ABPA - Australian Bush Poets Association

A Doona and a Tent


A doona can shift sideways when you’re sound asleep at night.

A tent can be destroyed by wind, and give you quite a fright.
Put the two together, and you’re shaping for a fight.

I knew a man who knew a man who went and bought a tent.
A little wind sprung up. The bracing poles were badly bent,
And then they broke – the fabric of the shell and fly were rent.

As if that wasn’t bad enough, his doona slithered east,
And then it tumbled west, with provocation quite the least,
Which led him to conclude it was a most unruly beast.
Luckily, he had a friend who lived not far away,

And an open invitation in that cosy house to stay
If ever temperatures should fall, or skies start turning grey.
He also had a motor-car that stood and waited near.
He cared for it, and saw that it was serviced twice each year,
And to his friend’s abode he thought he’d very promptly steer.

Alas, the night was very dark. He found it hard to see.
It was right about the time the moon approached its apogee.
He swung around a corner, and he crashed into a tree.
It was a gnarled old gum tree, and it didn’t give an inch.
With the radiator hissing, he was in a sorry pinch,
But I’m pleased to say the hero of our story didn’t flinch.

He wasn’t built for panic, nor for any actions rash,
And though across his forehead there was now a scarlet gash,
He found his mobile phone where it was lying on the dash.
He quickly turned to contacts, and he rang his trusty mate.
Alas, quite unexpected (and with sadness I relate),

His friend had gone off fishing with his sinker, hook and bait.
I don’t know if he caught a fish, or if it got away,
Or if he even got a bite upon that fateful day.
I only know our hero, then and there, began to pray.

Let’s leave him there beside the road. It’s getting hard to look.
It started as discomfort, but it’s turning really crook.
The sort of misadventure you might read of in a book.

The moral of the story – if you sleep with tent and doona,
And it might come on you later, and it might come on you sooner,

You’ll fall victim to the weather, and the fickle cycles lunar.


© Stephen Whiteside 29.05.2018

I would love to see inside your head Stephen....or maybe we can....

Maybe you can...

There are days like that.

I can honestly say I've never once thought of writing a poem about a doona, Stephen - Your original tale has brought a smile!

Thanks, Catherine.

Flying over the ocean in an aeroplane a few years ago, I noticed for the first time that the wind generates waves across the surface of the water that are quite independent (in terms of both direction and size) of the natural ocean swell.

Transferring this idea into poetry, I thought why not make the waves/patterns of the verses and the lines quite independent of each other? Initially I liked the idea of setting out rhyming triplets in four line verses, but then the above pattern took hold. I think it reflects the perigee and apogee of the moon. (The verses are all actually the same size. The middle verses only look bigger because they are closer to you.)

(This is not my first Doona poem, by the way!)

I really like this, Stephen - and I absolutely get the concept of the perspective, with the centre verses appearing larger. Very original and very clever!

Have you thought about consulting a professional about your doona fetish? It seems to be taking over from farts!!!

Cheers
Shelley

Do you think perhaps it's time I started putting them together, Shelley? Doesn't sound terribly difficult...

Yes I do, Stephen - absolutely!