Famer's Story-Writing Debate Tournament Round #1 DakotaKrafick VS Logic_on_rails
Welcome to famer's third story-writing debate tournament!
The rules and voting guidelines will be provided here:
S&G will be awarded as usual.
Conduct will only be awarded to the side that forfeits least (cursing within the story is allowed as this is a story).
Arguments will be awarded for the side providing the more interesting continuation of the story.
Sources will be awarded to the side with better writing techniques and displays a better ability with writing a story.
Both sides will produce a story starting with the Instigator (that's me). One story will be created, and must be continued on from both parties within the debate.
For more information about both the tournament and the members involved, please visit:
And now, to the story...
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Through the town of LeMore, many folk did wonder
Just who was this woman who came from there yonder?
"She just wandered in here," they yapped to each other,
"Wandered in here from somewhere there yonder."
This "she" they referred to, well, pretty was she
The prettiest there was, I’d say quite certainly
Tall and thin and sharp furthermore
Perhaps she’d be the sharpest in all of LeMore
"Perhaps, but alas," the rumors did whisper,
"Sharp doesn’t begin to describe Lenny the Fiddler."
"A fiddler?" you squak, "One who fiddles with fiddles?
What does a fiddler know of puzzles and riddles?
"A fiddler can be smart, of that I admit,
But just smart enough to play their instrument."
Don’t be so hasty, in your rush to insult
Sit back down and I’ll teach you what’s what
For Lenny, you see, was only a fiddler in hobby
Before that a painter and before that a disc jockey
A doctor for three years and a lawyer for two
And poetry he wrote, even haiku
A jack of all trades, some rightly called this fiddle player
And lest we forget, he had been appointed the town’s mayor!
In the town of LeMore, only the cleverest could be mayor
You had to earn the title at the famous Town Fair
Held once every year, the townsfolk did gather
In the square for good food, good fun, and good laughter
The main event, though, always was this:
The Contest of Riddles, which no one would miss
All those who would enter form a circle together
Come up with tough riddles and try to beat each other
The mayor goes first and chooses a victim
Says a riddle so difficult he think it will stump him
Sixty seconds he has to come up with an answer
Otherwise he’s out and the mayor picks on another
If he guesses right, though, he stays in the competition
And then it’s his turn to choose any person to question
This goes on for hours till all are stumped but just one
Who is then crowned mayor for that whole next year to come
Lenny had this honor the past thirty-five years
"Soon will be thirty-six," he boasted, drinking some beers
"You’ve won the last dozen with no trouble at all,"
the barkeep admitted while cleaning his stall,
"But this year will be different, that I guarantee.
For that woman who came to town, participating she’ll be."
"A woman, you say," Lenny said skeptically,
"A woman can’t best a man, and least of all not me!"
"If underestimating was the game," came a voice at the door,
"You’d take first prize, of that I am sure."
In walked the woman, about whom they’d just talked,
"But it’s not," she went on, "so when you lose, don’t be shocked."
"Please," Lenny scoffed, "Don’t make me laugh.
You're not my equal; you're barely my half!"
"We’ll see," the woman countered with a sly smile,
"tomorrow is the contest; may you bring all your guile."
I would firstly like to thank Dakota for this challenge, and a challenge it shall be! A unique tale and a rare writing style... my writing abilities will be sorely tested. With verve I shall loose a quiver of rhymes, despite it being my likely doom! I’d also like to thank Famer for setting up this tournament. We shall see if we can satiate his desire for tales.
By the grass, by the lake;
A lady walking by the bridge;
A path cleared in her wake,
As if by the swiftest carriage
The lady, of beauty as such befit an adage,
Walked with such elegance,
Till a passerby caused a dreadful spillage...
The fair lady spiralled to the ground, dreadfully off balance. Her hands brushed against the cobblestone of the bridge. Instinctively, the fair lady brought her hands to her face. So freely did her weight shift that she nearly lost her balance again - her handbag, gone! Stolen by the passerby... disappearing across the bridge, into the distance. The passerby looked to be wearing a grey fur coat.
Then came the gallant rescuer,
Tall and strong as the tales of yore,
With a mighty cry of “Stop, wrongdoer!”
His outrage overflowing as if at war
Yet the hero soon became calm,
Lent a hand to our fair lady
And whispered so soothingly as balm,
‘Wait here, let me catch the villain who is so shady’
The dapper gentleman glided through the air
His radiance emanating outward,
As if a gilded heir,
Of paradise incarnate flowered
The hero kneeled lightly on one knee, offering up the stolen handbag.
