Journal The Cabin
- Thread starter In Awe of Him
- Start date
WELL.... I can probably offer you a DIRTY pigeon... well SHAKEN.
More AI.
write a poem about bob and miss missing chair
Old Bob, a fellow quite serene,
Had a habit, rather keen.
He'd settle down to read a book,
With a contented, thoughtful look.
But in his room, a curious plight,
A chair was gone, vanished from sight.
Miss Missing Chair, they'd come to say,
Had simply upped and walked away.
Bob would sigh, and softly state,
"Where could that comfort abdicate?"
He'd search beneath the dusty bed,
And peek where shadows often spread.
He'd check the hall, the landing wide,
Where furniture might choose to hide.
But Miss Missing Chair remained unseen,
A vanished comfort, quite mean.
Sometimes he'd pause, a wistful air,
And wonder where she'd gone, and where
She might be resting, plush and deep,
While he upon the floor would creep.
So Bob would read, upon the rug,
A silent, chairless, gentle hug
Of solitude, a quiet space,
Remembering Miss Missing's grace.
And though the chair was gone astray,
Bob found his peace in his own way.
He learned to live, and not despair,
With just himself, and empty air.
write a poem about bob and miss missing chair
Old Bob, a fellow quite serene,
Had a habit, rather keen.
He'd settle down to read a book,
With a contented, thoughtful look.
But in his room, a curious plight,
A chair was gone, vanished from sight.
Miss Missing Chair, they'd come to say,
Had simply upped and walked away.
Bob would sigh, and softly state,
"Where could that comfort abdicate?"
He'd search beneath the dusty bed,
And peek where shadows often spread.
He'd check the hall, the landing wide,
Where furniture might choose to hide.
But Miss Missing Chair remained unseen,
A vanished comfort, quite mean.
Sometimes he'd pause, a wistful air,
And wonder where she'd gone, and where
She might be resting, plush and deep,
While he upon the floor would creep.
So Bob would read, upon the rug,
A silent, chairless, gentle hug
Of solitude, a quiet space,
Remembering Miss Missing's grace.
And though the chair was gone astray,
Bob found his peace in his own way.
He learned to live, and not despair,
With just himself, and empty air.
It is one of those days you wish out of nowhere the Wienermobile show up and gave you a hotdog. 
Yanno, its one of my faves. Nothing like a somewhat raunchy street hot dog, brimming with NYC noise and character.
I dont want to know what was in the many Ive eaten in my lifetime. Each cart has its own unique differences.
There was one by my number 7 stop that had the best stewed onions and chili. I still miss that old man.
I dont want to know what was in the many Ive eaten in my lifetime. Each cart has its own unique differences.
There was one by my number 7 stop that had the best stewed onions and chili. I still miss that old man.
CranberryArtworks ... the more I read this poem ( artificially engineered )... the FUNNIER it gets.
ODE to Bob's LOST CHAIR. HAHAHAHAHAHA and still HAHAHAHAHA.
ODE to Bob's LOST CHAIR. HAHAHAHAHAHA and still HAHAHAHAHA.