The Spoonbill Generator

Hidden Are Our Own Inept Performances

Blended with the hint of curling smoke came release [Apsley]

The fledgling grouse were free - but not free of their fate [fester]

Which lingered long, the walrus like, bedded in the trees [Apsley]

Beyond the gruesome habitat of scone and skate [Roland]

Where pampered idiots shoot anything that moves [Fatty]

And fashion morbid keepsakes from the severed hooves [Roland]

Of elk, bison, fox and carrion crow, to name but few [Apsley]

Whhose bodies lie unmoving, as dead things often will [fester]

Upon this stubborn plain, where truth has killed the kangaroo [P]

And many corpses lie in tussock, mound or hill [dkb]

Remote from family, kin or dearest friends, [Apsley]

Where antiPopes, in congress dire, make full amends [Roland]

For all the good the world will suffer, ere the end [fester]

You might as well smear trumpets with best Brie [Apsley]

Or undertake to waltz with goblins at Southend [fester]

For little recompense, nor e'en a fee [Apsley]

Fly futile in the face of sneering fate - [dkb]

Bite swiftly through an After EightŪ! [Apsley]

Contributors: Apsley, fester, Roland, Fatty, P, dkb.
Poem finished: 3rd October 2001.