“My fair lady, I return to you that which is rightfully yours. Cruel is the one who stole from one so pure and beautiful.” The lady blushed lightly, and proceeded to retrieve her handbag.
“You have my deepest thanks. What is your name sir?” The man rose, his blue eyes sparkling amidst the moonlight, a ray of light flattering his handsome face.
“I am Aremair. I live in Lemore, down by the lake near that grassy knoll. Tell me, do you see it?” The lady gazed into the distance, nervously blushing as Aremair gently guided her to face the hill.
“I do see – it is most beautiful indeed,” she said admiringly. To be atop the grassy knoll, looking into the stars, on a night like...
“My lady, shall I walk you back? We would not want anything untoward to occur again to one so beautiful, elegant, and... sharp.” Aremair looked charmingly at the fair lady, who smiled lightly.
“My fine gentleman, I should quite enjoy the company!” Aremair laughed, a smile playing across his face.
“My lady, you are too kind. I am no gentleman. I am but a humble man who aspires to be a paragon of virtue. I am not there yet, but in time...perhaps, just perhaps, I can hope to be that paragon.” Charismatic, yet humble. There was a lull, a contemplative silence amidst the night. “Take my hand, my lady.”
In linked arms they walked,
Talking, laughing beneath the wondrous sky,
Jests, wit – both were lightly mocked;
How could the night go awry?
On and on they strode,
Into the night which was lovably halcyon,
When finally the lady slowed
And asked her gallant champion
‘Upon what face did you look upon Aremair?’
‘A face, a face! Oh, I saw none;
The villain faded into the thin air,
Yet rest assured for his day is run’
‘”His” day you say?’
‘I do. The man, broad of shoulder,
In a suitcoat so gray,
It sank into the background like a boulder.’
‘You swear it so?’
‘Upon my word of honour!’
‘Why then, you have struck a grievous blow
For so impure a banner.
‘Shield my eyes from your lair,
To think you could fall so, Aremair...’
“My lady, please. I know not what you speak of,” spoke Aremair softly and calmly. In response, the fair lady freed her linked arm, turning to face Aremair directly.
“You sent the thief to steal from me,” she boldly replied.
“I... I fail to understand my lady,” replied Aremair, his eyes looking into the distance furtively.
“You speak of a grey suit coat, yet I am beyond sure that it was a grey fur coat! You stake your honour upon a lie? Then you have no honour, you fiend.” Aghast, Aremair reeled slightly backwards, hurrying to compose himself.
“My fair lady, my eyes be cursed indeed, but I did return your handbag.” The lady laughed.
“A man ‘broad of shoulder’ wore a fur coat? Tonight? Do you take me for a fool?”
“No my lady - you are sharp, brilliant.” Ah, another piece of the puzzle. “I fail to understand your words though.”
“Let me explain. Men don’t wear fur coats, right?”
“I suppose not, however...”
“The answer is no. So it’s a lady, who used the thick fur coat to try and appear ‘broad of shoulder’; to hide her features. Of course, seconds after my handbag is stolen you appear and win it back, though you don’t see the villain’s face at all. Rather miraculous, don’t you say?”
“My lady, the duty of a gentlemen...”
“You use a thief to steal from me, use the resulting circumstances and false charms to try and win my heart. You nearly succeeded, but you used a woman for the theft. I realise now...” Aremair’s eyes sparkled, finally spotting something in the distance.
“Linda, how nice of you to come join us!” smiled Aremair as a lady appeared from a cobblestone footpath. “Linda, did you see the frightful man who stole from this lady here? A man, yes?” Linda seemed dazed, till Aremair subtly tilted his head.
“Yes, a man!”
“Thank you Linda. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Yes, practice first,” replied Linda, walking into the distance. Aremair’s face went pale. The puzzle is complete.
“Another witness who saw this man steal from you.”
“Another lady you’ve charmed. As I was saying, you have charmed many women. Were you charming me for tomorrow as well? Pray tell, what ‘practice’ are you be referring to?”
“I teach Linda the violin.”
“You play me false Aremair. Do not the rules state ‘One shall not give a riddle to the person who gave the riddle to them’?”
“There are many exceptions to that rule my lady - You can reply once in a row, just not twice to the same person, it doesn’t apply when only two are left...”
