Eratosphere Communal Poem
 

We had a lot of fun with a communal poem a few years ago. http://www.ablemuse.com/erato/showthread.php?t=5175

John, said it was okay to go ahead and get a new one going.

Rhyming couplets, one couplet at a time, please. Try to keep the meter.
To keep all of the previous lines and continuity, reply with quote would probably work best.
Looking forward to seeing where this goes.
Donna

Here's the first couplet to start things off.


The midnight knock is followed by a voice,
a raspy bass, “Hey, open up, it’s Joyce!”

[never mind]

The midnight knock is followed by a voice,
a raspy bass, “Hey, open up, it’s Joyce!”
"Tell me, do you mean the Joyce who's fame's
based on Trees, or are we talking James?"

The midnight knock is followed by a voice,
a raspy bass, “Hey, open up, it’s Joyce!”
"Tell me, do you mean the Joyce whose fame's
based on Trees, or are we talking James?"
"To write" she answered "was my dearest wish;
but I should say I am in fact a fish..."

I cracked the door, and saw that line 2's "bass"
should not have rhymed with "face", but "[something crass]".

[quote=David Anthony;139348]The midnight knock is followed by a voice,
a raspy bass, “Hey, open up, it’s Joyce!”
"Tell me, do you mean the Joyce whose fame's
based on Trees, or are we talking James?"
"To write" she answered "was my dearest wish;
but I should say I am in fact a fish..."

I cracked the door, and saw that line 2's "bass"
should not have rhymed with "face", but "[something crass]".
I'm cursed by TYPO, keeper of the keys
I'd beg for help, but I do not have knees.

[quote=Donna English;139352]I thought I knew the face, but wasn't sure:
"Hey -- is this Joyce the Mermaid at the door?"

The midnight knock is followed by a voice,
a raspy bass, “Hey, open up, it’s Joyce!”
"Tell me, do you mean the Joyce whose fame's
based on Trees, or are we talking James?"
"To write" she answered "was my dearest wish;
but I should say I am in fact a fish..."

I cracked the door, and saw that line 2's "bass"
should not have rhymed with "face", but "[something crass]".
I'm cursed by TYPO, keeper of the keys
I'd beg for help, but I do not have knees.

I thought I knew the face, but wasn't sure:
"Hey -- is this Joyce the Mermaid at the door?"
"Yes! It's me I'm dried out, and I'm woozy.
Let's talk while I relax in your jacuzzi"

The midnight knock is followed by a voice,
a raspy bass, “Hey, open up, it’s Joyce!”
"Tell me, do you mean the Joyce whose fame's
based on Trees, or are we talking James?"
"To write" she answered "was my dearest wish;
but I should say I am in fact a fish..."

I cracked the door, and saw that line 2's "bass"
should not have rhymed with "face", but "[something crass]".
I'm cursed by TYPO, keeper of the keys
I'd beg for help, but I do not have knees.

I thought I knew the face, but wasn't sure:
"Hey -- is this Joyce the Mermaid at the door?"
"Yes! It's me I'm dried out, and I'm woozy.
Let's talk while I relax in your jacuzzi

How come you don't recall my voice, my dear?
There was a time its timbres charmed your ear."

The midnight knock is followed by a voice,
a raspy bass, “Hey, open up, it’s Joyce!”
"Tell me, do you mean the Joyce whose fame's
based on Trees, or are we talking James?"
"To write" she answered "was my dearest wish;
but I should say I am in fact a fish..."

I cracked the door, and saw that line 2's "bass"
should not have rhymed with "face", but "[something crass]".
I'm cursed by TYPO, keeper of the keys
I'd beg for help, but I do not have knees.

I thought I knew the face, but wasn't sure:
"Hey -- is this Joyce the Mermaid at the door?"
"Yes! It's me I'm dried out, and I'm woozy.
Let's talk while I relax in your jacuzzi

How come you don't recall my voice, my dear?
There was a time its timbres charmed your ear."
I said "Come in for lunch. You'll find a plaice
inside." She disappeared without a trace.

The midnight knock is followed by a voice,
a raspy bass, “Hey, open up, it’s Joyce!”
"Tell me, do you mean the Joyce whose fame's
based on Trees, or are we talking James?"
"To write" she answered "was my dearest wish;
but I should say I am in fact a fish..."

I cracked the door, and saw that line 2's "bass"
should not have rhymed with "face", but "[something crass]".
I'm cursed by TYPO, keeper of the keys
I'd beg for help, but I do not have knees.

I thought I knew the face, but wasn't sure:
"Hey -- is this Joyce the Mermaid at the door?"
"Yes! It's me I'm dried out, and I'm woozy.
Let's talk while I relax in your jacuzzi

How come you don't recall my voice, my dear?
There was a time its timbres charmed your ear."
I said "Come in for lunch. You'll find a plaice
inside." She disappeared without a trace.

I went out fishing for her. In the river
of murky mist, the air gave me a shiver.

The midnight knock is followed by a voice,
a raspy bass, “Hey, open up, it’s Joyce!”
"Tell me, do you mean the Joyce whose fame's
based on Trees, or are we talking James?"
"To write" she answered "was my dearest wish;
but I should say I am in fact a fish..."

I cracked the door, and saw that line 2's "bass"
should not have rhymed with "face", but "[something crass]".
I'm cursed by TYPO, keeper of the keys
I'd beg for help, but I do not have knees.

I thought I knew the face, but wasn't sure:
"Hey -- is this Joyce the Mermaid at the door?"
"Yes! It's me I'm dried out, and I'm woozy.
Let's talk while I relax in your jacuzzi

How come you don't recall my voice, my dear?
There was a time its timbres charmed your ear."
I said "Come in for lunch. You'll find a plaice
inside." She disappeared without a trace.

I went out fishing for her. In the river
of murky mist, the air gave me a shiver.
I had the urge to leave, but let it pass.
I listened for the sound of bass or bass.

The midnight knock is followed by a voice,
a raspy bass, “Hey, open up, it’s Joyce!”
"Tell me, do you mean the Joyce whose fame's
based on Trees, or are we talking James?"
"To write" she answered "was my dearest wish;
but I should say I am in fact a fish..."

