POBBLEBONKING
Posted: Fri Mar 16, 2018 6:28 pm
https://soundcloud.com/maureen-clifford ... 129-mb-aaa
Out past the first dam, just near the low hill
where the gums cast their shadows, and evenings are still
‘mongst the reeds and the rushes a sound can be heard
Bonk, plonk ,bonk,plonk - is it frog or a bird?
His voice so insistent it echoes around
like a star picket hard hammered into dry ground,
the evening concert is all he’ll attend,
my little star picket hammering friend.
I think technically he’s a Pobblebonk frog,
who hides in the mud or beneath a damp log,
where he feasts on the insects and grubs that abound
and hides very quickly if man comes around.
Some say Eastern Banjo is really his name
and like Banjo Paterson his claim to fame,
are his faithful renditions, delivered with spunk.
of a loud and explosive and resonant bonk.
At night when you’re drifting to sleep in the bush
you can hear my small mate in the night’s silent hush
calling to his mates in a demanding tone
‘I’m out here and bonking and I’m all alone.’
But soon the dark night’s serenaded with song.
There must be a hundred frogs bonking along.
And one hears an occasional sqwaaaaak as a snake
passes by and takes a frog as his dinner mate.
So just listen quietly, relax, close your eyes,
and be serenaded till morning’s sunrise.
As you drift off to sleep to the cacophony
of Pobblebonks bonking wherever they be.
Maureen Clifford © The #ScribblyBark Poet
Out past the first dam, just near the low hill
where the gums cast their shadows, and evenings are still
‘mongst the reeds and the rushes a sound can be heard
Bonk, plonk ,bonk,plonk - is it frog or a bird?
His voice so insistent it echoes around
like a star picket hard hammered into dry ground,
the evening concert is all he’ll attend,
my little star picket hammering friend.
I think technically he’s a Pobblebonk frog,
who hides in the mud or beneath a damp log,
where he feasts on the insects and grubs that abound
and hides very quickly if man comes around.
Some say Eastern Banjo is really his name
and like Banjo Paterson his claim to fame,
are his faithful renditions, delivered with spunk.
of a loud and explosive and resonant bonk.
At night when you’re drifting to sleep in the bush
you can hear my small mate in the night’s silent hush
calling to his mates in a demanding tone
‘I’m out here and bonking and I’m all alone.’
But soon the dark night’s serenaded with song.
There must be a hundred frogs bonking along.
And one hears an occasional sqwaaaaak as a snake
passes by and takes a frog as his dinner mate.
So just listen quietly, relax, close your eyes,
and be serenaded till morning’s sunrise.
As you drift off to sleep to the cacophony
of Pobblebonks bonking wherever they be.
Maureen Clifford © The #ScribblyBark Poet
