Do spoonwalkers write poetry?
Please come join me once again on my favourite gothic island of Hopeless Maine – many thanks to Mrs and Mr B for letting me come and flex my tentacles there again 😀
It washed up in a bottle on the beach here at ‘Morrigan’s Bay’ and was not easy to decipher, being sloppily scrawled with many ink blots. Reminiscent of Vogon Poetry, it alludes to both Hopkins and Leer in a most amateur and offensive way, showing little grasp of the works it clumsily references. It is almost as if some spoon obsessed creature with tentacles has stumbled across the tatters of a beach-washed poetry book and this is its sad attempt at mimicry. I am not sure whether to feel pity or repulsion…
The Runcible’s Lament
The Demitasse and Bouillon set to sea
In a vessel of pea green glass
The runcilble sighed to be left behind
And he called it a terrible farce
No ducks here to sieve,
To quinces to give
Only caviar, soup, and tea
And many strange
ephemera of spoons
With holes in for company
He sighed…
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