I cracked the door, and saw that line 2's "bass"
should not have rhymed with "face", but "[something crass]".
I'm cursed by TYPO, keeper of the keys
I'd beg for help, but I do not have knees.

I thought I knew the face, but wasn't sure:
"Hey -- is this Joyce the Mermaid at the door?"
"Yes! It's me I'm dried out, and I'm woozy.
Let's talk while I relax in your jacuzzi

How come you don't recall my voice, my dear?
There was a time its timbres charmed your ear."
I said "Come in for lunch. You'll find a plaice
inside." She disappeared without a trace.

I went out fishing for her. In the river
of murky mist, the air gave me a shiver.
I had the urge to leave, but let it pass.
I listened for the sound of bass or bass

when -- ouch! -- a pointy thorn impaled my hand
and yanked me up. Now, far above the land ...

The midnight knock is followed by a voice,
a raspy bass, “Hey, open up, it’s Joyce!”
"Tell me, do you mean the Joyce whose fame's
based on Trees, or are we talking James?"
"To write" she answered "was my dearest wish;
but I should say I am in fact a fish..."

I cracked the door, and saw that line 2's "bass"
should not have rhymed with "face", but "[something crass]".
I'm cursed by TYPO, keeper of the keys
I'd beg for help, but I do not have knees.

I thought I knew the face, but wasn't sure:
"Hey -- is this Joyce the Mermaid at the door?"
"Yes! It's me I'm dried out, and I'm woozy.
Let's talk while I relax in your jacuzzi

How come you don't recall my voice, my dear?
There was a time its timbres charmed your ear."
I said "Come in for lunch. You'll find a plaice
inside." She disappeared without a trace.

I went out fishing for her. In the river
of murky mist, the air gave me a shiver.
I had the urge to leave, but let it pass.
I listened for the sound of bass or bass

when -- ouch! -- a pointy thorn impaled my hand
and yanked me up. Now, far above, the land-
mark wheel of London's cantilevered Eye
frowned down on me. I sat and wondered why

The midnight knock is followed by a voice,
a raspy bass, “Hey, open up, it’s Joyce!”
"Tell me, do you mean the Joyce whose fame's
based on Trees, or are we talking James?"
"To write" she answered "was my dearest wish;
but I should say I am in fact a fish..."

I cracked the door, and saw that line 2's "bass"
should not have rhymed with "face", but "[something crass]".
I'm cursed by TYPO, keeper of the keys
I'd beg for help, but I do not have knees.

I thought I knew the face, but wasn't sure:
"Hey -- is this Joyce the Mermaid at the door?"
"Yes! It's me I'm dried out, and I'm woozy.
Let's talk while I relax in your jacuzzi

How come you don't recall my voice, my dear?
There was a time its timbres charmed your ear."
I said "Come in for lunch. You'll find a plaice
inside." She disappeared without a trace.

I went out fishing for her. In the river
of murky mist, the air gave me a shiver.
I had the urge to leave, but let it pass.
I listened for the sound of bass or bass

when -- ouch! -- a pointy thorn impaled my hand
and yanked me up. Now, far above, the land-
mark wheel of London's cantilevered Eye
frowned down on me. I sat and wondered why
hallucinations plagued me day and night.
I pulled myself together then turned right

The midnight knock is followed by a voice,
a raspy bass, “Hey, open up, it’s Joyce!”
"Tell me, do you mean the Joyce whose fame's
based on Trees, or are we talking James?"
"To write" she answered "was my dearest wish;
but I should say I am in fact a fish..."

I cracked the door, and saw that line 2's "bass"
should not have rhymed with "face", but "[something crass]".
I'm cursed by TYPO, keeper of the keys
I'd beg for help, but I do not have knees.

I thought I knew the face, but wasn't sure:
"Hey -- is this Joyce the Mermaid at the door?"
"Yes! It's me I'm dried out, and I'm woozy.
Let's talk while I relax in your jacuzzi

How come you don't recall my voice, my dear?
There was a time its timbres charmed your ear."
I said "Come in for lunch. You'll find a plaice
inside." She disappeared without a trace.

I went out fishing for her. In the river
of murky mist, the air gave me a shiver.
I had the urge to leave, but let it pass.
I listened for the sound of bass or bass

when -- ouch! -- a pointy thorn impaled my hand
and yanked me up. Now, far above, the land-
mark wheel of London's cantilevered Eye
frowned down on me. I sat and wondered why
hallucinations plagued me day and night.
I pulled myself together then turned right
into a pub, and drank a pint of ale,
pondering that mermaid's lovely tail

The midnight knock is followed by a voice,
a raspy bass, “Hey, open up, it’s Joyce!”
"Tell me, do you mean the Joyce whose fame's
based on Trees, or are we talking James?"
"To write" she answered "was my dearest wish;
but I should say I am in fact a fish..."

I cracked the door, and saw that line 2's "bass"
should not have rhymed with "face", but "[something crass]".
I'm cursed by TYPO, keeper of the keys
I'd beg for help, but I do not have knees.

I thought I knew the face, but wasn't sure:
"Hey -- is this Joyce the Mermaid at the door?"
"Yes! It's me I'm dried out, and I'm woozy.
Let's talk while I relax in your jacuzzi

How come you don't recall my voice, my dear?
There was a time its timbres charmed your ear."
I said "Come in for lunch. You'll find a plaice
inside." She disappeared without a trace.

I went out fishing for her. In the river
of murky mist, the air gave me a shiver.
I had the urge to leave, but let it pass.
I listened for the sound of bass or bass

when -- ouch! -- a pointy thorn impaled my hand
and yanked me up. Now, far above, the land-
mark wheel of London's cantilevered Eye
frowned down on me. I sat and wondered why
hallucinations plagued me day and night.
I pulled myself together then turned right
into a pub, and drank a pint of ale,
pondering that mermaid's lovely tail

swathed in seaweed. Now where is that creature
with flowing golden hair (its foremost feature)?

The midnight knock is followed by a voice,
a raspy bass, “Hey, open up, it’s Joyce!”
"Tell me, do you mean the Joyce whose fame's
based on Trees, or are we talking James?"
"To write" she answered "was my dearest wish;
but I should say I am in fact a fish..."

