The Spoonbill Generator

Wake! Capitulate!

I had a small Etruscan [Roland]

Pot made out of gold; [Apsley]

And, etched in runes of silver [Roland]

Gorgeous to behold [fester]

Were words of satisfaction, [Apsley]

Which roughly in translation [Grayman]

Told the greedy not to pilfer. [Apsley]

"Steal not, lest Charun's hammer [Hamish]

Smite thee for malice [dkb]

Eternally." And these words [Hamish]

Circled this chalice [dkb]

Like cold ice held in hot fire [fester]

Then released into the mire [Apsley]

A pot of steaming curds [TG]

I had a tiny Trojan [dkb]

Kettle, made from purest steam; [Apsley]

And, ofttimes singing sweetly, [dkb]

I'd use it to cook bream [fester]

stew. First I'd cook it gently, [ellie]

Then drive it in my Bentley [Hamish]

Stop - and scoffed the lot discreetly [Madge]

"Scoff not at this deep matter [dkb]

Lest good King Priam [fester]

Adjudicate." The priest spoke [dkb]

As if he would damn [fester]

All infidels to pale fire [dkb]

To hear the Mull of Kintyre [fester]

Than which is no joy higher [Apsley]

I had a Carthaginian [Hamish]

Vase of chrysoprase; [dkb]

But I broke it [TG]

Contributors: Roland, Apsley, fester, Grayman, Hamish, dkb, TG, ellie, Madge.
Poem finished: 15th May 2000.