The Spoonbill Generator

Pork-pie Hatred In Stoke

I hefted bricks of twenty pounds       [Kansas Sam ]

Into a waiting skip       [Apsley ]

And bit her lower lip       [loaf ]

She melted in my waiting arms       [Apsley ]

Collapsing to her knees       [Nym ]

How poignant were her pleas!       [F ]

The bricks themselves were not immune       [Apsley ]

To herpes or the clap       [loaf ]

That waited in her lap       [Apsley ]

I melted in her waiting-room       [loaf ]

Into a waiting chair       [Apsley ]

And bit her lower hair       [loaf ]

The clap itself was not too shy       [Apsley ]

To crouch behind a wall       [loaf ]

So subtle 'twas withal...       [Apsley ]

We melted quicklime, ounce by ounce       [loaf ]

Into a pewter urn       [Chevalier ]

That cooled through in a burn       [Apsley ]

The urn itself was Regency       [Nym ]

Though caked wi' dry cement       [loaf ]

Hence barely worth a cent       [Nym ]

She turned her lips to other parts       [Apsley ]

To taste forbidden fruit       [Nym ]

And melt her birthday suit       [loaf ]

Those lips themselves were ruby       [Nym ]

But crusted o'er with lime       [Apsley ]

That dulled all sense of time       [loaf ]

She bared her soul and naked skin       [Nym ]

And I did enter her       [Apsley ]

Without the least demur       [loaf ]

The skin itself was scaly       [Apsley ]

With polyfilla caked       [loaf ]

I ached, oh, how I ached!       [Juan of the Pines ]

I hefted bricks of twenty pounds       [(trad) ]

As I have said before       [Juan of the Pines ]

I kissed that putrid whore       [Apsley ]

She melted, and the dream was past       [loaf ]

I caught her to my chest       [Apsley ]

My plaster-spattered vest       [loaf ]

Contributors: Kansas Sam, Apsley, loaf, Nym, F, Chevalier, Juan of the Pines, (trad).
Poem finished: 30th May 2006 by Nym.