“May I suggest the topic of wines down here? I’ll let the other topic for the others to decide.” August suggested with a smile.
“So not just wines, but Neathy wines? I see.”
"A rubbery family singing and dancing around a christmas-tree-ish amber-pillar." Mr Oathes proposes.
–
edited by Jeremiah Oathes on 12/22/2018
"Well," said Ondine brightly, "That is a picture. I shall love to see what our poets come up with."
She placed the half-finished bottle of '68 on a table. "My loves, you have until we finish this bottle to complete your pieces. No doubt by then we shall all be in a wonderful mood to receive them. August, dear, could you pour me a glass?"
"Ah, poets first, I think!" interrupted Sian. "It is only appropriate that the competitors share a glass before they begin." He filled a new glass (Phiri will be having a great deal to wash, he was afraid), sipped from it, and then passed it to Lady Sapho.
edited by Siankan on 12/22/2018
“You know,” said Ondine, “there’s really nothing to stop any of the rest of us from joining in the fun.” She nodded at the Pirate-Poet, but her eyes were looking at Drake.
Hieronymus Drake’s expression is as serious, his brow as furrowed as ever, but when Ondine catches his gaze, the faintest twinkle might have been seen in his eye.
“Ahem,” Drake clears his throat. “I shouldn’t wish to compete with such distinguished versifiers. But, simply in the spirit of amusement … I might have something.” The man has had several glasses of wine as well as a wineglass full of vodka. He still looks sober to a casual glance, but his speech and movements are deliberate, overcontrolled. “’Tis simply a Neathy variant on a little-known poem from before the Fall, by one Clement Clarke Moore.” Drake folds his arms behind his back and declaims:
‘Twas the night before Sacksmas, in my rooftop shack,
Not a creature was stirring, not even a rat;
The Rubb’ries sang eerily, down in their well,
Danced ‘round trees of amber, and one rang a bell.
The Missus and I were all Sacksmasy drunk,
We’d retired to our bed with a mushroomy plonk.
When down from the docks there arose such a racket,
I snatched up my saber should I need to hack it.
Away to the window, quite fast, but I hobbled,
I crashed through and fell forty feet to the cobbles!
The moonish light shining on white mounds of lacre
Gave my surroundings a lustre like nacre.
Full fathom five, my peligin eyes did adduce,
‘Twas a miniature Zub, and eight tiny Lorn-Flukes!
The driver’s coat blazed such a blasphemous red,
‘Twas the holiday visitor whom all must dread!
Drake sways slightly. “Ah, too many ‘twases. I disqualify myself.” He takes his seat.
edited by Aberrant Eremite on 12/22/2018
Sian, who had closed his eyes in concentration, opened them momentarily. “If only Tanith were here. I shall delight in telling her about it.”
Drake’s visible eye flared with alarm. “Oh no, you mustn’t! If she ever suspects that I have a sense of humour, I’ll be done for.”
Mr Oathes applauds enthusiastically. "Outstanding, truly! Thank you very much. And I’m sure, the competition will be just as delightful."
"Poetry is by no means my strong suit but… I will try my hand. Though I will shamelessly cheat, by making it a haiku."
The Lorn Fluke star sings
To the Children who listen
Amber tears fall
"Well, I am sure I got the syllables right."
Sapho laughs and claps with delight after Drake’s performance. "You are not disqualified at all, sir! Indeed, I fear you may have already topped mine. And Jolanda, rarely have 13 words carried such weight. And professor, forgive me for commenting on your earlier verse so late," she continues, favoring him with a beaming and brilliant smile. "What flattery! I shall never ever tire of recalling those verses to mind!
But to my own offering:
God rest ye, Rubbery gentlemen,
Let nothing you dismay
As you dance round yon column
On this Christmas day
And drink our ‘shroomy wine
To chase your woes away
O fungal wines of comfort and joy,
Comfort and joy
O fungal wines of comfort and joy
In the Neath, in London,
The blessed ‘shrooms are grown
And laid within a ‘shroom press
To make a wine that 'tis our own.
Although by Surface sommeliers
They are held in scorn
They are fungal wines of comfort and joy,
Comfort and joy
O fungal wines of comfort and joy
So Rubbery mother, father, son,
Or whate’er terms you speak for kin,
Raise a toast with us, dear friends
As we as choir do sing
In unison a song of joy:
OTHATHAROOTH-IIIIINNN!
O fungal wines of comfort and joy,
Comfort and joy
O fungal wines of comfort and joy!"
Sian paused his own work to attend to Sapho’s carol. Then he smiled, gave a small salute, and bent back to his work. “Don’t drink that last cup too quickly. I am almost done.”
“And in the meantime, more wine, of course” Jolanda notes, filling everyone’s glass - hostesses first.
"Drake, my friend, can I trouble you for a rhyme?" Sian waves him over, gesturing toward a handkerchief now covered in minute script.
Drake squints at the line in question. "Well, at least you are not ambitious." Perhaps it is a trifle long…
edited by Siankan on 12/24/2018
[OOC: So this is long. My apologies.]
Looking over his verse-covered handkerchief, Sian knew, quite clearly, that he had taken his last drink of the night. Not that he had hit his capacity—he could drink a zailor under the table at need—but he liked his words to ask permission before leaving his mind. Some of these, he suspected, had snuck through without bothering.
