The Spoonbill Generator

The Legend Of The Sphere

I'll tell you the tale of a boy from the East       [Chevalier]

Who set forth on a journey to far Timbuktu       [F]

Or distant Calcutta, or Weymouth at least       [loaf]

But certainly not Katmandu       [Kansas Sam]

His earliest days had been spent underground       [loaf]

On the Tube, then the Metro, and also on BART       [Kansas Sam]

He lived pretty well on the scraps that he found       [Chevalier]

But sadly knew nothing of Art       [loaf]

I ask only for patience while I paint you his picture       [Barry Foster]

In these brush strokes of aimlessness, true to his tale       [Kansas Sam]

This raconteur hopes to avoid any stricture       [F]

But sadly knows nothing of Scale       [loaf]

A pale, lissom lad with a delicate air       [Chevalier]

He would poke passersby with his ivory-knobbed stick       [F]

Then the dullards, so lacking in couth, savoir faire       [Helen Owly]

Would write their protests with a Bic       [F]

He never knew schooling, he never had friends       [Chevalier]

Yet considered himself the crème de la crème        [F]

A man with no need for a Mercedes Benz       [P]

Would trade each machine for a gem       [loaf]

He set forth one day with a spring to his stride       [Chevalier]

Hoping Weymouth would soon see his shiny white shoes       [Kansas Sam]

And no one would know that his doctor had lied       [P]

Concerning the toxic components of booze       [loaf]

After three days of walking, he came to the sea       [Chevalier]

It looked like The Channel, but what did he care?       [Grayman]

He sought out a mariner, proffered a fee       [Chevalier]

But the salt called for triple that fare       [Helen Owly]

At this our bold journeyman paled with dismay       [Chevalier]

He laid down in the wake, his sad junket at end       [Helen Owly]

Little he knew what was coming his way       [Chevalier]

Destiny imminent, right round the bend       [loaf]

A Chevrolet driver, besotted by drink       [St. Simoleon of Swab]

And stealing a kiss from the girl at his side       [Chevalier]

Saw nothing ahead, the night black as ink       [Nym]

But stopped for a stroll in the oncoming tide       [Chevalier]

His feet nicely wet, he returned to the car       [Nym]

(Or at least to the spot where the car had just been)       [Chevalier]

And stared in dismay at the marks on the tar       [Nym]

Our hero had stolen the silver machine!       [Chevalier]

The driver's young lady was smitten at once       [Nym]

It comes of sharing your house with a louse       [Nigel Sly]

She nibbled his ear and made one of those grunts       [Nym]

You hear from a lover, but never from spouse       [Chevalier]

"Let me sing you a song," said the artistic dude       [Kevin Andrew Murphy]

As the car hurtled on in pursuit of the dawn       [Chevalier]

but the song that he sang was lascivious, lewd       [Kevin Andrew Murphy]

Extolling the moist Afternoon of a Faun       [dkb]

She could take it no longer, and ripped off his shirt       [Nym]

(His chest was well-muscled, and rather hirsute.)       [Kevin Andrew Murphy]

She tweaked at his nipple, asked if it hurt       [Juan of the Pines]

and that's why the Chevy sailed off of the butte.       [Kevin Andrew Murphy]

And that was the tale of the boy from the East       [(trad-ish)]

Who set forth on a journey that lasted too long       [loaf]

now tossed like a morsel of sin for the Beast       [Kevin Andrew Murphy]

To chew on forever, in lieu of a song       [loaf]

Contributors: Chevalier, F, loaf, Kansas Sam, Barry Foster, Helen Owly, Anon., P, Grayman, St. Simoleon of Swab, Nym, Nigel Sly, Kevin Andrew Murphy, dkb, Juan of the Pines, (trad-ish).
Poem finished: 31st May 2006 by Chevalier.