Pome

Phew! I've been getting thoroughly blogged down, trying to do a comment in response to Ruthie Cowbell's Thought for Today... the Blog-God didn't like it, and I've been blundering round in the mud and mire of Lower Blogdom... anyway, here's the start of a Group Epic Pome, which could run and run and run...

A bunch of fokes in East Cleve
Thought it wd be fun to weave
Wacky sounds and strange beats
With their hands and their feet
And they called themselves Ee by Drum.

At night in Hindywell and Staithes
When good folk were at home in their graves
They'd bash out their stuff till it was good enuff
These strange folk called Ee by Drum.

Then in Summer Two Thousand and Eight,
When the mighty Congo was in spate,
They burst on the world, like a new flag unfurled,
The folk they called Ee by Drum.

At Fairs and Duck Races, with smiles on their faces,
They spelled out their message of Joy,
Other folk soon joined in, like shedding a skin,
and finding brightness and warmth underneath.

They played with a passion, not caring about fashion
they whooped and they screamed in the night,
They cavorted and danced,as if in a trance,
and blogged like people possessed...