Tag Archives: duck

2065. The saga of Twaddle the Duck

It happened just the other day. Sefton had finished writing his daily blog and had used the word “Twaddle”.

“What a brilliant name for a domestic duck,” thought Sefton. “If only I had a duck.” 

He knew a couple of people who had domestic ducks. Garth called his duck Jemima.

“How very unimaginative,” thought Sefton. “The next time I see Garth I’ll suggest he call his duck Twaddle.”

Chayce also had a domestic duck, and he called it Rembrandt. “What a stupid name for a duck,” thought Sefton. “The next time I see Chayce I’ll suggest the name Twaddle.”

Both Garth and Chayce thought the name of Twaddle was horrible. “I think the name of Twaddle is horrible for a domestic duck,” said Garth. Chayce said the same thing: “I think the name of Twaddle is horrible for a domestic duck.”

Sefton invited Garth and Chayce to dinner. Ï know, Gentle Reader, what you are thinking; you are thinking they had domestic duck for dinner. Can’t you read? I said at the outset that Sefton didn’t have a duck.

1666. Mrs Mallard Duck’s fine clutch

Mrs Mallard Duck had found the perfect place for a nest. It was not too far from the stream where she could go to stretch her legs, and it was close enough (although a good way back) from the road to give some interest and variation to an otherwise monotonous twenty-eight days of sitting on the eggs to keep them warm.

Mr Mallard Duck wasn’t a great deal of help, although he did offer a bit of company occasionally when Mrs Duck went swimming and feeding in the stream. But goodness me! Twenty-eight days is four weeks, and four weeks can feel like four months (in fact four years) when there’s little else to do than count the cars and trucks that whizz by on the road.

But it was all worth it! After those exasperating four weeks all nine eggs hatched. And what pretty babies they were! Mrs Mallard Duck would soon take them to the stream for their first swim. But first, she must show off her brood by waddling them slap-bang down the middle of the road.

Poem 50: Sasha had chicken

(The form selected for this week is the ghazal).

Sasha had chicken for dinner and yet, nothing beats a good duck.
Jane chucked plates and cups at Bill; the whole set. Nothing beats a good duck.

Farmer Tom took Lizzie out to his barn to show her his wild life.
Lizzie was quite impressed and said, “I bet nothing beats a good duck.”

In the cricket match Harry was bowled out, not having even scored.
Then he overheard Arnie say “Don’t fret, nothing beats a good duck.” *

Minnie decided to fix a leak in a pipe under her sink.
Hardware man said when asked what tape to get, “Nothing beats a good duck.” **

Gary’s wife wanted to know why he hadn’t come home for the night.
He said his car broke down; don’t worry, pet. (Nothing beats a good duck?)

Sally and Bernie’s new swimming pool was great for relaxing in.
Bernie was pushed under and got all wet. Nothing beats a good duck.

Some folk may express amazement at the triteness of this ghazal.
Bruce reckons there is nothing to regret. Nothing beats a good duck.

To hear the poem read aloud click HERE.

*For those unfamiliar with cricket, not getting any points (runs) is called a duck.
**For those unfamiliar with fixing things, there’s duck tape (sometimes called duct tape).