I cracked the door, and saw that line 2's "bass"
should not have rhymed with "face", but "[something crass]".
I'm cursed by TYPO, keeper of the keys
I'd beg for help, but I do not have knees.

I thought I knew the face, but wasn't sure:
"Hey -- is this Joyce the Mermaid at the door?"
"Yes! It's me I'm dried out, and I'm woozy.
Let's talk while I relax in your jacuzzi

How come you don't recall my voice, my dear?
There was a time its timbres charmed your ear."
I said "Come in for lunch. You'll find a plaice
inside." She disappeared without a trace.

I went out fishing for her. In the river
of murky mist, the air gave me a shiver.
I had the urge to leave, but let it pass.
I listened for the sound of bass or bass

when -- ouch! -- a pointy thorn impaled my hand
and yanked me up. Now, far above, the land-
mark wheel of London's cantilevered Eye
frowned down on me. I sat and wondered why
hallucinations plagued me day and night.
I pulled myself together then turned right
into a pub, and drank a pint of ale,
pondering that mermaid's lovely tail

swathed in seaweed. Now where is that creature
with flowing golden hair (its foremost feature)?
It wouldn't be amiss to find it dead -
sorely tortured by a twisted thread.

The midnight knock is followed by a voice,
a raspy bass, “Hey, open up, it’s Joyce!”
"Tell me, do you mean the Joyce whose fame's
based on Trees, or are we talking James?"
"To write" she answered "was my dearest wish;
but I should say I am in fact a fish..."

I cracked the door, and saw that line 2's "bass"
should not have rhymed with "face", but "[something crass]".
I'm cursed by TYPO, keeper of the keys
I'd beg for help, but I do not have knees.

I thought I knew the face, but wasn't sure:
"Hey -- is this Joyce the Mermaid at the door?"
"Yes! It's me I'm dried out, and I'm woozy.
Let's talk while I relax in your jacuzzi

How come you don't recall my voice, my dear?
There was a time its timbres charmed your ear."
I said "Come in for lunch. You'll find a plaice
inside." She disappeared without a trace.

I went out fishing for her. In the river
of murky mist, the air gave me a shiver.
I had the urge to leave, but let it pass.
I listened for the sound of bass or bass

when -- ouch! -- a pointy thorn impaled my hand
and yanked me up. Now, far above, the land-
mark wheel of London's cantilevered Eye
frowned down on me. I sat and wondered why
hallucinations plagued me day and night.
I pulled myself together then turned right
into a pub, and drank a pint of ale,
pondering that mermaid's lovely tail

swathed in seaweed. Now where is that creature
with flowing golden hair (its foremost feature)?
It wouldn't be amiss to find it dead -
sorely tortured by a twisted thread.
Can those, then, whose pursuits are piscatorial
chip in to give the thing a decent burial.

The midnight knock is followed by a voice,
a raspy bass, “Hey, open up, it’s Joyce!”
"Tell me, do you mean the Joyce whose fame's
based on Trees, or are we talking James?"
"To write" she answered "was my dearest wish;
but I should say I am in fact a fish..."

I cracked the door, and saw that line 2's "bass"
should not have rhymed with "face", but "[something crass]".
I'm cursed by TYPO, keeper of the keys
I'd beg for help, but I do not have knees.

I thought I knew the face, but wasn't sure:
"Hey -- is this Joyce the Mermaid at the door?"
"Yes! It's me I'm dried out, and I'm woozy.
Let's talk while I relax in your jacuzzi

How come you don't recall my voice, my dear?
There was a time its timbres charmed your ear."
I said "Come in for lunch. You'll find a plaice
inside." She disappeared without a trace.

I went out fishing for her. In the river
of murky mist, the air gave me a shiver.
I had the urge to leave, but let it pass.
I listened for the sound of bass or bass

when -- ouch! -- a pointy thorn impaled my hand
and yanked me up. Now, far above, the land-
mark wheel of London's cantilevered Eye
frowned down on me. I sat and wondered why
hallucinations plagued me day and night.
I pulled myself together then turned right
into a pub, and drank a pint of ale,
pondering that mermaid's lovely tail

swathed in seaweed. Now where is that creature
with flowing golden hair (its foremost feature)?
It wouldn't be amiss to find it dead -
sorely tortured by a twisted thread.
Can those, then, whose pursuits are piscatorial
chip in to give the thing a decent burial.

Now Joyce appeared and said, “Your long-lost fish--
how could you want me dead? Is that your wish?”

The midnight knock is followed by a voice,
a raspy bass, “Hey, open up, it’s Joyce!”
"Tell me, do you mean the Joyce whose fame's
based on Trees, or are we talking James?"
"To write" she answered "was my dearest wish;
but I should say I am in fact a fish..."

I cracked the door, and saw that line 2's "bass"
should not have rhymed with "face", but "[something crass]".
I'm cursed by TYPO, keeper of the keys
I'd beg for help, but I do not have knees.

I thought I knew the face, but wasn't sure:
"Hey -- is this Joyce the Mermaid at the door?"
"Yes! It's me I'm dried out, and I'm woozy.
Let's talk while I relax in your jacuzzi

How come you don't recall my voice, my dear?
There was a time its timbres charmed your ear."
I said "Come in for lunch. You'll find a plaice
inside." She disappeared without a trace.

I went out fishing for her. In the river
of murky mist, the air gave me a shiver.
I had the urge to leave, but let it pass.
I listened for the sound of bass or bass

when -- ouch! -- a pointy thorn impaled my hand
and yanked me up. Now, far above, the land-
mark wheel of London's cantilevered Eye
frowned down on me. I sat and wondered why
hallucinations plagued me day and night.
I pulled myself together then turned right
into a pub, and drank a pint of ale,
pondering that mermaid's lovely tail

swathed in seaweed. Now where is that creature
with flowing golden hair (its foremost feature)?
It wouldn't be amiss to find it dead -
sorely tortured by a twisted thread.
Can those, then, whose pursuits are piscatorial
chip in to give the thing a decent burial.

Now Joyce appeared and said, “Your long-lost fish--
how could you want me dead? Is that your wish?”
Although the tale is fishy, I'll be kind,
and change my answer to a never mind.

The midnight knock is followed by a voice,
a raspy bass, “Hey, open up, it’s Joyce!”
"Tell me, do you mean the Joyce whose fame's
based on Trees, or are we talking James?"
"To write" she answered "was my dearest wish;
but I should say I am in fact a fish..."

