Battle for the Pen

Daily Post: What a Twist

Tell us a story — fiction or non-fiction — with a twist we can’t see coming.

Cameo Cast from The Sky is Falling fable

Narrator: Chicken Little
Prose: Turkey Lurkey
Poetry: Henny Penny

Once upon a time in the land of sun and shine
Poetry challenged Prose to a battle of the mind
Back and forth they quibbled over every bit and kibble

“Fair sirs and m’ladies,”

Prose addressed the crowd who was eager for a rouse

“To quote Madame Sprat, who likes a bit of fat,
‘Poetry’s too lean, there’s not enough to glean’
Cryptic as a crevice or a hieroglyph of Isis
I’d rather indulge vices than be tied to those devices

Novices will teeter on the policies of meter
Acolytes will stray when the metaphor’s delayed:
horrified and stricken—the frog’s really a chicken!
E-I E-I O Must I say more?
Onomatopoeia Couldn’t I just see ya?…”

Poetry interjected when she saw verse so projected

“Verse is no curse, with Prose it’s much worse
No one’s deemed unsuited, for everyone’s recruited,
And every common rose, is license for repose

Poetry’s compatible with music and with song
What has Prose to wax about with meaning so prolonged?
Take Dickens as a sample in the following example

‘Mr Chitling was older in years than the Dodger: having
perhaps numbered eighteen winters; but there was a degree
of deference in his deportment towards that young gentleman
which seemed to indicate that he felt himself conscious of a
slight inferiority in point of genius and professional acquirements.’

With lines so libertine
Shouldn’t Prose be guillotined?

Verse is more simple and ostensibly more nimble.

Chitling, the old fart,
had an 18 year head start,
but dithered before Dodger
who was dashing and quite smart

Sir, there’s no question, frugality I sanction
For every 4 en route, t h r e e for heaven’s sake
should at least be quartered out
Because my wordy friend by the time you reach the end
We’ll be rigored in the mortis and be numbed to what was penned.”

Prose was grizzled to the core to be penciled as a bore
And was tongued in stony silence as he watched poetic license
There was not a single word from that muted Turkey bird

Then Poetry saw his mug, fell in love with that fine lug
Felt a start of tug of heart & vowed to play another part

“E-I E-I O It’s thee I adore
Let’s not compete my sweet, it’s neither race nor meet.”

Prose was tickled to the core as his heart began to soar
And the Hen began to rise as he viewed with newfound eyes

“Oh my heart’s desire let us marry upon the shire.”

They agreed to fight no more and were joined in love’s amour
And were wed forevermore on that happy, dappy, sappy, rappy score

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