#ducks
The river runs shallow
But it's water nonetheless
An island in the middle
It was no riddle, was no test
We bounded across the stepping stones
Ones that weren't there
Onlookers passed but didn't stare
Two kids, some ducks and a hare
The river was shallow
The island was dry
Despite the mere size of it
We ventured to it twice
We stepped over
On the small, wobbly platforms
Surrounded by planks and logs
Wetting our uniforms
The ducks merely passed
The geese didn't approach
The hare hopped away
While the kids ran back to the stones
5d ago
May 29, 2026 at 4:31 PM UTC
Watching by the river’s edge
Bright and early in the early morning glow
A female Duck came waddling by
With babies one to eight in a row
Into the water she did go
Little ones followed all in a row
Until it got to number eight
Who got to the edge and stopped to wait
Mother stopped and looked around
Little baby making a quacking sound
Come on in, she did imply
Baby shook his head as if to say why
Brothers, Sisters all looked on amazed
As brother on bank just sat and gazed
At the water, not impressed
Had no intention of being pressed
Into the water as mother wanted
This was one request, not to be granted
Dipped his foot into the water deep
Into this don’t think I will creep
I looked on bewildered and amused
To see a duck look so unenthused
Not intending to do as he was told
Though so small, but yet so bold
Back came mother and a chase ensued
Along the river bank I was bemused
To see this duck in hot pursuit
Of her baby who looked so cute
Once caught, mum grabbed him by the neck
Looked to say, you will by heck
Come into the water with all of us now
No time to waste, learn to swim somehow
Into the water the mother duck went
Full of parental good intent
Put her chick onto the water, who suddenly reared
Went up, went down and disappeared
Panic stricken mum dived down
Grabbed her son who was about to drown
He was panicking flapping his wing
And just as suddenly began to swim
Off he went across the water fast
Mum and remainder followed at last
Down the river they all swam
Out of sight down by the dam
I walked off slightly mystified
To see a Duck that nearly died
But all was well, it ended fine
They all swam off, all in a line
Feb 21
Feb 21, 2026 at 3:33 AM UTC
While you're romanticizing the setting sun,
And conjugating all the figures of speech
Such a metaphorical red orb produces,
Allow your eyes to wander over
To the duck,
Waddling westward.
Observe his tail feathers.
Notice how preened and coiffed they are,
With a tinge of midas gold.
See how the breeze gently whips
The wispy wafting plumes,
Swaying right to left,
Exposing its avian chute.
Look,
All you who gaze upon the re-minted
***El Presidente,
Donaldo, Don Come Mierda***,
Who does indeed have the uncanny resemblance of
The East End of a Duck Walking West.
Jan 30, 2025
Jan 30, 2025 at 9:40 AM UTC
Ducks wrestle doubly
Wet from rain and river flow;
As above…qua-a-ack…so below.
May 22, 2022
May 22, 2022 at 4:15 AM UTC
I ordered a wheelchair for my mother
The rest of the family was filled with horror
As it might make her feel sicker and look much older
She's weak, no surprise at ninety-four
She can walk maybe fifty yards but no more
She was a ballerina and raised kids no less than four
Cancelled the order but it was too late
When it arrived I rolled her through the gate
Really enjoyed ourselves, luckily she's of little weight
Arriving at the park, she was delighted
Seeing the flowers the ducks, she got excited
She held my hand and we were pleased to be united.
Aug 31, 2021
Aug 31, 2021 at 5:29 AM UTC
normally
I love
the sum of
the sun,
the summer.
every bleak winter day
I wait for the sun
to kiss me
again.
but today
her kiss
is unbearable
torching my eyes
blazing past my eyelids
radiating right through my core
extinguishing me from within.
every bleak second of today
I waited for the sun
to go
away.
all I wanted
was
some more shuttered seconds
some more blissful blackout
some more ducky dreams.
May 20, 2021
May 20, 2021 at 6:20 PM UTC
You used to search my back, arms, and even my *** for zits.
When you found one, you went to
work at popping it.
It hurt like hell, but I never
said anything, because it seemed to
bring you such pleasure.
Sometimes, I don't even think there
was a zit.You would just squeeze a
freckle or birthmark.
And chocolate, for God's sake, you loved it.
Whenever I could afford it, I'd
buy you chocolate bars.And when I
couldn't, I'd steal them.
You hated me stealing, but you
loved chocolate.
In those golden Summer evenings,
I remember carrying your son on
my shoulders into the pink and
lavender sunsets.
We had story time on the Shelter couch,
your head resting on my shoulder.
But time, as it always does, rages on.
You have your son, your apartment, your job.
I have my river, my writing. and my ducks.
I feed them bread, not chocolate.
And although they wake me up at dawn by
walking on my back, they don't
mess with the zits.
