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Pea and Honey Recipes
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I Eat My Peas With Honey
And tales of derring-do.
Four lines, they can be rhyming
(That's Glow Worms to me and you).
Ending line is as usual.
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So smear your hair with brillantine
You'll still be one head less. all right, fewer
[Rosie] During the French Revolution, the Parisian supermarkets had to put in "one head or fewer" aisles, I understand.
How about a reverse glow worm?

Until I can't no more
Pressed his point
                              most forcefully
The man there smoking a joint
What was that?
I mean...
The man there smoking a joint
Most forcefully
Pressed his point
Until I can't no more
Have we invented the modern poetry version of a glow-worm?
Probably the least competent reverse engineering I've seen in a verse game (although I think CdM was trying to append his bit to the end of Chalky's foreshortened line). I think we should have another go.
And still it makes no sense.
I've read it inside-out and back
Nor who, nor why, nor whence
I don't know how it went off-track
[Projoy] Yes, that was my intention. I was imagining something like

I pled my case remorsefully
He still had points to score
Pressed his point most forcefully
Until I can't no more

which is at least vaguely coherent. :)
I wish I were a versewright's mate
With my quill in hand
I'd scribe the words he doth dictate
And adjust fix them so they scanned
I wish I'd been more skeptical CdM neat
'Bout what I see online
Now I don't know which step to call
forget that, try this: My brain's now the receptacle
For sinker, hook, and line.
I wish had some Chapstick
For my little chap-struck knees
I'd smear it very carefully
And put myself at ease.
I wish I could go back again
To glorious Timbuktu
The Athens of old Mali
And pre-Brexit too
If I were a dinosaur
Which I am, but that's a joke
I'd surely be the cynosure
As fun at me they poke
of mice and men and rats and sots
i weave this ’structive tale
A bunch of gin has sure gots
More alcohol than ale.
I wonder why there are not more
Friv'lous twats like me
I think it's 'cos you're getting old
At almost thirty three
To sleep, to die, to fade away
Is not how I shall go
I'll rant and rage and lead astray
And put up a real good show
I wish I had some stollen
And a glass of hot gluhwein
A dash of fresh bee pollen
Will ease its path just fein
I'm looking for some Christmas soul
But only found this wine
There's also an old sausage roll
Which I must decline.
Try saying no to deep-fried snacks
They surely will obey
Crisps and chips and other things
Are out — make do with hay.
Chocolate seem more appetizing
Chocolate seems more fun
Chocolate makes you feel quite good
When all is said and done.
I wish I were a 5 year old
For whom he world is new
All day I'd have adventures
Pretend I'm in a zoo
But Now We Are A Six Year Old
And almost all growed up
I'll read the works of Kierkegaard
Around my Tommee-Tippee cup
I wish the (UK) Online Safety Act (2023)
Had withered on the vine instead of ending all our poetry (Iambic octameter, AABB?)
Still, maybe we could try and make it scan
Alas I don't believe we can, still that's legislative language for you eh, no sense of elegance.
I think I'll have just one last blast
Before the feds arrive
It's as though my lot is cast
In 2025
Oh, boys, this march will be my last
Our certain doom draws hear
But perhaps there'll be a miracle
And no-one sheds a tear
Want to play? Online Crescenteering lives on at Discord