Last night's challenge; a poem about cheese, including the words:
Dyscalculic (difficulty with numbers)
Apparator (strange clerical procession member, precise meaning unknown even to the clergy present)
Narthex (part of a church)
Orange (word people always give poets as it makes them think they are clever knowing a word with which nothing, allegedly, rhymes)
The Church Cheese Theft
What's this, a strange procession
Coming down the main church aisle?
The ceremony of the cheese
Is starting out in style.
The cheese bearers are leading on
With stilton mixed with carrot
Or strange red cheese that's made by nuns
Carried by apparator.
I think it's turning for the worse.
It's really made my Ma vex.
The cheese tray worship service guys
Are coming through the narthex.
Call the police now; call the cops.
My Shropshire Blue's been taken.
I wouldn't mind so very much
To go down to the station.
I think I had ten cheeses but
I've now got only nine.
To have my mouldy milk returned
Would be, well, just sublime.
I know it isn't popular.
It is a cheese that few lick.
I know I counted properly.
I'm not that dyscalculic.
I know you mustn't eat it quick
But cheese fans cannot not binge.
I know it isn't really blue;
They say my cheese is orange.
So rozzers help me chase my food
And let me catch my man.
My cheese is really on the turn
Much quicker than Zidane.
So catch my cheese and bring it back
PC Tom, or Dick or Harry
And I'll identify it down
At the constabulary.
I'll pick it out of line up long
From camembert or brie;
And next time someone nicks my cheese
I'll make them poetry.