I've trained them to eat bread out
of my hand.Their little tongues feel
like sandpaper.
I'll never look at
zits and chocolate the same.
Feb 18, 2021
Feb 18, 2021 at 11:55 AM UTC
Calm on the surface
Frantic paddling underneath
Ducks mirror the world
Nov 10, 2020
Nov 10, 2020 at 3:24 AM UTC
We’re going on a duck hunt; just granny and me!
We’re going on a duck hunt, let me tell you what we see.
We are going to the river, with a bag of stale bread.
Fighting off seagulls and pigeons as they hover above our heads.
We will pass by the riverbanks where grasses and trees grow tall.
Watching and listening to the river as it tumbles, rolls, and roars.
We will see flowers of different colours. White daisies, yellow buttercups, blue cornflowers, covering the parklands in a dazzling display.
My Granny says seeing the kaleidoscope of colours makes her day!
We will pass by rabbits hopping about their homes of grassy mounds.
Every now and then pricking up their ears; listening to every sound.
We will pass by geese gathered in a gaggle.
Big bottomed geese walking with a waggle.
We will pass by swans gliding with their necks held high.
Several young cygnets tucked in and swimming by their mums side.
We will pass all these wonders of nature as we make our way to the ducks.
Listening for every quack and cluck.
We reach our goal with a bag of bread in-hand.
Throwing the bread to the ducks who say thank you with a “quack” and a “cluck.”
Before you know it, the swans are there too. Then the seagulls and pigeons “shoosh, go away you!”
Ducks are the best of the lot you see. They make me laugh; I think they are funny.
No particular reason but my granny says, “It is because I am only three.”
We’re going on a duck hunt; just granny and me!
We’re going on a duck hunt, to feed the ducks their tea.
Sep 5, 2020
Sep 5, 2020 at 6:35 AM UTC
Ducks upon the surface of a lake
Of man-made run off
What great ripples they make
Diving under, flapping their wings
Without asking I wonder
Why for ducks water is water
Glacial or sewer-bound
Backswamp or uptown reservoir
It's not maker but mark which matters
So why is this distinction so profound to me?
Why Nature's acts
Do I endeavour to explain
Whereas for man's
I seek firstly to lay blame?
Aug 24, 2020
Aug 24, 2020 at 1:19 PM UTC
I watch a couple outside, they howl,
shove, whip up a tornado that
tears them to shreds.
If only and how and why!
Next day, two ducks land in my
garden. They sleep in tandem and work
together chasing off a sneaky stout crow.
Under the sycamore,
they exist in this moment,
only this one.
May 13, 2020
May 13, 2020 at 1:21 PM UTC
Little tails wiggle waggle up and down the walk,
I follow after their orange laughter, wishing they could talk.
Well, talk they can, and talk they do,
While I am listening out of view.
I giggle at their rubber feet flip-flopping on the ground
and smile at their velvet feathers while I try to make no sound.
When I get close, food bowl in hand, trying to gain their trust
They quack a warning that says 'Stay clear!' - my mission is a bust!
The little couple waddle on, eyeing me with care,
I watch until I see them taking off into the air.
Now I'm waiting for tomorrow when I hope to see them,
Margaret and Philip, as I have fondly named them.
Apr 3, 2020
Apr 3, 2020 at 7:04 PM UTC
Tallen the Mighty Thrower
by Michael R. Burch
Tallen the Mighty Thrower
is a hero to turtles, geese, ducks ...
they splash and they cheer
when he tosses bread near
because, you know, eating grass *****
Keywords/Tags: child, children, boy, thrower, throwing, bread, turtles, geese, ducks, grass
Apr 1, 2020
Apr 1, 2020 at 5:15 AM UTC
Our feet scuffed drying ruts
along the riverbank
and we gave the land
our thanks for holding up
Alongside us, green bright head
curious,
a duck and drake kept pace
I know the quizzical eye
was a bread request
but you’re as lucky as the rest of us
Above us, swimming languid
in unbounded blue
two buzzards circled
My mind got to thinking:
what fate are they
hoping for?
Mar 26, 2020
Mar 26, 2020 at 9:06 AM UTC
The Mallard
(a limerick for adults, teens and older children)
by Michael R. Burch
The mallard is a fellow
whose lips are long and yellow
with which he, honking, kisses
his ***** boisterous mistress;
my pond’s their loud bordello!
Keywords/Tags: limerick, light verse, nonsense verse, humor, humorous, animals, nature, ducks, love, *** desire, passion, Lothario, mistress, noise, copulation, doing it
Mar 8, 2020
Mar 8, 2020 at 11:46 PM UTC
Ripples riddle the mirror,
Below, faint shapes shift
Elegant forms float here and there,
Little legs thunder, leaving a gentle wake
in lieu of turmoil.
