Similar to a theme used by Kyrios previously (conversation), I am setting a new challenge of Questions & Answers. It’s quite simple really; I was asked a question, to which my poem is the answer. I end it with another question, which the next person answers with their poem, ending it with another question for somebody else to answer.
Try to keep questions simple (don’t ask somebody to write an essay on Bentham’s theory of Utilitarianism), and it can be either general knowledge or a personal question (but not too personal, keep it light).
Rules are:
Three stanzas of five lines
First and fourth lines of each stanza must rhyme
A final three line stanza asking the next question
All three lines must rhyme
So what is the first question needing an answer?
“What is the capital of France?” I am asked.
I know this! It is the city of Paris!
I’ve only been once, but there I met a dancer;
Her name was Amélie, such a pretty little thing.
Ballet was her trade, her art, her one love;
And as such her body lithe yet strong;
Her breasts small yet perfectly shaped.
She was beautiful and delicate, like a dove;
Yet ferocious the moment her clothes came off.
Two wondrous nights I spent with Amélie;
In her apartment on the banks of the Seine.
Though it was our two rivers that never stopped flowing;
I swear between us we almost flooded the city;
Me and my sweet Amélie.
A question now for whomever wishes to take it:
On orgasms, no less, and do you always make it
Across the finish line, or have you ever had to fake it?
Try to keep questions simple (don’t ask somebody to write an essay on Bentham’s theory of Utilitarianism), and it can be either general knowledge or a personal question (but not too personal, keep it light).
Rules are:
Three stanzas of five lines
First and fourth lines of each stanza must rhyme
A final three line stanza asking the next question
All three lines must rhyme
So what is the first question needing an answer?
“What is the capital of France?” I am asked.
I know this! It is the city of Paris!
I’ve only been once, but there I met a dancer;
Her name was Amélie, such a pretty little thing.
Ballet was her trade, her art, her one love;
And as such her body lithe yet strong;
Her breasts small yet perfectly shaped.
She was beautiful and delicate, like a dove;
Yet ferocious the moment her clothes came off.
Two wondrous nights I spent with Amélie;
In her apartment on the banks of the Seine.
Though it was our two rivers that never stopped flowing;
I swear between us we almost flooded the city;
Me and my sweet Amélie.
A question now for whomever wishes to take it:
On orgasms, no less, and do you always make it
Across the finish line, or have you ever had to fake it?