The Chooks’ Poet

originally published in 2016 in fourWtwenty-seven


Her silver notebook splays open,

Silhouetted pages soar upwards like Opera House sails on a postcard

where sky is too blue and grass impossibly green.

Brushing a skerrick of chook feather from her apron,

she writes, discards, drafts, amends.

Slings word strings

of colour, song, memory together on the page

til the poem-in-progress catapults up, up into that bluest sky.

The moment for crafting soon passes, however.

Too much tweeting and cackling on the back verandah,

chooks’ feet scratch the screen door; broody ones must be fed!

Her silver notebook thuds down onto the leather desk-top.

Scooping up chook pellets in the old tin dipper from a hessian sack on the porch, that

poem-in-the-making will have to wait!



The free range chooks in the photo who come and visit my sister on Bilgola Plateau.


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