The Spoonbill Generator

This Gastronomical Headboard

I have it in mind to purchase a pie

To feed to my several kin

I've seen one I fancy in a baker's in Nancy

With rabbits and wallabies in.

There is, however, a snag:

Although I'm extremely reluctant to brag

My culinary skills are so fine,

None could despise my puddings and pies

No cuisine is hauter than mine

- But those who eat it fall dead!

Oat-queasiness follows ingestion of same,

And terminal heartburn to boot

Flatulence, hair-loss, scabies and thirst

and boisterous loopholes of soot

and a chimney-sweep crawling about in my head.

Which burns with a quite unpredictable flame

While Abelard simpers `Besides ...

Your cooking's erratic, the outcome dramatic,

Not least for the indigent brides

That blaze in each heretic's bed

A pricker, a prancer, a tearer of sheets.'

Each listener blanched with distress

- a couplet! Oh no, what a mess!

Pathetic distortions, malodorous runt

With your hair in a mess and your shirt back-to-front,

Not fit to be seen in the shops or the streets

Or afloat on the sea in a hole-ridden punt

If you can't find me a pie

(Those wallabies aren't a must)

Then go down to Dover, in pigskin and clover

Remember others have tried

And failed abysmally many times over

Send for the Samphire Brigade!

And smother your lost twin in suede.

The pie was discovered afloat

The float was discovered up high,

A sumptous urn of miseries spurned

And a dry but delectable goat

Sniffed the saffron and diamonds nearby

Contributors: Peter Christian, Boris the Spider, Mick Mangan, boppo, Carl Wonzmann, Seamus Heaney, Geoff Pryke, Peter, Keats, Roland, lisa, mad marc, Jane Clare, Rosemary, TG, Irene Peters, Loo-ease, Jane C, Lumenabean, Shunty, Stacy Alexander.
Poem finished: 1st June 1996.