The Gleying Goose was just another hole in the wall where you could get hammered.
A bard performed there. Sometimes he was good, at other times he stammered.
The other day, he flubbed his lines something awful. Some could say the show would end.
But today, he landed jokes slinging lines by the potful, the patrons in laughter did send.
He clowned Colby the farmer about spilled milk, curds, crops, and adopted children
Upon the vampires, he cast shade for causing neck pain and spreading dieldrin
A woodcutter entered, rough, worn, and single. Women swooned, wanting to mingle.
He was brawny, broody, a real rage machine.
His entrance was epic, causing a tingle.
The Bard thought glib and looked at the janitor. The time came to change the pentameter.
The logger ignored their advance the bard did perceive, preparing lines you wouldn’t believe.
“Yon logger friend, scary though you be, to crack jokes on you, I won’t let be. Rough though you be, you are in my domain, by coming here, you must not complain.”
“Look at you, rugged, and beastly, like tree fall at fell, let these women come easily.”
“You draw desire and come to house of meat, drinking when women thirsty, come and eat!”
The crowd did cheer, clap and whistle at the line logger turned red as the fruit of the vine.
He stared hard at his cup, now devoid of water, contemplating how to bard slaughter.
He stood to full stature, a man among men, eyes wild dark, and intense he stated, “amen!”
He gazed at the bard and the lusty ladies, the crowd, the janitor, and the ship captain’s mateys.
“Dear bard,” he did say in a voice low and scary, “The logger before you at one time did marry.”
“She left me for smart, flashy, and witty, coin in his pocket, the whole here kitty kitty.”
“I now live free in the forest, with her never part,
She gives me rashes and scratches but never breaks my heart.”
The bard thought and he pondered, in mind the far reaches, but fast with the tongue, he was left speechless.
They cheered on the man-beast, and booed at the bard, beast words clear and concise, he was the star.
All night, patron goose cooked and preyed on, but in the end, it was the bard who was gleyed on.
“Oh well,” shrugged the bard, twas all in good sport, coin in his pocket, he need not retort.
Author: Benjamin
Benjamin Thiel is a community leader, urban farmer, and author of The Ongoing Tale at Brothers Campfire. He might know a guy...
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Thank You!
Brilliant! You are an amazing writer!
Thank you! That means a lot!
It’s my pleasure!!
Absolutely brilliant!
Thank you friend!
You’re most welcome!
This was delightful. i needed this today.
Thank you! I worked really hard on it… Lol!
I wonder,
to this story will there be a sequel?
We do know that
All bards are certainly not equal.
I love these words. Thanks.
Thank you for reading them!
🙂
Funny how back in the day the women would swoon lol
Hope you and your fam are happy strong and healthy 🙌👏❤️
Thank you. All is well.