The Spoonbill Generator: Saint Nincompoop's Aplomb

I remember, I remember when verses used to scan

When spelling was a skill we seldom scorned

When life was not lived according to plan,

And poets continued just as they began

On the palimpsest of plenty unadorned

T'was sadly 'ere the time of comprehen

Too duly ironed the flagrant phlem,

With cerebral cohesion all suborned

I remember, I remember when poets wrote in ink

And every phrase was polished with aplomb

Those silky words scribed 'cross the sheaf,

In feet of iamb, trochee and anapaest

One September, or November, when Baudelaire went bald

When Shakespeare spained his ankle, and Homer had a ball

Then Virgil met his Ænid, and Dombey had his Son

And Dante with his dictaphone ran rings round everyone

St. Thomas wore an overcoat,

(He didn't doubt the weather)

And stepped into the sinking boat

Clutching a peacock's feather.

He stepped into the history books

By stepping out of line

He feared the jealous earthly looks

Of nincompoops divine

I remember, I remember ...I've forgotten what to say

I dissemble, I dissemble ...just to get my wicked way

Those polished aplomb phrases,

Have sadly gone astray

The ending to this sordid tale,

This minefield, seldom quarried,

St Thomas bought a round of ale

To daub the cherub's forehead