Soldiers in diapers take arms.
A round rock redoubt pouts to resist
The army, its weapons and charms.
When Burnham comes to Dunsinane
The yew trees walk, the oaks remain,
The cliffs retreat down to the plain
And the jackass brays with all his brain.
The battle's joined with wood-pulp creaking
Metal clanging, wise men speaking,
Poets prattling, townsfolk leaking,
and knights drinking from cups they're seeking.
When, at last, some victory's won,
And the horses rest back in the stable,
We'll dream ourselves more bloody fun
To contest across tomorrow's table.
NONSEQUITUR, n. The long sword of a pedantic gladiator.
I'm entering this discussion at my own risk, but a "pedantic gladiator" ? I'm sure I've read about this type of soldier somewhere else. I'll have to give a think. I'll get back to you.
Oh look! There's a rabbit.
NON SEQUITUR: what they called it before ADD was invented.
I think those knights should not be drinking from cups they're seeking because Doug makes long words out of two shorter words, i.e. non sequitur vs, nonsequitur, which in turn we get the longer word, sword.
Non Sequitur reigns as a fine once knight now turned gladiator! :)
NONSEQUITUR, n. a well timed nonsequitur is perfect for changing the subject when approaches personal territory.
Nonsense. I'm not a quitter!
Baby's First Christmas
Karen, it occurred to me you might recognize that phrase.
What they called what, TLP?
Jim, I'm gonna guess that's you logged in as Mrs. Jim.
Which is why God put them here, Quilly, I'm sure.
No, Nessa, not hardly.
Nessa - that's what s'error palin claims.
As for the word(s), the Empress Non Sequitur sometimes visits my blog (no, not you, Cooper ;-))
What were we talking about?
I got caught, Doug. I was using her computer and wouldn't you know it, she was signed in for her Facebook!
Actually, I was going to say something better and then fess up.
Since I don't remember that better thought I will say that lots of fun for tomorrow is dreamed up by the boys when they get in from the fun of today.
We are the champions
and we'll keep on fighting to the end.
Or at least until the Burnham comes to Dunsinane.
the answer to yesterday's question tomorrow
I cannot figure out how we got from the soldiers in diapers to the last paragraph. I love the last paragraph, though, however we got there.
My return response is tardy. For this I blame obfuscation of circumstance. I will endeavor to persevere with continued ambiguity.
Best of regards,
K. A. Gardner
Obviously a different Burnham to the one near me. There are no soldiers there any more though, not even pedantic ones. We do have a 'frozen' forest, or rather petrified, with two ghosts who wander freely; two ladies who have lost their loved one.
But hark at me, just another (wannabe) poet prattling!
Our main battle around here is against the yew trees, aka privet.
Sauerkraut, she comes for us all in the end.
Actonbell, I think there's a verse in there somewhere. Your turn.
Jim, confession feels good, doesn't it? It's almost like sinning again.
Ah, Freddie. That's a funny video. I'd almost forgot about you singing in your drawers.
Ariel, I wasn't tracking that well either. Can we call this post impressionistic?
Dear Sir, that'll be fine.
C.J., sounds like you're down a ghost.
Weirsdo, no man of woman born will prune a privet.
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