I cracked the door, and saw that line 2's "bass"
should not have rhymed with "face", but "[something crass]".
I'm cursed by TYPO, keeper of the keys
I'd beg for help, but I do not have knees.

I thought I knew the face, but wasn't sure:
"Hey -- is this Joyce the Mermaid at the door?"
"Yes! It's me I'm dried out, and I'm woozy.
Let's talk while I relax in your jacuzzi

How come you don't recall my voice, my dear?
There was a time its timbres charmed your ear."
I said "Come in for lunch. You'll find a plaice
inside." She disappeared without a trace.

I went out fishing for her. In the river
of murky mist, the air gave me a shiver.
I had the urge to leave, but let it pass.
I listened for the sound of bass or bass

when -- ouch! -- a pointy thorn impaled my hand
and yanked me up. Now, far above, the land-
mark wheel of London's cantilevered Eye
frowned down on me. I sat and wondered why
hallucinations plagued me day and night.
I pulled myself together then turned right
into a pub, and drank a pint of ale,
pondering that mermaid's lovely tail

swathed in seaweed. Now where is that creature
with flowing golden hair (its foremost feature)?
It wouldn't be amiss to find it dead -
sorely tortured by a twisted thread.
Can those, then, whose pursuits are piscatorial
chip in to give the thing a decent burial.

Now Joyce appeared and said, “Your long-lost fish--
how could you want me dead? Is that your wish?”
Although the tale is fishy, I'll be kind,
and change my answer to a never mind.
"How can I love a girl who is half fish?
If we should wed against my parents' wish

The midnight knock is followed by a voice,
a raspy bass, “Hey, open up, it’s Joyce!”
"Tell me, do you mean the Joyce whose fame's
based on Trees, or are we talking James?"
"To write" she answered "was my dearest wish;
but I should say I am in fact a fish..."

I cracked the door, and saw that line 2's "bass"
should not have rhymed with "face", but "[something crass]".
I'm cursed by TYPO, keeper of the keys
I'd beg for help, but I do not have knees.

I thought I knew the face, but wasn't sure:
"Hey -- is this Joyce the Mermaid at the door?"
"Yes! It's me I'm dried out, and I'm woozy.
Let's talk while I relax in your jacuzzi

How come you don't recall my voice, my dear?
There was a time its timbres charmed your ear."
I said "Come in for lunch. You'll find a plaice
inside." She disappeared without a trace.

I went out fishing for her. In the river
of murky mist, the air gave me a shiver.
I had the urge to leave, but let it pass.
I listened for the sound of bass or bass

when -- ouch! -- a pointy thorn impaled my hand
and yanked me up. Now, far above, the land-
mark wheel of London's cantilevered Eye
frowned down on me. I sat and wondered why
hallucinations plagued me day and night.
I pulled myself together then turned right
into a pub, and drank a pint of ale,
pondering that mermaid's lovely tail

swathed in seaweed. Now where is that creature
with flowing golden hair (its foremost feature)?
It wouldn't be amiss to find it dead -
sorely tortured by a twisted thread.
Can those, then, whose pursuits are piscatorial
chip in to give the thing a decent burial.

Now Joyce appeared and said, “Your long-lost fish--
how could you want me dead? Is that your wish?”
Although the tale is fishy, I'll be kind,
and change my answer to a never mind.

"How can I love a girl who is half fish?
If we should wed against my parents' wish
we'd surely suffer constant ridicule,
and Hu-Mer kids are frowed upon-- life's cruel!

The midnight knock is followed by a voice,
a raspy bass, “Hey, open up, it’s Joyce!”
"Tell me, do you mean the Joyce whose fame's
based on Trees, or are we talking James?"
"To write" she answered "was my dearest wish;
but I should say I am in fact a fish..."

I cracked the door, and saw that line 2's "bass"
should not have rhymed with "face", but "[something crass]".
I'm cursed by TYPO, keeper of the keys
I'd beg for help, but I do not have knees.

I thought I knew the face, but wasn't sure:
"Hey -- is this Joyce the Mermaid at the door?"
"Yes! It's me I'm dried out, and I'm woozy.
Let's talk while I relax in your jacuzzi

How come you don't recall my voice, my dear?
There was a time its timbres charmed your ear."
I said "Come in for lunch. You'll find a plaice
inside." She disappeared without a trace.

I went out fishing for her. In the river
of murky mist, the air gave me a shiver.
I had the urge to leave, but let it pass.
I listened for the sound of bass or bass

when -- ouch! -- a pointy thorn impaled my hand
and yanked me up. Now, far above, the land-
mark wheel of London's cantilevered Eye
frowned down on me. I sat and wondered why
hallucinations plagued me day and night.
I pulled myself together then turned right
into a pub, and drank a pint of ale,
pondering that mermaid's lovely tail

swathed in seaweed. Now where is that creature
with flowing golden hair (its foremost feature)?
It wouldn't be amiss to find it dead -
sorely tortured by a twisted thread.
Can those, then, whose pursuits are piscatorial
chip in to give the thing a decent burial.

Now Joyce appeared and said, “Your long-lost fish--
how could you want me dead? Is that your wish?”
Although the tale is fishy, I'll be kind,
and change my answer to a never mind.

"How can I love a girl who is half fish?
If we should wed against my parents' wish
we'd surely suffer constant ridicule,
and Hu-Mer kids are frowed upon-- life's cruel!
Your father Neptune and your mom the seal--
if we were married, think how they would squeal

The midnight knock is followed by a voice,
a raspy bass, “Hey, open up, it’s Joyce!”
"Tell me, do you mean the Joyce whose fame's
based on Trees, or are we talking James?"
"To write" she answered "was my dearest wish;
but I should say I am in fact a fish..."

I cracked the door, and saw that line 2's "bass"
should not have rhymed with "face", but "[something crass]".
I'm cursed by TYPO, keeper of the keys
I'd beg for help, but I do not have knees.

I thought I knew the face, but wasn't sure:
"Hey -- is this Joyce the Mermaid at the door?"
"Yes! It's me I'm dried out, and I'm woozy.
Let's talk while I relax in your jacuzzi

How come you don't recall my voice, my dear?
There was a time its timbres charmed your ear."
I said "Come in for lunch. You'll find a plaice
inside." She disappeared without a trace.

