This poem was inspired by today’s The Daily Post prompt: rapid. My first thought was the line from the old Clement Moore poem: “More rapid than eagles, his coursers they flew.” From there it morphed to the last line of the poem below. I only had to come up with a premise and nine more lines.
The choral director mopped his brow.
His soprano soloist mooed like a cow.
The tenors and basses howled like hounds.
He cut them off. “You’re out of bounds.
“I want a tone that’s mellow and soft.”
The alto section yelled and scoffed.
To get his charges under restraint
He doused them with leftover azure paint.
Instead of calming, they kicked and threw.
More rabid than beagles, his choristers blue.