Cornelia Ceilings

Rookie (5/11/21 / Outer Mongolia)

The Unfortunate Beak - Poem by Cornelia Ceilings

What are you to do when you see a dead duck,
Its wings snapped like a coffee stirrer in Starbucks,
Its intestine exploded like vomit on Sunday morning,
And its beak, broken from its face?

Its eyes are like fried eggs,
Conspiring against the metaphorical bacon that is its feet.
Poor little duck, no longer can he quack,
If only he had just quacked off.

What are you to do when rigor mortis sets in,
And the duck starts jerking around on the floor?
Nothing probably.
Just watch and admire the beauty.

With feet like Catherine wheels,
Who needs fireworks for limbs,
Poor little duck,
No longer can he rest in peace,
If only he had just quacked off.

Comments about The Unfortunate Beak by Cornelia Ceilings

  • (2/7/2007 12:43:00 PM)

    Damn, that was the last one! ! (Report) Reply

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  • (2/7/2007 12:43:00 PM)

    Oh, forgot to read this one before commentiing. Can do that later. Hang on! ! ...That was a mistake - a big mistake. Just read the damned thing. I'll pretend I didn't. Good, well worked imagery, steady tempo, all the formal elements to a high standard. All in all not much wrong with this, and with proper attention I don't see why that duck shouldn't go fishing again. (Report) Reply

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Poem Submitted: Wednesday, December 6, 2006

Poem Edited: Saturday, December 4, 2010

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