The Spoonbill Generator

Impressions of the National Arthritic Gallery

My fourteenth friend cannot be seen from here [P]

I never wished her well befoer she went [TG]

To rummage in the deep volanic cone [Roland]

From which all signs of ancient man derive [TG]

Back then, the great eruption lay in wait [Roland]

The villagers kept sheep upon the slopes [TG]

They trampled grape-shot with the nether sole [Roland]

And waited patiently for signs of rain [TG]

Without a single glance to left nor right [Roland]

No wonder hundreds fell in the crevasse [TG]

My fourteen friends among them, sad to say. [Roland]

My second cousin hates the taste of beer [TG]

And spurns all folk who quaff it by the quart [Roland]

While texting all their friends and spilling ash [TG]

And lava in the footprints of their kin [Roland]

He swears their sins will one day find them out [TG]

And leave their names in tatters; which, he hopes [Roland]

Will serve as awful warnings for their heirs [TG]

And their assigns, both old and ancient now [Roland]

Who heretofore have vigorously pursued [P]

Their oaths of tenure on some foreign shore [Roland]

Where once my second cousin fell from grace [TG]

Yet hold, ye philistines! [Roland]

The art can not be found [TG]

To spool up the battle-lines [Roland]

When once they've been unwound [TG]

Contributors: P, TG, Roland.
Poem finished: 8th November 2002.