Sunday morning Whatsapp conversation with my fellow singers. Premise: Alun is famed for guessing where you are, based “on the sky”, whenever you post a picture. Carolyn never drinks more than a glass of wine at the pub.

Jess: “Go on @⁨Alun Butler⁩ do your Sky God thing”

Alun: “Ah but would it be enough?”

There’s a lobster in the tank
There’s a mobster at the bank
There’s a spinster à la mode
There’s a crab his name is Claude

Claude is sharing with Michelle
Rob is going to go to hell
Maude will marry a bon vivant
From this fancy restaurant

Where’s this place dear Alun Butler
Where’s my plaice and where’s my butter
He says “sky, not liquid form”
He does not want to perform

His excuse is not enough
“No”, he says, “it’s ‘not enough’;
I guessed ten or more already
I’m a tenor… more spaghetti!”

Stella: “his needs are vast”

Vast as prairies vast as sky
There’s no what and there’s no why
How he does it we don’t know
He delights us with his show

Alun: “I’ll say this – based on the (sky free) photo – and despite what you versify- Claude is unmarried.”

That’s a statement Alun dear
which arises from the fear 
that your prophecies are fake
sunk like pebbles in a lake

George: “Once had a jet black version of those made with squid ink. Can’t recommend”

Even Stella with her Flake
Taunts you now that you’re awake
Where is she, where is that sea?
Tell us now, what do you see?

Sarah: “I’m impressed by all this creative energy and poetic exchange by 10am on a Sunday morning…! I’m wondering how the rest of the week pans out! 😅 …!”

Carolyn: “Me too. It’s too early for my tiny brain 🧠”

Caro’s pithy universe: one drink only, single verse

Jess: “Be thou impressed by the poets’ exchange?
‘Tis surely the least of their possible range!”

Carolyn: “Some of us are still in bed
No rhymes at all within our head — oh, wait…”

The End