Itchy Eric…

27 03 2013

Hello hello hello!

Due to another journey by train, I proclaimed it a Crazy Rhymey Challenge day, and put out the usual call for words on Twitter.

Today’s words were:

shaggydogyarns – reciprocation

yorkshire_chris – sausages (again…!), treacle, pancakes

laurothecheerio – euouae

AnnieBC3 – pantaloons, esoteric, cinnamon

I may have taken a bit of artistic licence with the pronunciation of euouae…!

Er, I should probably also warn you that this one is a bit… whiffy…

Itchy Eric…

Long ago in Flanders, in a place called Sparton Perrick,
There was a lonely novice who went by the name of Eric.

The other monks they teased him as he was so very twitchy –
Poor Eric was too shy to say his habit felt all itchy.

To cover his embarrassment he hung out in the kitchen;
The servants didn’t comment on his shyness or his twitching.

He helped to stuff the sausages and fill the macaroons;
They let him take his habit off and just wear pantaloons.

And sometimes in the mornings when the kitchen was all quiet,
He’d make up his own recipes to supplement his diet.

One evening during vespers, midst the singing of the choir,
Some strange unholy noises were heard coming from the spire.

The Abbott gave a sniff and said “I’m sure I can smell treacle,”
“I’m not so sure,” the Friar said, “I think it smells more faecal.”

The noises echoed all around and drowned out the euouae,
And everyone agreed the smell was definitely pooey.

The Friar and the Abbott climbed up high into the steeple,
To try and find out what it was disturbing all the people.

And there right at the top they found the miserable Eric,
Regretting that his latest dish had been so esoteric.

All alone and itchy he had tried to make a pancake,
But accidentally sprinkled it with freshly ground-up mandrake.

To try and stop the shudders he’d then scoffed a persimmon,
Lightly stewed with chilli and a dash of cinnamon.

The sorry meal resulted in a bout of constipation,
So he’d eaten lots of figs and prunes to aid reciprocation.

The Abbott and the Friar shook their heads and said “Oh Eric!
It’s no surprise your meal proved so very atmospheric.”

Eric hung his head and told them of his chronic itching,
Explaining that was why he spent so much time in the kitchen.

The Friar and the Abbott found his misery distressing,
And so they bent the rules to solve the problem with his dressing.

Next morning in the chapel as they sang their matins tunes,
The monks all gaped in awe at Eric, in his pantaloons.

He stood erect and proud, and sang without a single twitch
So happy to be wearing clothes that didn’t make him itch!

But wait! I haven’t finished yet! Something fab happened! AnnieBC3 not only gave me some words, she also wrote a rhyme too! And here it is – I think it’s marvellous!

Esoteric Eric was a very learned man,
He liked to write in poetry –
He really was a fan.

He’d write haikus, rhymes & ballads
Full of mystical allusions…
But beware the sign upon his door:
“I’ll suffer no intrusions!”

For Eric worked in secret
And he NEVER shared his work
He really was the most pretentious, irritating BERK!

If you’d like to join in the next Crazy Rhymey Challenge, keep your eyes peeled on my Twitter feed for #CrazyRhymeyChallenge – it usually happens when I have a longish train journey home after a long shift, as the rhyming helps keep me awake so I don’t I don’t miss my stop…

Thanks to those of you that took part this time, and special thanks to AnnieBC3 for letting me include her rhyme here!

Bye for now!



One response

29 03 2013

They fitted fine those pantaloons, just like those worn by jugglers
Nice and loose, not too tight (like some of those budgie smugglers)
The other Monks grew jealous – though they prayed to be forgiven
But such was Ericsson obvious comfort, that they became quite smitten.

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