Poetry by Jeff Green


The troupe of troops

by cricketjeff on April 4, 2009.  © Jeff Green, All rights reserved

Beneath the beech, beside the beach
We watched as dancers whirled
Then we went in the ancient inn
And talked about the world

We drank some beer, set on a bier
While chatting to a maid
We came to hear who had been here
As history was made

Was on the fourth that they set forth
To set about the horde
Brought by the guest that they had guessed
Was hid behind the hoard

The stench was vile, they took a vial
Of oils that smelled so sweet
And spent some time to pick some thyme
To share amongst the suite

No time to mourn that fateful morn
They had to make a march
And they could see far out to sea
The storms approach that March

It was their fate to miss the fete
The fight was far away
No chance to peer along the pier
A heavy load to weigh

They came to spar inside the spa
The fight could not be won
They filled the whole of every hole
Killed almost every one

The ants they fought throughout the fort
All seemed to form a queue
They had to die in splats of dye
An ending right on cue

Back to the bar all bleating baa
Each acting like a ewe
This weirdest rite to them seems right
But I’m perplexed, are you?

Author notes

The following list of homophones was provided, it didn’t seem quite long enough to me so I have numbered off the ones I used and added one or a dozen of my own

1 peer/pier
2 beech/beach
3 forth/fourth
4 guessed/guest
5 hole/whole
6 hoard/horde
7 in/inn
8 suite/sweet
9 made/maid
10 thyme/time
11 cue/queue
12 vial/vile
13 morn/mourn