The Poetry Barn

The Poetry Barn wasn’t really a barn

It was merely an old farm house,

It sat on the acres of Eddington’s Farm,

Surrounded by sheep and by cows.

But Poets came over from Stuttersby Dell,

Drove over from Scatabout Wood,

To write in the air of the Poetry Barn

About things, when they ought and they should.

They came from Great Orton, they came from Rams Well,

They came from Glenn Wheatley and Grey,

The best and the worst of the poets you’d find

At the Poetry Barn, every day,

The rooms had been empty for many a year

So they all sat on bundles of straw,

And when they ran out they would send up a shout,

So some would go out and get more.

The mornings would see all the Elegies worked,

The Epics, the Odes and Quatrains,

The Poetry Barn would then grumble and groan

As the Dirges would enter the drains.

By noon the fair Sonnets came into their own

With just the odd wanton Lament,

When poets would seek out the culprit to find

One grinding his verse in a tent.

By evening they’d work on the Pastoral,

The Sestet, the Roundel as well,

And those at a loss after losing the toss

Would be stuck with the old Villanelle,

They’d all settle down when the Moon came up round,

And the stars twinkled boldly in rhyme,

When one asked the other, ‘pray, what rhymes with brother,’

And he’d say, ‘your Mom, all the time.’

The poems would stick to the inside walls,

Would tear at each other like knaves,

They’d fill up the aisles and lie flat on the tiles

And would damage the old architraves.

At night you could hear all the horses hooves

As they carried the good news to Aix,

And in came the wedding guest, him with the albatross

Counting his many mistakes.

I saw that they’d burned down the Poetry Barn

With one sad, incendiary rhyme,

A poet called Glover who wrote to his lover

‘My candle, you light all the time.’

The straw caught alight in his lover’s delight

And they fled from that bastion of verse,

I just penned this missal for someone to whistle,

The one that he’d written was worse.

David Lewis Paget

Reviews

[Calamityofgin]

Giggles the whole way through Darlin Dave, and the last was truly funny...good HA! Escaped in a brava! I had a bit of confuzzling gettin at the rhyme in the first couple lines, think it was the length of the first verse. But eased on in by the second.
When one asked the other, ‘pray, what rhymes with brother,’
And he’d say, ‘your Mom, all the time.’

Teehee! Love that . quite charming kitten, and loads of fun!
Much love
Jennifer

[TPK Stories]

Excellent journey through the twists of poetry...

[R Smith]

Remarkable David, a journey through the world of verse with plenty of entertainment along the way, I know the names now of all those forms of poetry that I never learned before from this amusing and exceptional tale, you certainly know how to keep us guessing at what's coming next :)

[Einstein Noodle]

ahahaha! loe the bits of word play and education in poetic forms ..delightful read ..shame shame on the lovers ...though their flame ignited it was the candle that blighted bad poems righted in flames that were sighted afar from the poetry barn :}
i read your poems aloud ..they seem to make me do it ;)
E.

[Avinash]

Such prolific authors must be avoided at all cost who can bring down the whole house. Imagination is fine as long as it does not start messing up with the reality.

[Valentine]

A different approach to a witty tale. Reads like some of us on this site. Valentine

[andrew mitchell]

A funny flowing yarn in the mould of banjo P. I can't wait to turn 71 Dave, looking at how young you look!!!:)

[ANTO]

Your mom - lmao - "Yer Ma !" - we would say here in Belfast.
This is clever, witty, sharp and filled to the brim with poetic nods and winks that raise more than a chuckle. Its like a poetry fireworks display.
We have a saying - 'Don't let the gray hair fool you." - 'nuff said.
Cracking write DLP.