I went out fishing for her. In the river
of murky mist, the air gave me a shiver.
I had the urge to leave, but let it pass.
I listened for the sound of bass or bass

when -- ouch! -- a pointy thorn impaled my hand
and yanked me up. Now, far above, the land-
mark wheel of London's cantilevered Eye
frowned down on me. I sat and wondered why
hallucinations plagued me day and night.
I pulled myself together then turned right
into a pub, and drank a pint of ale,
pondering that mermaid's lovely tail

swathed in seaweed. Now where is that creature
with flowing golden hair (its foremost feature)?
It wouldn't be amiss to find it dead -
sorely tortured by a twisted thread.
Can those, then, whose pursuits are piscatorial
chip in to give the thing a decent burial.

Now Joyce appeared and said, “Your long-lost fish--
how could you want me dead? Is that your wish?”
Although the tale is fishy, I'll be kind,
and change my answer to a never mind.

"How can I love a girl who is half fish?
If we should wed against my parents' wish
we'd surely suffer constant ridicule,
and Hu-Mer kids are frowned upon-- life's cruel!
Your father Neptune and your mom the seal--
if we were married, think how they would squeal.

Stop carping like a fishwife, or I'm out
of here," I wailed. "Go find yourself a trout."

The midnight knock is followed by a voice,
a raspy bass, “Hey, open up, it’s Joyce!”
"Tell me, do you mean the Joyce whose fame's
based on Trees, or are we talking James?"
"To write" she answered "was my dearest wish;
but I should say I am in fact a fish..."

I cracked the door, and saw that line 2's "bass"
should not have rhymed with "face", but "[something crass]".
I'm cursed by TYPO, keeper of the keys
I'd beg for help, but I do not have knees.

I thought I knew the face, but wasn't sure:
"Hey -- is this Joyce the Mermaid at the door?"
"Yes! It's me I'm dried out, and I'm woozy.
Let's talk while I relax in your jacuzzi

How come you don't recall my voice, my dear?
There was a time its timbres charmed your ear."
I said "Come in for lunch. You'll find a plaice
inside." She disappeared without a trace.

I went out fishing for her. In the river
of murky mist, the air gave me a shiver.
I had the urge to leave, but let it pass.
I listened for the sound of bass or bass

when -- ouch! -- a pointy thorn impaled my hand
and yanked me up. Now, far above, the land-
mark wheel of London's cantilevered Eye
frowned down on me. I sat and wondered why
hallucinations plagued me day and night.
I pulled myself together then turned right
into a pub, and drank a pint of ale,
pondering that mermaid's lovely tail

swathed in seaweed. Now where is that creature
with flowing golden hair (its foremost feature)?
It wouldn't be amiss to find it dead -
sorely tortured by a twisted thread.
Can those, then, whose pursuits are piscatorial
chip in to give the thing a decent burial.

Now Joyce appeared and said, “Your long-lost fish--
how could you want me dead? Is that your wish?”
Although the tale is fishy, I'll be kind,
and change my answer to a never mind.

"How can I love a girl who is half fish?
If we should wed against my parents' wish
we'd surely suffer constant ridicule,
and Hu-Mer kids are frowned upon-- life's cruel!
Your father Neptune and your mom the seal--
if we were married, think how they would squeal.

Stop carping like a fishwife, or I'm out
of here," I wailed. "Go find yourself a trout."
"Look here," she said, "I've one more thing to add.
You see this baby porpoise? You're a dad."

The midnight knock is followed by a voice,
a raspy bass, “Hey, open up, it’s Joyce!”
"Tell me, do you mean the Joyce whose fame's
based on Trees, or are we talking James?"
"To write" she answered "was my dearest wish;
but I should say I am in fact a fish..."

I cracked the door, and saw that line 2's "bass"
should not have rhymed with "face", but "[something crass]".
I'm cursed by TYPO, keeper of the keys
I'd beg for help, but I do not have knees.

I thought I knew the face, but wasn't sure:
"Hey -- is this Joyce the Mermaid at the door?"
"Yes! It's me I'm dried out, and I'm woozy.
Let's talk while I relax in your jacuzzi

How come you don't recall my voice, my dear?
There was a time its timbres charmed your ear."
I said "Come in for lunch. You'll find a plaice
inside." She disappeared without a trace.

I went out fishing for her. In the river
of murky mist, the air gave me a shiver.
I had the urge to leave, but let it pass.
I listened for the sound of bass or bass

when -- ouch! -- a pointy thorn impaled my hand
and yanked me up. Now, far above, the land-
mark wheel of London's cantilevered Eye
frowned down on me. I sat and wondered why
hallucinations plagued me day and night.
I pulled myself together then turned right
into a pub, and drank a pint of ale,
pondering that mermaid's lovely tail

swathed in seaweed. Now where is that creature
with flowing golden hair (its foremost feature)?
It wouldn't be amiss to find it dead -
sorely tortured by a twisted thread.
Can those, then, whose pursuits are piscatorial
chip in to give the thing a decent burial.

Now Joyce appeared and said, “Your long-lost fish--
how could you want me dead? Is that your wish?”
Although the tale is fishy, I'll be kind,
and change my answer to a never mind.

"How can I love a girl who is half fish?
If we should wed against my parents' wish
we'd surely suffer constant ridicule,
and Hu-Mer kids are frowned upon-- life's cruel!
Your father Neptune and your mom the seal--
if we were married, think how they would squeal.

Stop carping like a fishwife, or I'm out
of here," I wailed. "Go find yourself a trout."
"Look here," she said, "I've one more thing to add.
You see this baby porpoise? You're a dad."
You missed your birth control on poipus, Joyce!
You played me for a stooge! I have no choice ...

This fine poem needs a title.

Drowned on Porpoise
Joyce Because
Beat the Bass Drum
Sirens Song
Dead in the Water

'Fish and Chaps'?

A Fishy Tale

Revenge of the Little Mermaid

Fishy is right, Marion!

Floundering Onward
Loxs Up at the End
A Tale Fluke
Sea Here!

