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Oh, well, since Bazza seems to be lying low, noblesse oblige. Every line more or less has a rhyme, although not in a regular order. (I borrowed 'ragout' from Chris.) And I must confess that there's not much of a connection between the acrostic and the subject-matter.
Freddy Fitzherbert Fitzackerly Fortescu, Utterly clueless, though ‘uper-clarse’ (sic), Crassly unlettered, and thick as a brick, Knew, so he thought, how to make a ragout. Taking some beef that was stringy and tough, Heaving a packet of old vermicelli Into the mixture, some rank haricots, Slivers of mutton that, frankly, were off, Fillets of cod that were barely so-so, Oysters, an eight-month-old gift from his father, Reeking and rancid (but so was his Pa). All this he believed he had seen on the tel- Ly, confused with a recipe used by his Ma. After the meal, his companions felt rather Regurgitative, and were fatally sick, Killed off by the scoff from the trough of this toff. |
Smartarse.
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'Ere, Rob, watch yer mouth, or I'll be sending you a plateful.
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Taking a lugubrious and cliché-ridden swing around the chain reaction circle...
Suspecting you had been untrue, I viewed your Facebook chatter; Rewarding friends with “dividends”? Our arguments grew louder. Romance you dished to all who wished; it didn’t really matter. Respect for me would never be; and then you took a powder. Recalcitrant is my descent from bliss to abject sorrow; With you moved out, I have no doubt that life will be a bummer. Remembrance of these past events makes me abhor tomorrow; Will skies persist to drizzle mist? Will blizzards spoil my summer? Regretting you … till grass grows blue, till margarine is butter, Receding seas leave Celebes connected to Australia, Angolan banks make Marks and Francs the currency they utter, Rouen decrees a ban on cheese, and Google is a failure. Escaped from here, I miss you dear, and weep a Mississippi; Imagining what path will bring me from depressive lapses - Submerge myself in pomp and pelf, or be a grungy hippie? Ethanol is best of all to deaden my synapses. |
Wow, Douglas!
Tyrannosaurus rex strode - Elongated femur, tibia and tarsi In each leg enabling Gigantic heavy paces. Speedwise, what may we say? Yes, such strides covered ground, Doubtless eating distance up Practically like prey! Yet- what rate of progress? Some suppose T. rex to have Existed just by ambush- Hiding till prey passed it, Then a sudden lunge- Snap! Perhaps pursuit (but- slow, swift? - Tracking, chasing prey down?) No-one knows which way, yet. |
I edify myself at length -
Highbrow volumes browse, reclining. Good grief! Heaven give me strength: How attention wanes, declining Gradually into sleep… Pages crumple; book falls, thumping- Goading me awake at once, Ears and eyes alert, heart pumping! Ghost of willpower drives me on, Now resuming wordy wending; Groaning, though! This uphill task Kindles little joy. I’m tending, Grade-wise, downward; exams ask Kabbalistic knowledge from me. Eating stale starch by the ton Now haunts my dreams; I bloat with ennui. |
Mister Whitworth
Has a poem (Many notice) Ever-ready; Years’ worth of 'em! Miles of writing, Generated Donkeys’ lives back, Kept against the Exigency, Years or decades (Some guess), later- Ripe and apt to Offer then as Submi-ssions. Serious, some; Earthy, no few; Worthy, wistful, Longing, soulful… Lastly, oft-time, Entries comic! Competitions Sailed triumphant Through, to finish, He has known, and Dark days (lacking Gleanings meagre - Even ‘hon mensh’) He’s experienced; Dogged, persists, Subtly splendid, Doughty, dauntless; Spry his humour, Ribald, poignant… That is how he Ever writes ‘em. |
Why thank you, Graham. I never knew you cared.
Douglas, I spell it 'till'. What do other Sphereans do? Your poem is a many splendoured thing. |
John, when it's a stand-alone word, I spell it till. But Douglas is using 'til, the abbreviated form of until.
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I was thinking of 'Till Death do us part' and 'You never miss the water till the well goes dry'. I can't remember ever writing 'til in any context. Perhaps I should have, but it does look messy.
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