S: We don't want to Eunoia, but we have to admit this is patchwritten--right out of the Bok, eh?
A bard scrawls a draft--blatant sarcasm! Banal trash!
An adamant charlatan mars stanzas, scraps parts, and balks at ballads.
Bad karma! A harsh law that bans paragraphs that lack standards. Awkward
grammar appals a craftsman!
I'll just run off now and make a quick change.
J: Here I am again
Relentless, we peddle these verses, even when we deem the new precepts
"mere dreck". These vexed peers resent the new. Nevertheless, we rebels
perservere, never dejected, never deterred, even when hecklers'
vehement speeches reject the newer verbs. We feel perplexed when we see
these exerpted sentences. We cheer when we detect the clever scheme.
Don't go away now, I'm just going to make a quick change and I'll
be back in a minute.
S: And now I would like to do a little number about inkshedding
Writing is inhibiting. Sighing, I sit scribbling in ink.
I sing with witticism. I fit childish insights within rigid limits. I
write shtick which might instill misgivings--criticism with hindsight.
Is it glib? Is it chic? Sniping, while indicting nitwits, I bitch, I
kibbitz, dismissing critics' simplistic thinking.
Nods and exits.
J: Here's one about good old down home PEI weather.
Cold stormfront howls
Cool brook flows.
Long fronds of moonwort grow on moss bogs of sod.
Fog rolls off old lochs onto boondocks of floss.
Cows moo to the foghorns.
Lots of frogs hop from pond to pond, rock to rock -- Plop!
Hucklebucks from side to side.
Runs off; remembers, then returns quickly.
J: I just want to say what a wonderful audience
you have been.
Sometimes, you know, I have to do this for people who are much
older... Now, I just have to make a little change and then I'll be
right back with U in a minute.
Grins widely and runs off.
S: Shrubs bud. Gulls churr. Ducks cluck. Bugs
hum. Such tumult!
But surf lulls us.
Places bowl invitingly on chair.