The midnight knock is followed by a voice,
a raspy bass, “Hey, open up, it’s Joyce!”
"Tell me, do you mean the Joyce whose fame's
based on Trees, or are we talking James?"
"To write" she answered "was my dearest wish;
but I should say I am in fact a fish..."

I cracked the door, and saw that line 2's "bass"
should not have rhymed with "face", but "[something crass]".
I'm cursed by TYPO, keeper of the keys
I'd beg for help, but I do not have knees.

I thought I knew the face, but wasn't sure:
"Hey -- is this Joyce the Mermaid at the door?"
"Yes! It's me I'm dried out, and I'm woozy.
Let's talk while I relax in your jacuzzi

How come you don't recall my voice, my dear?
There was a time its timbres charmed your ear."
I said "Come in for lunch. You'll find a plaice
inside." She disappeared without a trace.

I went out fishing for her. In the river
of murky mist, the air gave me a shiver.
I had the urge to leave, but let it pass.
I listened for the sound of bass or bass

when -- ouch! -- a pointy thorn impaled my hand
and yanked me up. Now, far above, the land-
mark wheel of London's cantilevered Eye
frowned down on me. I sat and wondered why
hallucinations plagued me day and night.
I pulled myself together then turned right
into a pub, and drank a pint of ale,
pondering that mermaid's lovely tail

swathed in seaweed. Now where is that creature
with flowing golden hair (its foremost feature)?
It wouldn't be amiss to find it dead -
sorely tortured by a twisted thread.
Can those, then, whose pursuits are piscatorial
chip in to give the thing a decent burial.

Now Joyce appeared and said, “Your long-lost fish--
how could you want me dead? Is that your wish?”
Although the tale is fishy, I'll be kind,
and change my answer to a never mind.

"How can I love a girl who is half fish?
If we should wed against my parents' wish
we'd surely suffer constant ridicule,
and Hu-Mer kids are frowned upon-- life's cruel!
Your father Neptune and your mom the seal--
if we were married, think how they would squeal.

Stop carping like a fishwife, or I'm out
of here," I wailed. "Go find yourself a trout."
"Look here," she said, "I've one more thing to add.
You see this baby porpoise? You're a dad."
You missed your birth control on poipus, Joyce!
You played me for a stooge! I have no choice ...
Soon, Joyce, a guest, a fish, a tale (ask Jonah)
will smell—so clam up, now—it’s abalone.

The midnight knock is followed by a voice,
a raspy bass, “Hey, open up, it’s Joyce!”
"Tell me, do you mean the Joyce whose fame's
based on Trees, or are we talking James?"
"To write" she answered "was my dearest wish;
but I should say I am in fact a fish..."

I cracked the door, and saw that line 2's "bass"
should not have rhymed with "face", but "[something crass]".
I'm cursed by TYPO, keeper of the keys
I'd beg for help, but I do not have knees.

I thought I knew the face, but wasn't sure:
"Hey -- is this Joyce the Mermaid at the door?"
"Yes! It's me I'm dried out, and I'm woozy.
Let's talk while I relax in your jacuzzi

How come you don't recall my voice, my dear?
There was a time its timbres charmed your ear."
I said "Come in for lunch. You'll find a plaice
inside." She disappeared without a trace.

I went out fishing for her. In the river
of murky mist, the air gave me a shiver.
I had the urge to leave, but let it pass.
I listened for the sound of bass or bass

when -- ouch! -- a pointy thorn impaled my hand
and yanked me up. Now, far above, the land-
mark wheel of London's cantilevered Eye
frowned down on me. I sat and wondered why
hallucinations plagued me day and night.
I pulled myself together then turned right
into a pub, and drank a pint of ale,
pondering that mermaid's lovely tail

swathed in seaweed. Now where is that creature
with flowing golden hair (its foremost feature)?
It wouldn't be amiss to find it dead -
sorely tortured by a twisted thread.
Can those, then, whose pursuits are piscatorial
chip in to give the thing a decent burial.

Now Joyce appeared and said, “Your long-lost fish--
how could you want me dead? Is that your wish?”
Although the tale is fishy, I'll be kind,
and change my answer to a never mind.

"How can I love a girl who is half fish?
If we should wed against my parents' wish
we'd surely suffer constant ridicule,
and Hu-Mer kids are frowned upon-- life's cruel!
Your father Neptune and your mom the seal--
if we were married, think how they would squeal.

Stop carping like a fishwife, or I'm out
of here," I wailed. "Go find yourself a trout."
"Look here," she said, "I've one more thing to add.
You see this baby porpoise? You're a dad."
You missed your birth control on poipus, Joyce!
You played me for a stooge! I have no choice ...
Soon, Joyce, a guest, a fish, a tale (ask Jonah)
will smell—so clam up, now—it’s abalone.

That's otter speculation interjected
perhaps this fishy tale's been resurected.

The midnight knock is followed by a voice,
a raspy bass, “Hey, open up, it’s Joyce!”
"Tell me, do you mean the Joyce whose fame's
based on Trees, or are we talking James?"
"To write" she answered "was my dearest wish;
but I should say I am in fact a fish..."

I cracked the door, and saw that line 2's "bass"
should not have rhymed with "face", but "[something crass]".
I'm cursed by TYPO, keeper of the keys
I'd beg for help, but I do not have knees.

I thought I knew the face, but wasn't sure:
"Hey -- is this Joyce the Mermaid at the door?"
"Yes! It's me I'm dried out, and I'm woozy.
Let's talk while I relax in your jacuzzi

How come you don't recall my voice, my dear?
There was a time its timbres charmed your ear."
I said "Come in for lunch. You'll find a plaice
inside." She disappeared without a trace.

I went out fishing for her. In the river
of murky mist, the air gave me a shiver.
I had the urge to leave, but let it pass.
I listened for the sound of bass or bass

when -- ouch! -- a pointy thorn impaled my hand
and yanked me up. Now, far above, the land-
mark wheel of London's cantilevered Eye
frowned down on me. I sat and wondered why
hallucinations plagued me day and night.
I pulled myself together then turned right
into a pub, and drank a pint of ale,
pondering that mermaid's lovely tail

swathed in seaweed. Now where is that creature
with flowing golden hair (its foremost feature)?
It wouldn't be amiss to find it dead -
sorely tortured by a twisted thread.
Can those, then, whose pursuits are piscatorial
chip in to give the thing a decent burial.

