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Welcome to Day 2
6th Annual April Write 2013

And greetings from the antipodes!

For those of you who do not know me, I am Adam and I have been involved with The April Write for a number of years now. I am pleased to virtually meet you all. I live in Australia’s national capital, Canberra.

The theme for day two of The April Write 2013 is: “Ungulates”.

That oft scoffed repository of human information, Wikipedia, introduces us to ungulates as being:
‘a diverse group of large mammals, most of which use the tips of their toes, usually hoofed, to sustain their whole body weight while moving. The term means, roughly, “being hoofed” or “hoofed animal”.’

Animals most often associated as being ungulates include horses, rhinoceroses, camels, hippopotamuses and deer. However, you may be surprised to learn, as I was, that ungulates are widely accepted to include such animals as sperm whales, narwhals and porpoises. I implore you to explore for further information:

You are free to explore this theme in any way you wish. For example, the following questions may release the tap on some creative juices:
– If a camel is really a horse created by a committee, then what is a narwhal?
– Why does a tapir look so funny?
– Why is an elephant’s skin so thick – is it because of a need to repel heinous insults?
– When asked to think of an ungulate, how come most people would only think of examples such as deer, elephants etc and would rarely, if ever, include dolphins, porpoises etc in their response?
– And given this preceding question, to what extent does popular convention dictate reality? For example, when is an ungulate not an ungulate?

You may wish to explore a light-hearted version of this theme, or ponder it as more of an existential quandary.

I will be writing a piece based on this theme and posting it a little later today.

I look forward to reading your pieces.

Adam Rowland


Adam Rowlandguest



9 responses »

  1. Adam Rowland © April 2013


    I began counting.

    Starting on fingers.
    Counting digits on digits.

    I continue counting.

    Digits remain appropriate.
    At least for now.

    I counted as time passed.
    Time passed as I counted.

    Tempi almost worthless.
    Homeostasis maintained.

    Your reflection revealed your downfall.
    Soaring begat by a single blow.
    My gift to the world.

    Forever trapped.
    Forever countable.

  2. Marina Bayley © April 2013

    I read the prompt
    Saw the word
    So way the vision
    An assortment of animals
    In a conga line doing some sort of unspeakable wine
    Semantic memory
    Needs to rewind
    Dyslexic fusion of that which is known with something new
    Bebop rhinoceros, swing a sweet tune
    No no Stop, slow down, behave
    Got no time for my mind to misbehaviour
    Ungulates is what the word clearly says
    Need to stay focused
    Take a minute in time
    Undulate is not the focus of pose
    Elephants standing on their hinds moving their bodies to the thumping rhythm
    Whales dance just inside the corner of my gaze
    But can’t get these image out of my mind
    Walk away
    Make a warmest cup of tea
    Aaarh I got it
    Sit down
    My fingers dance across the keys
    Sshat, what you’re never believe
    The thought left me like a sneeze

  3. Zita Holbourne © April 2013


    ‘You’ve got feet like ungulates’ is what he muttered
    The final words the man she’d once loved had uttered
    She’d always been self-conscious of her feet
    ‘Deformed’ the kids had taunted on her street
    ‘Your feet are UGLY!’ ‘Your feet are UGLY!’
    SHOUTED daily the playground bully
    ‘Why can’t she walk properly?’
    Asked a neighbour to her mummy
    One day when they were out shopping
    ‘What’s with all the clip clip clopping?’
    ‘She’s like a horse’ he said critically
    She cried and asked ‘why me, why me?’
    As she looked down at her strange shaped feet
    She had to acknowledge they weren’t cute or sweet
    But as she grew older the teasing gradually went away
    And she became resigned to the fact her feet were here to stay
    He was the first proper boyfriend she had every had
    At first she was self-conscious about being unclad
    Knowing the reason would be revealed
    For her odd looking shoes so strangely heeled
    But he showered her with love never paying attention
    To her ugly feet releasing her tension
    She easily relaxed in his embrace
    As he kissed her hands, stomach and face
    But never once sucking on her misshapen toes
    She refused to add this to her list of woes
    Until the day that they had the big fight
    That went on through the night
    Where he hurled abuse at her for three hours straight
    His words filled with venom and hate
    She felt the tears well up in her eye
    Couldn’t stop them and started to cry
    Collapsed in a heap on the floor
    That is until he started to walk out the door
    She heard him mutter the words quietly
    ‘feet like ungulates’ he said slowly
    Something snapped inside her
    As she rose she screeched with laughter
    Lifted up her ungulate like hoof
    Kicked up towards the roof
    And with a swift backward kick
    Accurately aiming for his d**k
    At last she felt proud to be associated
    With the amazing array of creatures ‘ungulated ‘

    Zita Holbourne, Poet~Artist~Activist, Day 2 April Write 2013

  4. Alicia Patterson © April 2013


    Carry all the weight
    Like the hoof of an ungulate
    Create in you a stride that no one else can emulate.
    Adapt to this strength that has always been in you..
    Stay filled with nutrients like that allow you to stay true to you.

  5. Donna Parkinson © April 2013


    Could an ungulate,
    Actually imitate,
    That it ‘tipie toes’ to support its weight,
    For a spate,
    Of foolhardy debate,
    In the April challenge 3RD date..
    Or could it just be a misconstrued trait,
    That hoofed animals create,
    To demonstrate,
    That they too are light of foot…..

  6. Slaine Montmont © April 2013

    To ungulate to have the wieght of the world on ones shoulders to load so heavy to the minds eye you may not be about to see it but many only feel it. as we all tip toes thought life to our own own rythems most times with our rime or reason which is ok . sometings we must log into the silencs and the silences of other and really reach our phyisically emosinally menatally to make a human connextion to hel self and support others. wiht out a human connection are not more that hoof animals and elevate to a hight requncy to beable to fly even highter sweeter long unlike the now dissticked dou dou brid thta was effective killed off cause they where so different awared slower and could not defend it self as its whole being was made to like in an enviroment void or greedy europeans full of ego and lust. to ungulate they word power story of the balck man clearly indangered speices world wide. surplue to requirerments in europe. black man wake up as your ancestors are calling you in a wishper on a cool breeze in whta can not be scene. come home come home come home

  7. Neapolean Smith © April 2013

    Running free..
    Like the wind across grassy plains
    Your words take me on a journey that cause my heart and soul to strain
    To reach out to you
    As you have me galloping at full speed
    You have me after the things I want
    Your words are what I need..

  8. Debbie Golt © April 2013

    When rhinos are mentioned and I only just now along with most of you I would think even heard of the word ungulate much less ungulates – what immediately resonates is Flanders and Swann’s song of yore – pity the poor old rhino with a bodger on its bonce – chorus repeat … and then the issue of save the rhinos – because unlike those some people confuse them with, ie hippos – those ‘bodgers’ are dangerous to themselves as well as those they would charge as they are sought after for many things …. and so hinges the issue not to be relegated to the margins of the fates …

  9. Katie Rendon © April 2013

    I once believed that I had tamed him.
    I fought off his flight instincts.
    He pressed heavily against hooves
    that used to pound pastures and ranges
    building barriers and miles between us.
    But not now.

    Now he stands, hair on end
    momentarily tamed by my hand
    allowing me to caress him with whispers.
    My words do not penetrate
    his leathered hide, but maybe my tone.

    Maybe if he stands still with me,
    his hot blood will cool.
    Or maybe, once his hooves
    have settled in and his head
    no longer shakes me away,
    I will see the feral man as he is.

    Eyes hunting the unseen,
    tail swishing me away,
    knee ever bent, ready to flee.
    A Mustang must always be free.


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