This is the final poem in the series.
Here is our rhythm: co-co-COO-co-co-COO...
All at Coo & Co thank PoetBay members for reading and commenting :>)


Every Saturday morn
by the River Isbourne
there's a bit of a musical show
as the sun climbs the sky
swans come swimmering by
and a briskery breeze starts to blow.

With a squeezebox, a drum
and a well-tempered hum
Mincombe's Minstrels strike up a sound band
they've melodeon too
banjo, shawm, and kazoo
tambourine for a shakering hand.

They play all of the greats
twos, fours, sixes, and eights
and all manner of things in between
crotchets, quavers, and all
everybody's in thrall
Baby Bella to Great-Grandpa Gene.

Well, they tune to midday
then they wander away
on the path to The Thirsty Old Newt
then the show's at an end
they'll be back next weekend
with Fierce Frank on the Fanciful Flute!

Poetry by Coo & Co The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 186 times
Written on 2019-03-18 at 19:54

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I love the phonetic cohesion, the musicality that is in this sing-song poem.

Jamsbo Rockda The PoetBay support member heart!
Wonderful. It is like I am there. And it happens every weekend! I love the rhymes too. I think I will have a beer with Fierce Frank in the Thirsty Old Newt, he sounds like a character :)

Thomas DeFreitas The PoetBay support member heart!
Your ability -- nay, agility! -- within the strictest of prosody is a constant source of gratitude. I especially cherish the catalogue of musical instruments.

The Thirsty Old Newt! Sounds great!

Oh, and I adore "swimmering" and "briskery"! And "shakering"!

Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
A fine poem. I wouldn't miss fierce Frank for anything.