Now Joyce appeared and said, “Your long-lost fish--
how could you want me dead? Is that your wish?”
Although the tale is fishy, I'll be kind,
and change my answer to a never mind.

"How can I love a girl who is half fish?
If we should wed against my parents' wish
we'd surely suffer constant ridicule,
and Hu-Mer kids are frowned upon-- life's cruel!
Your father Neptune and your mom the seal--
if we were married, think how they would squeal.

Stop carping like a fishwife, or I'm out
of here," I wailed. "Go find yourself a trout."
"Look here," she said, "I've one more thing to add.
You see this baby porpoise? You're a dad."
You missed your birth control on poipus, Joyce!
You played me for a stooge! I have no choice ...
Soon, Joyce, a guest, a fish, a tale (ask Jonah)
will smell—so clam up, now—it’s abalone.

That's otter speculation interjected
perhaps this fishy tale's been resurected.

Part II

Then up rose Father Neptune, Joyce's dad,
holding his trident. Boy, did he look mad!

Conclusion

And now that we've regaled and been regaled,
this fishy peak's officially been scaled.

The midnight knock is followed by a voice,
a raspy bass, “Hey, open up, it’s Joyce!”
"Tell me, do you mean the Joyce whose fame's
based on Trees, or are we talking James?"
"To write" she answered "was my dearest wish;
but I should say I am in fact a fish..."

I cracked the door, and saw that line 2's "bass"
should not have rhymed with "face", but "[something crass]".
I'm cursed by TYPO, keeper of the keys
I'd beg for help, but I do not have knees.

I thought I knew the face, but wasn't sure:
"Hey -- is this Joyce the Mermaid at the door?"
"Yes! It's me I'm dried out, and I'm woozy.
Let's talk while I relax in your jacuzzi

How come you don't recall my voice, my dear?
There was a time its timbres charmed your ear."
I said "Come in for lunch. You'll find a plaice
inside." She disappeared without a trace.

I went out fishing for her. In the river
of murky mist, the air gave me a shiver.
I had the urge to leave, but let it pass.
I listened for the sound of bass or bass

when -- ouch! -- a pointy thorn impaled my hand
and yanked me up. Now, far above, the land-
mark wheel of London's cantilevered Eye
frowned down on me. I sat and wondered why
hallucinations plagued me day and night.
I pulled myself together then turned right
into a pub, and drank a pint of ale,
pondering that mermaid's lovely tail

swathed in seaweed. Now where is that creature
with flowing golden hair (its foremost feature)?
It wouldn't be amiss to find it dead -
sorely tortured by a twisted thread.
Can those, then, whose pursuits are piscatorial
chip in to give the thing a decent burial.

Now Joyce appeared and said, “Your long-lost fish--
how could you want me dead? Is that your wish?”
Although the tale is fishy, I'll be kind,
and change my answer to a never mind.

"How can I love a girl who is half fish?
If we should wed against my parents' wish
we'd surely suffer constant ridicule,
and Hu-Mer kids are frowned upon-- life's cruel!
Your father Neptune and your mom the seal--
if we were married, think how they would squeal.

Stop carping like a fishwife, or I'm out
of here," I wailed. "Go find yourself a trout."
"Look here," she said, "I've one more thing to add.
You see this baby porpoise? You're a dad."
You missed your birth control on poipus, Joyce!
You played me for a stooge! I have no choice ...
Soon, Joyce, a guest, a fish, a tale (ask Jonah)
will smell—so clam up, now—it’s abalone.

That's otter speculation interjected
perhaps this fishy tale's been resurected.

Part II

Then up rose Father Neptune, Joyce's dad,
holding his trident. Boy, did he look mad!
Neptune eyed his grandkid's human daddy.
"You got a name?" he asked. Joyce answered, Paddy

[quote=Donna English;141617]The midnight knock is followed by a voice,
a raspy bass, “Hey, open up, it’s Joyce!”
"Tell me, do you mean the Joyce whose fame's
based on Trees, or are we talking James?"
"To write" she answered "was my dearest wish;
but I should say I am in fact a fish..."

I cracked the door, and saw that line 2's "bass"
should not have rhymed with "face", but "[something crass]".
I'm cursed by TYPO, keeper of the keys
I'd beg for help, but I do not have knees.

I thought I knew the face, but wasn't sure:
"Hey -- is this Joyce the Mermaid at the door?"
"Yes! It's me I'm dried out, and I'm woozy.
Let's talk while I relax in your jacuzzi

How come you don't recall my voice, my dear?
There was a time its timbres charmed your ear."
I said "Come in for lunch. You'll find a plaice
inside." She disappeared without a trace.

I went out fishing for her. In the river
of murky mist, the air gave me a shiver.
I had the urge to leave, but let it pass.
I listened for the sound of bass or bass

when -- ouch! -- a pointy thorn impaled my hand
and yanked me up. Now, far above, the land-
mark wheel of London's cantilevered Eye
frowned down on me. I sat and wondered why
hallucinations plagued me day and night.
I pulled myself together then turned right
into a pub, and drank a pint of ale,
pondering that mermaid's lovely tail

swathed in seaweed. Now where is that creature
with flowing golden hair (its foremost feature)?
It wouldn't be amiss to find it dead -
sorely tortured by a twisted thread.
Can those, then, whose pursuits are piscatorial
chip in to give the thing a decent burial.

Now Joyce appeared and said, “Your long-lost fish--
how could you want me dead? Is that your wish?”
Although the tale is fishy, I'll be kind,
and change my answer to a never mind.

"How can I love a girl who is half fish?
If we should wed against my parents' wish
we'd surely suffer constant ridicule,
and Hu-Mer kids are frowned upon-- life's cruel!
Your father Neptune and your mom the seal--
if we were married, think how they would squeal.

Stop carping like a fishwife, or I'm out
of here," I wailed. "Go find yourself a trout."
"Look here," she said, "I've one more thing to add.
You see this baby porpoise? You're a dad."
You missed your birth control on poipus, Joyce!
You played me for a stooge! I have no choice ...
Soon, Joyce, a guest, a fish, a tale (ask Jonah)
will smell—so clam up, now—it’s abalone.

