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  • Neal
    • poetry

    Alas, ahoy, 'ave a seat and are ya' thirsty?

    Meet Bentley Barnham, a blonde haired, brown eyed bard from Brixby Barrow

    sitting cross-legged on a creakin' and crackin' cathedra.

    He was dabblin', dawdlin', fingers dancin' a dainty ditty on his dogwood lute,

    eager for every eye-socket and earhole to eavesdrop an' eye-water over his elegantly executed epics.

    Finally the fussin' and fartin' and flirtin' an' folly all drew to a final finito.

    The goldenboy gleeman gave a glorious gulp of his Gunpowder Irish Gin.

    Hallelujah, hooray, hurrah, hymns an' high-notes, harmony an' heartache, the whole house hootin' an' hollerin' as he halted for half-time.

    Aye, Igor's Inn just might be the joint for jolly ol' folk like you.

     

    This poem happened pretty spontaneously when I got the urge to write something about a medieval inn (though others said it had more of a pirate vibe) with a bard called Bentley Barnham.  That lead me to writing everything else in alphabetical order.  Little did I know this style of poem is called an abecedarian.

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