The Writings of Eruedraith
Posted: Tue Apr 26, 2022 9:31 pm
(not me pictured)
The Writings of Eruedraith
I decided to create a poem thread for myself. I hadn't wrote a poem in quite some time, after leaving the old Plaza, but the new Plaza has given me a great amount of nostalgia, which has reignited my muse. Feel free to leave me messages or random ideas for poems, and enjoy your stay.
My most recent poem:
Chicken For Rent
The wind blew, the trees bent
The sign had read "Chicken For Rent"
"for rent?", whispered the gent
in a low, slow, foreign accent.
Through the door, and off the cement,
just inside of the shop he went.
There he found rows of shelves unbent,
Lining the walls, in a vast extent.
Down the rows, he did not relent,
as his feet did trot with an ascent.
Off came his hat, grasping its indent,
To the owner he tried to explain his intent.
"A chicken, your sign said you had for rent."
"Yes", the Shopman replied, "I do relent."
"Relent?", to the Shopman, said the gent in lament.
"To buy him from you, you will not prevent?"
The Shopman replied, "Only to an extent.
His price has gone up 'round thirty percent"
He saw no price there to misrepresent,
nor any other issues he needed to circumvent.
"There's one more thing", said he well-meant,
"He ain't got no Eggs." went the Shopmans augment.
"No Eggs?" muttered the gent, to this advent.
"What does he do?!" cried he with malcontent.
"'E's a chicken!", he replied to the gents discontent.
The gent asked "does he do something to supplement?"
The Shopman scratched his head, pondering his meant,
Switching tactics to disorient.
Wishing to salvage this sales event,
"Sometimes, in the dark, 'e glows iridescent."
To this the gent, he began to ferment
"Outrageous, preposterous, you misrepresent!"
The chicken, he bought, against his judgement.
Two shillings too much, he went and spent.
Back home, to live among his fowl and pheasant,
An unexpected chick, became his new, best present.
The wind blew, the trees bent
The sign had read "Chicken For Rent"
"for rent?", whispered the gent
in a low, slow, foreign accent.
Through the door, and off the cement,
just inside of the shop he went.
There he found rows of shelves unbent,
Lining the walls, in a vast extent.
Down the rows, he did not relent,
as his feet did trot with an ascent.
Off came his hat, grasping its indent,
To the owner he tried to explain his intent.
"A chicken, your sign said you had for rent."
"Yes", the Shopman replied, "I do relent."
"Relent?", to the Shopman, said the gent in lament.
"To buy him from you, you will not prevent?"
The Shopman replied, "Only to an extent.
His price has gone up 'round thirty percent"
He saw no price there to misrepresent,
nor any other issues he needed to circumvent.
"There's one more thing", said he well-meant,
"He ain't got no Eggs." went the Shopmans augment.
"No Eggs?" muttered the gent, to this advent.
"What does he do?!" cried he with malcontent.
"'E's a chicken!", he replied to the gents discontent.
The gent asked "does he do something to supplement?"
The Shopman scratched his head, pondering his meant,
Switching tactics to disorient.
Wishing to salvage this sales event,
"Sometimes, in the dark, 'e glows iridescent."
To this the gent, he began to ferment
"Outrageous, preposterous, you misrepresent!"
The chicken, he bought, against his judgement.
Two shillings too much, he went and spent.
Back home, to live among his fowl and pheasant,
An unexpected chick, became his new, best present.