That's otter speculation interjected
perhaps this fishy tale's been resurected.

Part II

Then up rose Father Neptune, Joyce's dad,
holding his trident. Boy, did he look mad!
Neptune eyed his grandkid's human daddy.
"You got a name?" he asked. Joyce answered, Paddy.
"What about a job?.. Stay silent, Joyce!"
Yes, Sir now I drive a new Rolls Royce..

The midnight knock is followed by a voice,
a raspy bass, “Hey, open up, it’s Joyce!”
"Tell me, do you mean the Joyce whose fame's
based on Trees, or are we talking James?"
"To write" she answered "was my dearest wish;
but I should say I am in fact a fish..."

I cracked the door, and saw that line 2's "bass"
should not have rhymed with "face", but "[something crass]".
I'm cursed by TYPO, keeper of the keys
I'd beg for help, but I do not have knees.

I thought I knew the face, but wasn't sure:
"Hey -- is this Joyce the Mermaid at the door?"
"Yes! It's me I'm dried out, and I'm woozy.
Let's talk while I relax in your jacuzzi

How come you don't recall my voice, my dear?
There was a time its timbres charmed your ear."
I said "Come in for lunch. You'll find a plaice
inside." She disappeared without a trace.

I went out fishing for her. In the river
of murky mist, the air gave me a shiver.
I had the urge to leave, but let it pass.
I listened for the sound of bass or bass

when -- ouch! -- a pointy thorn impaled my hand
and yanked me up. Now, far above, the land-
mark wheel of London's cantilevered Eye
frowned down on me. I sat and wondered why
hallucinations plagued me day and night.
I pulled myself together then turned right
into a pub, and drank a pint of ale,
pondering that mermaid's lovely tail

swathed in seaweed. Now where is that creature
with flowing golden hair (its foremost feature)?
It wouldn't be amiss to find it dead -
sorely tortured by a twisted thread.
Can those, then, whose pursuits are piscatorial
chip in to give the thing a decent burial.

Now Joyce appeared and said, “Your long-lost fish--
how could you want me dead? Is that your wish?”
Although the tale is fishy, I'll be kind,
and change my answer to a never mind.

"How can I love a girl who is half fish?
If we should wed against my parents' wish
we'd surely suffer constant ridicule,
and Hu-Mer kids are frowned upon-- life's cruel!
Your father Neptune and your mom the seal--
if we were married, think how they would squeal.

Stop carping like a fishwife, or I'm out
of here," I wailed. "Go find yourself a trout."
"Look here," she said, "I've one more thing to add.
You see this baby porpoise? You're a dad."
You missed your birth control on poipus, Joyce!
You played me for a stooge! I have no choice ...
Soon, Joyce, a guest, a fish, a tale (ask Jonah)
will smell—so clam up, now—it’s abalone.

That's otter speculation interjected
perhaps this fishy tale's been resurected.

Part II

Then up rose Father Neptune, Joyce's dad,
holding his trident. Boy, did he look mad!
Neptune eyed his grandkid's human daddy.
"You got a name?" he asked. Joyce answered, Paddy.
"What about a job?.. Stay silent, Joyce!"
Yes, Sir now I drive a new Rolls Royce."
"Well," Neppy said, "that's some relief. I thought
you might have claimed to be a poet, sport!"

The midnight knock is followed by a voice,
a raspy bass, “Hey, open up, it’s Joyce!”
"Tell me, do you mean the Joyce whose fame's
based on Trees, or are we talking James?"
"To write" she answered "was my dearest wish;
but I should say I am in fact a fish..."

I cracked the door, and saw that line 2's "bass"
should not have rhymed with "face", but "[something crass]".
I'm cursed by TYPO, keeper of the keys
I'd beg for help, but I do not have knees.

I thought I knew the face, but wasn't sure:
"Hey -- is this Joyce the Mermaid at the door?"
"Yes! It's me I'm dried out, and I'm woozy.
Let's talk while I relax in your jacuzzi

How come you don't recall my voice, my dear?
There was a time its timbres charmed your ear."
I said "Come in for lunch. You'll find a plaice
inside." She disappeared without a trace.

I went out fishing for her. In the river
of murky mist, the air gave me a shiver.
I had the urge to leave, but let it pass.
I listened for the sound of bass or bass

when -- ouch! -- a pointy thorn impaled my hand
and yanked me up. Now, far above, the land-
mark wheel of London's cantilevered Eye
frowned down on me. I sat and wondered why
hallucinations plagued me day and night.
I pulled myself together then turned right
into a pub, and drank a pint of ale,
pondering that mermaid's lovely tail

swathed in seaweed. Now where is that creature
with flowing golden hair (its foremost feature)?
It wouldn't be amiss to find it dead -
sorely tortured by a twisted thread.
Can those, then, whose pursuits are piscatorial
chip in to give the thing a decent burial.

Now Joyce appeared and said, “Your long-lost fish--
how could you want me dead? Is that your wish?”
Although the tale is fishy, I'll be kind,
and change my answer to a never mind.

"How can I love a girl who is half fish?
If we should wed against my parents' wish
we'd surely suffer constant ridicule,
and Hu-Mer kids are frowned upon-- life's cruel!
Your father Neptune and your mom the seal--
if we were married, think how they would squeal.

Stop carping like a fishwife, or I'm out
of here," I wailed. "Go find yourself a trout."
"Look here," she said, "I've one more thing to add.
You see this baby porpoise? You're a dad."
You missed your birth control on poipus, Joyce!
You played me for a stooge! I have no choice ...
Soon, Joyce, a guest, a fish, a tale (ask Jonah)
will smell—so clam up, now—it’s abalone.

That's otter speculation interjected
perhaps this fishy tale's been resurected.

Part II

Then up rose Father Neptune, Joyce's dad,
holding his trident. Boy, did he look mad!
Neptune eyed his grandkid's human daddy.
"You got a name?" he asked. Joyce answered, Paddy.
"What about a job?.. Stay silent, Joyce!"
Yes, Sir now I drive a new Rolls Royce."
"Well," Neppy said, "that's some relief. I thought
you might have claimed to be a poet, sport!
But now," he went on, "let's talk turkey, son,"
brandishing his trident like a sawed-off gun,