The Spoonbill Generator

Lifeless Sheds

We were down to obsolete zero:

With the subatomic hero

'Is nothing now profane?' the message read;

'Do you really want to lose your head?'

In this cold,cruel Arctic bed?

It was half-past caring; the frostbite

formed frosty knife stalagmites,

'We're losing our perspective' quoth the line

Do you really want to go to bed?

On this old-style Arctic sled

In the sub-Mediterranean morning

Beneath our thermal awning

"It's time to eat a peacock", they all cried

Won't this modest muffin do instead?

Of this ice-cold Arctic bread

We abandoned our polar siesta

for our bird and soda bread,

which an arrogant investor

From the Leeds or from the Leicester

Would use to line his Arctic shed

It was a warm, tropical evening

With rising tides awash

Is this the eve of global warming?

Ill-omened comets' storming?

Will we be drowned by Arctic slosh?

We waded in our knickers,

Our knickers faded fast

And those who strove to trick us

We lashed tight to the mast

'til eighty days had passed.

And dined drunkenly on moldy artic hash

'Til all discretion fled

We stumbled to our Arctic beds,

"warm your linens" I whispered in glee,

And that was the last from me

Contributors: Roland, P, Stacy, TG, Bop, KD, Do, Ti.
Poem finished: 30th March 1997.