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Stork

STORK. I am hungry.

Razor-sharp beak

poised

to snatch

a silver-scaled trout

from the murky, shallow water.

I wait patiently

for my dinner.

I look down

at my thin, long legs

like chopsticks

protruding

from a feather bed

and feel

slightly ridiculous.

I hope the trout don't laugh.

By Thomas Yates aged 14 who receives Penguin Modern Poets 1. Submitted by Mr C Yates of Maharishi School, Ormskirk, Lancs, who receives the Poetry Society's teacher's newsletter, a quarterly bulletin which includes features on innovative approaches to poetry in the classroom.

For Poetry Society events, ring 0171 240 4810.

A whimsical stork to partner last week's thoughtful macaw. I like the way this starts out as a realistic nature poem and ends up as an anthropomorphic joke. There's no law that says we have to write in one style only and to pull the rug from under one's own poem can be an effective comic device.

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