OH HARK 41
No sooner had they closed the door , there was more knocking. Their jaws dropped,they gaped at each other and stopped talking.
With one look at Ginger Rogers, the midget raced towards the door At the threshold stood beaming weirdos one plus four .
"Check out my made in Italy handbag", said a woman pretty
Who stood outside, "y'know it combines style with functionality."
Mumbled the drummer,"are these guys from the fashion fraternity
Out to swamp us with some unexpected fashion calamity?"
One wore shorts , belted around a paunch which was capacious
The other was in a red dress , and looked like a hawk rapacious.
One had a chocolate and blue paisley tie with matching suspenders
Were they a bunch of anti social elements and law offenders?
"And who is this strange man with you, is he the scholar gypsy?
Ah, he had disappeared eons ago , but why does he look tipsy?
In hat of antique shape and cloak of grey", the poet mumbled
As into the writer's cabin this weirdly attired man tumbled .
"Still on thy quest in thy outlandish garb, thy figure spare,
Nursing the unconquerable hope, vague eyes and abstracted air?" Eyes jumping out of his sockets, the poet managed to say
While the newcomer twirled in his hand a withered spray.
He fingered his grey cloak self consciously , and tilted his hat
Looked at the disorganized mess , headed towards a chair and sat.
Tongues wagged and soon the cabin became the tower of Babel
With a sad air, the small house at Allington reclined on the table.
Near it sat Oliver Twist , David Copperfield and Barnaby Rudge Looking bored , the cloaked one gave them an inadvertent nudge.
The bored trio fell on top of Tom Jones and Martin Chuzzlewit
Who sat on the ground with Tess who also looked very unfit .
"With one shove you have almost crushed poor little Dorrit".
The writer recluse shouted and eloquently his teeth he grit.
In the chair impassively sat the gypsy fingering his hair.
Then absent mindedly looked around with a woebegone air.
His hair was dishevelled , clothes crumpled and eyes groggy
From a plate he started munching chips which were soggy.
"Don't shout , all this roaming has given me a crick in the neck.
It is Tess who is crushed, not little Dorrit, get a reality check."
The midget suddenly vanished , to reappear wearing a new hat
In a polka dot apron, he hopped around and started to chat.
"Domestic goddess" was emblazoned across his apron in yellow
The trio doubled with laughter at the shenanigans of the fellow.
" I will just lay the table , come one , come all, rise and dine
He sang ,"but you Ginger Rogers, you are mine and only mine."
All of them clapped, cheered and many an off key song hummed
Deep in the jungle, the jungle guitarist strummed and strummed.
On an impulse sudden, the poet near the window stealthily crept
Saw an extremely beautiful woman who up his spine a chill sent. She undid her bun, and her hair cascaded over her shoulders
She read from a book to figures who sat hunched on boulders.
From a moon blanched tree an owl said toohootoohoo toohoo
At the actions of the ghostly book lovers , curious the poet grew.
And the owl outside flapped its wings and did nothing but hoot. All of a sudden the log cabin was plunged in darkness absolute.
With one look at Ginger Rogers, the midget raced towards the door At the threshold stood beaming weirdos one plus four .
"Check out my made in Italy handbag", said a woman pretty
Who stood outside, "y'know it combines style with functionality."
Mumbled the drummer,"are these guys from the fashion fraternity
Out to swamp us with some unexpected fashion calamity?"
One wore shorts , belted around a paunch which was capacious
The other was in a red dress , and looked like a hawk rapacious.
One had a chocolate and blue paisley tie with matching suspenders
Were they a bunch of anti social elements and law offenders?
"And who is this strange man with you, is he the scholar gypsy?
Ah, he had disappeared eons ago , but why does he look tipsy?
In hat of antique shape and cloak of grey", the poet mumbled
As into the writer's cabin this weirdly attired man tumbled .
"Still on thy quest in thy outlandish garb, thy figure spare,
Nursing the unconquerable hope, vague eyes and abstracted air?" Eyes jumping out of his sockets, the poet managed to say
While the newcomer twirled in his hand a withered spray.
He fingered his grey cloak self consciously , and tilted his hat
Looked at the disorganized mess , headed towards a chair and sat.
Tongues wagged and soon the cabin became the tower of Babel
With a sad air, the small house at Allington reclined on the table.
Near it sat Oliver Twist , David Copperfield and Barnaby Rudge Looking bored , the cloaked one gave them an inadvertent nudge.
The bored trio fell on top of Tom Jones and Martin Chuzzlewit
Who sat on the ground with Tess who also looked very unfit .
"With one shove you have almost crushed poor little Dorrit".
The writer recluse shouted and eloquently his teeth he grit.
In the chair impassively sat the gypsy fingering his hair.
Then absent mindedly looked around with a woebegone air.
His hair was dishevelled , clothes crumpled and eyes groggy
From a plate he started munching chips which were soggy.
"Don't shout , all this roaming has given me a crick in the neck.
It is Tess who is crushed, not little Dorrit, get a reality check."
The midget suddenly vanished , to reappear wearing a new hat
In a polka dot apron, he hopped around and started to chat.
"Domestic goddess" was emblazoned across his apron in yellow
The trio doubled with laughter at the shenanigans of the fellow.
" I will just lay the table , come one , come all, rise and dine
He sang ,"but you Ginger Rogers, you are mine and only mine."
All of them clapped, cheered and many an off key song hummed
Deep in the jungle, the jungle guitarist strummed and strummed.
On an impulse sudden, the poet near the window stealthily crept
Saw an extremely beautiful woman who up his spine a chill sent. She undid her bun, and her hair cascaded over her shoulders
She read from a book to figures who sat hunched on boulders.
From a moon blanched tree an owl said toohootoohoo toohoo
At the actions of the ghostly book lovers , curious the poet grew.
And the owl outside flapped its wings and did nothing but hoot. All of a sudden the log cabin was plunged in darkness absolute.
A complicated composition bring forth much enjoyable, imaginative word-play within it's narration. An interesting story alluding to many classics in it's progression. Perhaps because this one I focussed upon completely, it is my favourite in the series so far. Thanks, Santosh.
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