"Queen Phiri sent her Rubbery Men
Out on the Zee one day.
They zailed into the dark to find
A Pirate made of Clay.
“The Pirate found the minions first
And with a heart of stone—”
—“The heart’s not stone,” the Pirate-Poet growled. Sian smiled and continued.
“And with a heart of stone
Tumbled all the minions back
Unto the Amber Throne.
“And who would hunt for me with such
A Rubber-hearted crew?
I’ll hunt for her, and then she’ll learn
Just what the Clay can do.’
“Queen Phiri called her friends around
This terrible threat to meet.
A noble Swan swept down and sat
Upon her garden seat.
“She told the Queen the threat was grave
And counseled her to find
A brave, stout-hearted champion
Of alcoholic kind.
“A lovely Pole with eyes of blue
Promised to make her free.
She knew of Water strong enough
To move the Unterzee!
“Just spill this little Water out
To stop the largest ship.’
A Dragon helped her pour the stuff.
The waves they danced and skipped.
“The Pirate fought the rising tide
That swirled across the Zee.
It stopped the Khan’s entire fleet.
It stopped her ship—but see!
“Still charging through the lashing waves
The angry Pirate strode.
Her verses part the peligin,
The waves obey an ode.
“The Dragon then came soaring down
And bearing through the air
A Sky-Man and a Water-Sprite
And beautiful St. Clare.
“That maiden brought her holy light
Into the darkened Zee.
From Varchas to the Frostfound ice
It lit the isles—but see!
“Still on and on the Pirate comes,
Her hand shading her eyes.
Still on and on, like beating drums,
Still bent upon her prize.
“Queen Phiri’s counselors, they sat
This troubling sight to see.
Could nothing hold this Pirate back?
Could nothing stop the Zee?
“Mercuric one and Grecian wit,
And Barney come from Hell
And all the Rubbery generals
Who clambered from the well
“Were all in black despair to see
The livid Pirate come,
And none could hope to stop her now—
There wasn’t any rum.
“Then came an August gentleman,
At once upon a time,
Who came to save the wurbled Queen
And e’en, perhaps, my rhyme.
“A Giant brave he brought with him,
Though made of broken parts,
And this he set to move the world
By his most August arts.
“The Giant waded in the Zee
To catch the Pirate hot.
The Zee it boiled and broke and burned
As on and on they fought.
“‘He’s stopped her!’ ‘Yes!’ ‘Oh, no! What now?’
The Zee began to shake.
Their fury knocked New Newgate down;
Their grapples caused a quake.
“And now the Queen was greatly feared
That, Pirate yea or nay,
These titans would destroy the Neath,
The cavern roof give way.
“‘Oh now, my friends, what shall we do
These mighty foes to part?’
None knew; it was a task beyond
Even the August art.
“Then out there stepped a grey-eyed man
From Osborne’s gentle shore.
He bore a purple bottled drink
And brought it to the fore.
“‘O Phiri Queen,’ the gentle said,
‘I know I may be small,
But with my trusty ‘68
I will outdo them all.’
“There was a Prophet there who scoffed;
The Man of Roles laughed, too.
For with a Giant fought to ground,
What could a mushroom do?
“But Phiri Queen was desperate;
She gave the man his way.
And so the Osborne gentleman
Stepped out into the fray.
“The Sky-Man helped him pop the cork.
He chose him five smooth shot
And sent them out into the Zee
Where battle still raged hot.
“But now down came the Pirate’s fist.
The tow’ring Giant broke.
The purple shots continued on
And disappeared in smoke.
“From this emerged the Pirate, yet—
What’s this? The Pirate grins.
‘If you have any more of that,
I beg you, let’s be friends.’
“Now wurble we a carol high
As round the pole we go.
For ancient foes now sit at peace
And drink amid the snow.
“O come, my friends, and gather round
And learn this moral great:
Not all the drinks on land or Zee
Can match the ‘68!”
The hat did not approve. Sian didn’t care–but he could use some tea.
edited by Siankan on 12/24/2018
Lady Byron leaps from her chair and applauds the professor’s performance. "Oh, excellently done, good sir! Length in and of itself means little, but in this case it is most impressive! To carry a story and meter so for with such short notice is a mark of profound prowess." And in toast she raises a glass of, of course, the '68.
“Lovely! Fit for a wedding, fit for a joyous night at the docks; quite an accomplishment.” Jolanda turns to the hosts to see their reaction, a smile on her lips.
Drake laughs loudly and slaps his knee. "Now that’s a salon poem! A poème épique à clef! Now we each have the challenging but gratifying task of figuring out which character we are! I do hope that I’m the Dragon."
“An epic Poem conjured up in the middle of a Salon! What an event to behold.” August said with a laugh as he refrained from taking another sip while he laughed as to not choke on the wine in his goblet while laughing. “What a remarkable poem indeed.”
(OOC: Sorry it’s been so long! I’ll try to reply more regularly, though it’s nice to see my salon going on without me!)
Phiri claps enthusiastically, her eyes as bright as a schoolgirl’s. "Bravissimo, my good sir! Please, if you can remember it, I’d love a copy to hang on my wall!"
The Poet grins abashedly. "I guess I can leave now, seeing as there are so many poets in attendance." She makes to rise, jokingly, but Phiri pulls her back down onto the seat.