Pre code poetry.. huh what? Grab a beer, sit, we'll chat and play bongos
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Hope I won’t incur the wrath of retro, but Sir Tundra has inspired me to push the parameters of the thread to include verses spawned by stories as well as art. Impressed by the suppleness of FT’s ‘long line’ I took a try at it… (Oct 1955 Galaxy)

 

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Hope I won’t incur the wrath of retro, but Sir Tundra has inspired me to push the parameters of the thread to include verses spawned by stories as well as art. Impressed by the suppleness of FT’s ‘long line’ I took a try at it… (Oct 1955 Galaxy)

 

catanddragon.JPG

 

I have no fury for good work! I really like this one and want one of them space cats!

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Awesome! Thanks for giving the thread a little bump. I've been swamped this week but it is in good hands with work like that.

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Awesome! Thanks for giving the thread a little bump. I've been swamped this week but it is in good hands with work like that.

 

Excellent build up and with a spine chiller finish Sir Calhoun! :fear:

 

Very well done indeed. (thumbs u

 

 

Hope I won’t incur the wrath of retro, but Sir Tundra has inspired me to push the parameters of the thread to include verses spawned by stories as well as art. Impressed by the suppleness of FT’s ‘long line’ I took a try at it… (Oct 1955 Galaxy)

 

 

I may take a stab and mix in a dash of history with the macabre if that's all right.

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A short but sweet one

 

Please don't eat crackers in bed

CCI01122015_zpsef1f3230.jpg

I don't recall how many times I said

Please don't eat crackers in bed

I warned of the path that it led

But still that fat face you fed

Anger boiling, face bright red

I grabbed your hair as you read

Thrust that ax and removed your head

Blood soaked crumbs from where you bled

Told you not to eat crackers in bed

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On the sheets where she then fed

Hiding crunchy crackers in their bed

His wrath of finding crumbs she dread

She should have quit while she was ahead! :shy:

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The pen is mightier than the axe;

Try saying that after forty whacks...

Retro, it’s nice to have a clean bed;

Should have bought her a vacuum instead.

 

Excellent Retro. (thumbs u

 

To build upon what sir Calhoun has wrote. :headbang:

 

The good man's name was Mr. Chips

no other snack would he entrust to pass his lips

so those who ate crackers and created some crumbs

would receive their due with bone cracking thrums.

 

On the sheets where she then fed

Hiding crunchy crackers in their bed

His wrath of finding crumbs she dread

She should have quit while she was ahead! :shy:

 

Thanks! I enjoyed the extra crunchy additions!

Her love of crackers was second to none

And lost her head because she couldn't eat just one!

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Nice one Pat. :applause:

 

Now for something completely different.

 

The midnight ride of Ichabod Crane

 

 

The midnight ride of Ichabod Crane,

who took it on the noggin as he had no brain

then he made that historic frenzied ride

through the storied peaceful countryside

subbing in for steadfast Paul Revere

who had lost his horse that had high gear

 

Icabd_zpsaxkbkr4w.jpg

 

Twas a fine night to be out for a ride

little did he have but humble pride

over the narrow bridge he hastily crossed

not knowing all could soon be lost

 

Soon an unerring sphere whistled through the air

true to its course, it him plumb square

that stout pumpkin exploded upon hitting his head

as the lights dimmed out he wished he'd stayed in bed

 

A long time passed before he awoke

but not by the road, nor the hoary wizened oak

Instead he found himself near the swelling seas side

"What has happened", he was heard to have cried

 

Soon he was surrounded by madly cheering men

"Wake up good man, have you been hiding in the glen"

"Hold on a minute, what's all the fuss"

"My heads nearly broken and feels like it's filled with pus"

 

Those stout lads they then gave him a pitch

"Your fine you have just been thrown into a ditch"

"The British are coming, and it is your duty"

"knock off your act and don't be so snooty"

 

"Oh what has happened to me", thought Mr Crane

"this must be a nightmare, I'm must surely be insane

But it seems so real, and those lads are in such high gear

Should I just do it and give them something to cheer"

 

Part II

 

PaulRevere_zpsovziuruo.jpg

 

So Ickabod decided to accept that dangerous role

No one seemed to have noticed that he was one shaky soul

He'd make that ride through a hail full of shots

and let the historians see if they could connect the dots

 

He wearily climbed the tower of the Old North Church,

Up the wooden stairs, with trembling tread did he lurch

"I must have bats in my belfry" passerby overheard,

But he surprised the skeptics, from their chairs they were stirred

 

Suddenly all his thoughts went askew

As a shadowy shape rose out of the gloom,

Where the creek widened out to threaten his impending doom

A line of pumpkins whistled from out of the fog

"That's not in the -script", as he ducked like a dog

 

It was twelve by the rusty village clock

When he pulled into Medford and he had a huge shock

with memories of the horseman, he let out a wild wail

waking the towns men, and setting them upon the Britishers trail

then he noticed the slimy abundance of bog

and shuddered again as he was overrun by the fog

 

It was one by the decrepit village clock,

When he eased his old mare into Lexington.

He saw the withered wicker sticks

from witches games played, that were full of nasty tricks

and their worn out brooms stark and bare,

leapt out at him, from out of thin air.

 

It was two by the next village clock,

When the British scouts strolled into town

He heard the beating of their drums

and the wispy wings of bats in flight

and felt the dread of awful fright

blowing over the stirring leaves

no one was safe in bed that night

much to the stealthy invaders delight

Then the British prepared their lines in the road

soon to be wracked by many a musket ball load

 

So you thought you knew the rest so well

but sit still yet and listen for a spell

The British troops they stopped for beer

and the Yankee militia caught them from the rear

While behind the tables and one lonely bar stool

stood Icabod, wondering if he was still followed by the ghoul

 

So through the night rode Reveres stand in twin

but on that eve he had rarely ventured in

from out of the cold to the warmth of the fire

even though he would repeatedly tire

And his voice, though, from many years ahead

would prevent that night many from taking on some lead

for borne by the scare of those pumpkins thrown

he would ride all night on his bedraggled roan

From those hours of fright and needless fear

the nation would waken calmly and rousingly cheer

The slogging shuffle step of that horse so plain

And the midnight message from Icabod Crane

Edited by frozentundraguy
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Hope I won’t incur the wrath of retro, but Sir Tundra has inspired me to push the parameters of the thread to include verses spawned by stories as well as art. Impressed by the suppleness of FT’s ‘long line’ I took a try at it… (Oct 1955 Galaxy)

 

catanddragon.JPG

 

Hope Pat doesn't take offense but I wanted to share with everyone this work was accepted to be published and he deserves some congrats! Classing this joint up!

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Hope I won’t incur the wrath of retro, but Sir Tundra has inspired me to push the parameters of the thread to include verses spawned by stories as well as art. Impressed by the suppleness of FT’s ‘long line’ I took a try at it… (Oct 1955 Galaxy)

 

catanddragon.JPG

 

Hope Pat doesn't take offense but I wanted to share with everyone this work was accepted to be published and he deserves some congrats! Classing this joint up!

 

:applause::applause::applause::applause::applause:

 

A five-star poem, congratulations Pat. :headbang:

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