Oh Britain, of Weather Most Foul by The Quillmatic Bardinator #poem

Oh Britain, of Weather Most Foul 

by The Quillmatic Bardinator

Sonnet for the British Weather

When lofty clouds do gather in the sky,

Where raindrops dance 'pon cobblestone,

The tempest’s fury whispers as she flies,

A symphony of gray, a weathered tone.

Yet in this misty veil a beauty lies,

The verdant hills adorned with dew-kissed green,

Where daffodils and primrose rise,

Their fragile petals in the breeze careen.

Oh, fickle sun, your warmth is but a tease,

For every ray is followed by a squall,

And chilly winds sweep through the ancient trees,

As if to test our spirits, one and all.

So let us raise our mugs of tea on high,

And toast to Britain’s ever-changing sky.

©Sarnia de la Maré FRSA Tale Teller Club 2024

www.taletellerclub.com

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Donald Trump, Thy Stage Is Set by the Quillmatic Bardinator #comedy #AI #voicegenerator

Donald Trump, Thy Stage is Set by the Quillmatic Bardinator

Verily, the stage is set for a grand affair, 

Where once a ruler stood, now stands a man

Donald Trump, whose fate hangs in the air, 

His deeds and words, a tempest in the span.

The court, a theater of justice and strife, 

Where lawyers spar with eloquence and guile, 

Their arguments like daggers, seeking life, 

Or perhaps, the fall of one who wore power’s smile.

He pleads not guilty, as the charges mount, 

Conspiracy, obstruction, and the right to vote, 

A tapestry of felonies, a tangled fount, 

Where truth and falsehood in a dance remote.

Yet, like a king who once held scepter high, 

Trump faces judgment—will he soar or die? 

©2024 Sarnia de la Maré FRSA

Donald Trump by The Quillmatic Bardinator, A Poem for the Modern Age by the wannabe Shakespeare

A Sonnet for Donald Trump by the Quillmatic Bardinator 

 

 Upon the grand stage power's tempests brew,

A man of gold and bluster takes his stand,

His words, a whirlwind, sweep across the land,

Donald Trump with voice anew.

His towered pride, a monument to self,

A gilded throne, where ego reigns supreme,

He tweets, he boasts, he spins a fevered dream,

While truth and reason falter, lose their wealth.

In echoes of the past, we find his kin,

Julius Caesar, craving godlike sway,

And Richard III, whose twisted path unfolds.

Macbeth, with hunger for dominion's sin,

And Lear, whose kingdom crumbles day by day,

This, a tragic tale of power writ in gold.

©2024 Quillmatic Bardinator / Tale Teller Club

Shall I compare thee to a Dating App, Sonnet by Quillmatic Bardinator™

A Sonnet for the Digital Heart

Shall I compare thee to a dating app? 

Thou art more swiping and more algorithmic. 

Rough profiles oft shake the lonely heart, 

And lonely hearts find love in digital seas.

Sometimes, too hot the Tinder flame doth burn, 

And often is the Bumble match unreturned,

And yet, thy legs doth open wide, 

Revealing glimpses of love’s sweet surprise.

But softly now! What light through Grindr window breaks? 

It is heaven, and Cupid is the take. 

Arise, fair swipers, and let us chat away, 

For love awaits in pixels and emoji.

So long as profiles last and phones remain,

This modern sonnet shall sing love’s refrain.

©2024 Quillmatic Bardinator