Narrowboat Hootenanny

Roving Otter knew where
to get a decent narrowboat.
He found one at a lock
by the local pub.

The pigeons did their job,
dive bombing punters
sitting at the outside table.
We took no time in boarding.

I assumed command,
Father Vole was the lookout,
Smoking Gose was our engineer,
and Otter drove the boat.

The badgers, foxes, ducks,
geese, moorhens, rabbits,
even Spencer Swan booked
a reservation on the prow.

But our favourite friend
was Manic Owl.
He brought the instruments,
drums, guitars, and saxophones.

The man arrived in time
to see us waving from the stern.
Turns out cruising's all
a narrowboat's good for.

We set up our instruments.
Otter had his bass,
Vole was on the drums,
and Goose had a piano.

Manic Owl had a saxophone,
faded gold and battered,
but it produced sweeter notes
than anything on the water.

I had my old guitar,
an archtop with a red finish.
It was the lead in a jam
with a most ear-raising tune.

Our party went on into the night,
rhythm after rhythm buzzing
off the boat and across the water
to disturb slumbering cows.

Ducks danced with rabbits,
badgers danced with geese.
Spencer Swan demonstrated
the arm-breaker swing

for a group of astonished teal,
while Owl blistered solos
on his saxophone, and we
kept the beat of our hootenanny.

NaPoWriMo #16: Easter Jamming

It's been a long time coming, but to celebrate Easter I've brought Flying Hare and the River Band out of retirement to play a suitably off-the-wall NaPoWriMo gig.

Easter Jamming

The band gathers in a field
just outside a market town,
Flying Hare, Roving Otter,
Father Vole, Smoking Goose,
joined by Manic Owl.

They go looking for eggs,
which an industrious bunny
had hidden the grass.
Goose finds his first,
Otter second, Hare third,
Owl fourth, and Vole last.

With the sun in midday zest,
the man grabs their instruments
and plays a grooving, mellow tune.
A tribute to the egg hunters
around the countryside
who are taking a break at noon.

Hare flies into rapid-fire
on his blistering archtop guitar.
Otter thrummed on his shimmering bass,
Vole rattled his drums,
Goose trumpeted like a wild fowl,
and Owl played his sax all over the place.

At sundown the animals go home,
bags full of chocolate eggs,
their instruments well-played.
They feast on the eggs till midnight
and go to bed with full stomachs,
ready to start jamming the very next day.