Robsart Leichhardt

They would call him Sart
but there was a man with heart.
He’d outsmart apart.

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The Tale of the Bunny on Paul Avenue

On a walk last night I saw something scurry out on Paul Avenue in the corner of my eye. My glasses weren’t on and I assumed it was a mouse as it was so small. It ran toward the curb on the opposite side.
I put on my glasses and I saw it was a small, baby bunny with grey and brown fur and tiny ears laid back on its wee head from fear. Why that would be became readily apparent as a raven swooped down but failed to grab it.
The cottontail ran at the curb with its head down and bounced back. I walked out on the road and the raven perched itself up on a pole, I presume, to wait me out. As I came closer the rabbit sprinted left so I stopped. It then ran back toward me and then right from where I stood. Finally it came back again and ran into the curb once again. That may have stunned it a bit as it didn’t scamper away when I set my open palm down beside it and shushed at it.
Then, to my surprise and that of a lady who had stopped to watch, the rabbit crept into my hand and actually cuddled into it! Did it know I was keeping the raven away? Whatever the cause this was the cutest entity I’ve held in my hand for quite a while: since when my children were young.
I stood up and it wormed its way, trying to hide, into my fleece jacket at the crook of my arm, first on the left and then across to the right. The bunny pushed its head in there so far that its rear legs were splayed out upside down against my arm.
A young girl from the side of the street that I had come from asked for the bunny but her father refused saying they already had enough with the cat. In fact, the girl discovered that said cat was stalking yet another baby bunny under a neighbour’s car. The man chased the feline back into his house. Then the lady and the man both confirmed that there were lots of bunnies in his backyard so I set the rabbit down near his gate to the back and it went straight for it.
And that’s how I left the bunnies on Paul Avenue.

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A poem to drink, by rum

Rum in my tum,
oh joy! Yum yum!
Is it dumb to have some?
A cake of rum is moist to the last crumb
and will make my tongue numb! Now that’s anything but humdrum.
I’d spend a tidy sum, filch quarters from my Mum
or bankrupt an old Kingdom, like Dokkum,
and put up my thumb for some coke and rum.
But there’s a limit: none of Stephen’s redrum or bomb of radium
will I plumb or from anyone bum.
But, save that, there’s no tedium or idiom
I won’t endure or learn to make handsome my tum-
bler! Ask any medium (or the message), even one wearing a chrysanthemum,
or any UW alumn and they’ll tell you that all you’ll wring from
my body when I’m dead become, and dug up from under the Madagascar Plum,
is good ol’ rum, ’cause I’ll abide no other spirit, not even from a Mountain Swamp Gum.

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Come climb with me

Mountains cumulus
soar and shout, ‘Attempt these peaks.’
Well why not? They’re there!

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Lep War Rattle

This silly haiku comes with a choose your own ending:

Leprechauns whittle
teeth to prepare for battle.

Tries human mettle.

War will be total.

Green men gone postal.

Prepare hospital!

Blood has count Prandtl.

That won’t entitle.

We’ll be skeletal.

Give gold to settle.

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It is utterly confucius
in the audacious
extreme that delicious
and scrumptious
bunnies and eggs are Easterlicious
for children, too atrocious
early, on a Sunday joyous
seeing if the morn be propitious
with bumptious
bunnies chocolatious
and later on expeditious
for eggs, rambunctious,
in wide open spacious.
But what do these, fractious,
have to do with one another? Is this facetious?
Or possibly seditious?
And what, in all conscientious,
do these have to do with Easter. I’m serious!
All that chocolate better be lubricious
by libations aqueous
and other foodstuffs nutritious
to be cautious
and stop intestinal bloating bodacious,
and prevent tooth decay malicious
or the trip to the Doctor will be hellacious.
Wait. What did I just say? This is flirtatious
with error and tendentious
in an orientation fallacious
oh please help me Saints Ignatius
and Aloysius
I don’t want to dwell mordacious
I want to choose to be vivacious
and full of gracious.
So we must stop the marketing mendacious
and learn to be perspicacious
and morally efficacious
or sagacious.
Do not be pretentious
or celebrate obnoxious!
Keep true Easter close, I plead, most anxious.

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Food for the Fire

Cassie stood up
a little drunk
and announced to our table
in the restaurant

Food to women
is fuel
and enjoyment.

Not to be outdone
Phil raised his beer
which he might have thought
meant he was upright
and returned

Food to men
is fuel
and something to fart with.

when I’d finished laughing
made my own speech
make shift

Fuel to cars
is food
for Climate Change.

Dead quiet was
understating the lack of sound.

Too soon?

They all nodded
and I sat back down
lesson learned.

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