The Spoonbill Generator

Swooping Ono Delight

This is an ode to all things past,

Whose dust our noses savour

In keeping with a woman's charm,

A harlot's paltry flavour

Here's to the gal who lives on the hill,

Whose dust our eyes disparage

We hate what we cannot love, refuse to know

A proper woman's carriage.

Miscarriages are seldom fun

Cursed spontaneous abortion!

But bless the sweet placental nun

And her Augustinian contortion.

Twisted suffering, delighted flagellant

Pancreatic lesion

Torn, enduring, estatic, flatulent,

A rhyme without a reason!

Prince, you see me bleeding here

torn to smattered bits,

The apes of idleness adhere

to their lazy mothers' teets.

This is an ode to Falstaff's paunch

Whose girth's the stuff of songs

He drank 5 bott's of sack for lunch

And died fat in his sarong!

This was an ode to all things past

Before the spell was broken

By the sudden icy blast

It's final words were spoken!

Contributors: Stacy, Roland, lucretia, Bop, Kevin, Lucretia, 'A GIRL NAMED SUE', TG, KD, P.
Poem finished: 2nd March 1997.