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As dead as Monty's parrot


Frank E Gibbard
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Frank E Gibbard

An end for this distinctive flightless bird

was to be succinct not less than rotten,

but long gone it survives in spoken word,

neither quite extinct nor by time forgotten.

Do, do reflect on the pathetic dodo, oh do!

Unextantly stiff as Python's Norwegian Blue.

To lose another species we deplete ourselves

Stuffing ex-animalia on bleak museum shelves;

Extinction glooms yet in life's unwritten story

Do not ever forget the dodo : memento mori.

Edited by Frank E Gibbard
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Frank,

 

Good to see you again. Witty, well put and with a great message- A joy to read!

 

Many Thanks

 

J&DC

thegateless.org Come on over and check out my poetry substack y'all;-) Or if your bored, head to the Zazzle store: https://www.zazzle.com/store/gateless. If you buy anything I lose a bet, so consider that before you violate the digital rules.

 

Gate(less.png

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Hi Frank,

 

A timely write, faced as we are, with more and more species becoming extinct as we poison or destroy their habitats.

 

In the Python sketch the bloke tries to get his money back, how do we replace what we kill is the sense I got from your poem.

 

Perhaps we'll have virtual records of the lost species.

 

 

Thank you for this thought-provoking poem.

goldenlangur

 

 

Even a single enemy is too many and a thousand friends too few - Bhutanese saying.

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  • 2 weeks later...

Write a poem about Ealing, Frank. Something close to home, growing up in London, and all that sorta stuff. Did your Dad take you to football matches when you were in short pants, or did you go to the Speedway for the motorcycle races? What about school back in the MacMillan years when "you never had it so good"? Swinging London ... was it swinging for you? Girls, your pals, brushes with the Bill, the whole nine yards. It's all inside you just waiting to come out. I'd take you for an Arsenal supporter (grim, loyal but hopeless), never Chelsea, possibly Westham U.

 

Bren

 

I'm serious. If you went about it properly it'd be the poem of your life. Quite literally. You'd have to reach inside yourself to do it.

Drown your sorrows in drink, by all means, but the real sorrows can swim

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