The air is thick, the sun falling,
Already lost behind billowing storm clouds
Etched chaotically on the horizon.
Invisible but for the ubiquitous light.
It is the dragonflies time,
A darting zip and an effortless flutter.
From surfacing **** to towering Reed,
Searching for something we can only pretend to know.
Determined housewives, faces set,
Arms pumping and hips swaying
Their Anatidean waddle so fitting
Their quacks, a wall of stereo.
A lone rusted sign warns of gators,
but of signs, there is that one alone.
No rogue bubbles or beady eyes,
no ticking of swallowed clocks,
no suspicious splashes.
nothing.
My battery is now as low as the sun,
and my pen is as empty.
A not so subtle poke in the ribs
from a universe in protest of the
bad poetry being inked.
c'est la vie
or as we say in English
**** it
Aug 2, 2018
Aug 2, 2018 at 10:47 AM UTC
My grandmother had the face of a duck
My mother has the body of a duck
And I am happy like a duck
Jun 25, 2018
Jun 25, 2018 at 9:26 PM UTC
Can't remember the last time I got paid
Lost my worldly goods
Now I am stranded
By the house on the water
The river is the only thing
That moves real fast
As time nestles in.
Life seems normal
On the water
Like an everyday occurrence
I got laid last night
Drew my mind-set around my body
Down through my toes
The river keeps coming from nowhere
More and more
My mind is reeling like a movie
From your touch last night
The morning starts
With mist on the water
The wintery bare trees
Hold the mist at bay
Like a man sitting smoking
In a dim and crowded room
Just waiting for something
Gray and bad-lunged
And slow to move the day along
That cold sun pulls back
The ice like curtain
Man, you got to see the sun
Another day by the water
And I ain't got no work and no pay
By midday no one's calling
But the ducks that skim the water
The rocks can't hold back the river
Hushing sound of water
I try to think of something else
But baby, your power
Has me someplace else
Picture you naked as you were
Got to have you, got to be there
All the time
It's your distance
That keeps killing me
And the waiting by the river
Call you, got to call you
From the house on the water.
May 31, 2018
May 31, 2018 at 6:34 PM UTC
Can't remember the last time I got paid
Lost my worldly goods
Now I am stranded
By the house on the water
The river is the only thing
That moves real fast
As time nestles in.
Life seems normal
On the water
Like an everyday occurrence
I got laid last night
Drew my mind-set around my body
Down through my toes
The river keeps coming from nowhere
More and more
My mind is reeling like a movie
From your touch last night
The morning starts
With mist on the water
The wintery bare trees
Hold the mist at bay
Like a man sitting smoking
In a dim and crowded room
Just waiting for something
Gray and bad-lunged p
And slow to move the day along
That cold sun pulls back
The ice like curtain
Man, you got to see the sun
Another day by the water
And I ain't got no work and no pay
By midday no one's calling
But the ducks that skim the water
The rocks can't hold back the river
Hushing sound of water
I try to think of something else
But baby, your power
Has me someplace else
Picture you naked as you were
Got to have you, got to be there
All the time
It's your distance
That keeps killing me
And the waiting by the river
Call you, got to call you
From the house on the water.
May 30, 2018
May 30, 2018 at 9:43 AM UTC
As I looked upon the
Whispers of the forming
Clouds.
So, shaped like a family of ducks
in their times.
Revealed to me the caspered calm and
Distinct instinct and ‘gifts’ to
Float, without prior education.
Towards the sky forests in
Ease and love.
(c) copyrighted
Mar 29, 2017
Mar 29, 2017 at 3:50 AM UTC
It takes one to know one swift fell swoop
like a bat out of hell and certainly the belfry.
If you've something to prove to the birds and the bees,
I won't bat an eye at your rhinoplasty.
I'll take two hoots, 'cause I sure won't give them.
Find somebody else to get up and go;
I cry like I fly like a carrion crow
and I've two left feet and no time to tango.
It takes three strikes 'til it's not just company
any more — it's a crowd and my agoraphobia
is making this worse, so I might disperse.
If you don't quite care, let's put two and two together;
playing pretend we're birds of a feather.
I could commend, but that's such a no-no;
you're more like a doornail to me, less like a dodo.
And if you don't much mind, I might just take five.
I'm chicken-livered, but at least alive
though I feel like a dead duck, dusted and done.
I won't be there, I'll stay fair and square,
right back at square one.
Now can you see how this is cyclic?
Makes me feel one sandwich short of a picnic,
up the wall, and driving me sick.
Apologies, I don't mean to nitpick,
and I know I've a number of bees in my bonnet,
but I've zero interest in your haiku and sonnets.
So here's one for the road,
turn by the way the devil drives you home,
and one good turn deserves
another.
May 20, 2016
May 20, 2016 at 3:58 AM UTC