The last line is really lovely and affectionate towards the poor wee bunny. |
Written by Phil (6683 comments posted) 9th April 2008 | Not sure I'm up to speed with Tankas - except they have 5 lines. Nonetheless - I liked this.
Phil |
Written by Josie (2780 comments posted) 12th April 2008 | | Ah - I've just seen your lovely little poem Sue. It's great! We get all kinds of creatures in our garden too, but a neighbour's cat has driven away the five lovely little moorhens we had living in the hedge. The mother ducks come to my back door and try to get into the utility room right now - and why? Because those drakes are "sex mad" at the moment, and the females' lives are nothing but sheer hell, as they try to escape from them. I'm glad I'm not a duck. Well written and enjoyable. | ta Josie
Written by fellpony (1603 comments posted) 12th April 2008 | | I remember keeping ducks - spring and summer are rape and pillage time for the drakes, and all the poor ducks end up bald. Ours were lucky - there wasn't enough water in the beck for them to drown, as sometimes happens! |
Written by fellpony (1603 comments posted) 20th April 2008 | Robert Etty wrote a similar poem, "Some notes about a Hare" (1994) which I found yesterday:
Profiled through brambles, it’s more
like a woodcock: shut eye
pale, ear a neat
skull-stripe; it licks a paw,
surprisingly cattish, back
another molehill in the grass
that’s fine-stalked like the Wyeth*
of the girl who sits
as still as this hare,
now.
Then the squeaks
of stock-doves’ flight,
mallards photo-finishing
and only the dipping, dark-
grey v of the ears of
a hare that knows how much its
life is worth;
and somewhere
this way invisible,
a cooling dent in the grass.
* Christina's World, painting by Andrew Wyeth, http://artwork.barewalls.com/artwork/ChristinasWorld.html?productid=13704&ns=normal
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