“I have a theory –many women who will help you tomorrow. Should they answer a riddle correctly they will ask another of your group something easy. They will know the answer. Then they will ask a far more difficult riddle to somebody outside the group, who won’t be allowed, as per the rules, to reply back. You plan to win through numbers, not smarts.”
Finally, Aremair laughed, the game up.
“You are sharp indeed my lady but just like Lenny you shall be confounded. Do you know why it’s the ‘best man for the job’? Because it’s wrong for a lady to have many partners, yet glorious for a man. Only a man can use numbers to win. I shall see you tomorrow, my lady.”
And with that Aremair departed, fading into the night. Another viper beneath the quaint veneer of Lemore. The question was, which vipers were venomous?
That pale moon, replaced by sun it soon was
The city below full of much buzz because...
The Town Fair, finally, today was the day!
Happy faces and good fun you saw every which way
Many games they played, much food they ate
Till it was that time they had longed, the hour grown late
"Hear one and hear all," the mayor did shout,
"Who here thinks he worthy to carry my clout?
"For as you all know, it is now that time:
The Contest of Riddles, have you got the spine?
"Sign-ups are soon over, and happy I am
To see so many participate, this'll be such a jam!"
Then Lenny stepped down from that tall podium
His speech now over, it was time for the fun!
Nearly a hundred there were, all gathered together
More than any year before, just staring at each other
Aremair, of course, was there among them
Surrounded by his seduced harem
Exchanged glances with that woman, he first did
Then Lenny, of him, he thought, I must first rid
Ding, Dong, Ding, Dong, LeMore's bell rang
And that was the signal, the contest had began!
As current mayor, Lenny had first pick
So he turned and said to that woman just for kicks,
"I choose you, stranger" with a voice so brittle,
"Can you answer this year's very first riddle?"
“Blood be shed upon its point
Men fall atop it’s swaying figure...
Men also rest upon their knee joint
To let us anoint their rigour...
What am I speaking of?”asked Larry. The woman laughed.
“Are you going easy for starters Larry?” teased the lady. A murmur rose through the crowd.
“The sand falls, watches tick, and time runs as we speak. Your answer?” came the irritated reply.
“Very well. You speak of blades of grass.” The crowd was silent, their anticipation building.
“She is correct,” came Larry’s grudging reply. “Easy to begin with of course! Now, your riddle?”
The lady stepped looked around, and chose her victim randomly. No need to antagonise Aremair and his escort just yet, nor could she reply to Lenny.
“You sir! Here is your riddle:
The wind’s twirl moves it gently. It’s fall can swallow cities, causing many to scurry to safety. People fear it’s touch. We pray for it to go away, to be delayed. And yet, it is a blot on us all, hanging over us. However... it is not always there. And in the end, we cry when it never falls, tightening our proverbial belts. Of what do I speak?”
The good sir did ponder
Yes, a great deal he did,
But it was all he could do to wander
And fall into a chair with a skid.
Hapless was he
The lady’s wit was his bane
And it stung sharp as a thousand bees
And there was nought to stop the pain.
The gentleman sat down, the first of the day’s casualties. He looked blearily at the lady.
“My lady, what was the answer?” She looked at him a second, and then at the onlooking crowd.
“Let’s give the crowd a show sir. How many shall fall to this riddle? You’ll get your answer soon enough,” she said kindly; the man waited.
Next was an arrogant youth,
Thought himself sharper than steel
His arrogance matched only by his lack of couth
Alas he too lacked the zeal...
...and fell upon the proverbial sword. The lady’s riddled lance then proceeded to unhorse a third man in fine style. The wisened old man, his proud boutonierre on his lapel, cried ‘It is the sun’s almighty heat!’ and the crowd cheered in applause. The man had faced and conquered wit’s first charge. Then our lady spoke anew.
“And what of the wind’s twirl sir? How does the wind move the sun?” The man looked at her, then away into the sky as if to feel an almighty gale. Finally he turned back, humbled.
“If it’s not the sun, then what is it?” The crowd looked on in a hushed silence, the tension building.
“Clouds, and their rain.”
“But, the proverbial belt...”
“When the rain does not come, drought begins, and famine reigns. You tighten your belt then, right?”
And then the cheers came, loud as trumpets. The applause was strong and genuine. But finally another arrow had to be loosed from the lady’s quiver. Eventually, the intellectual shield caught the arrow squarely on, and suddenly another bow was loosed. Rhymes, riddles, tricks...
The contestants began to fade
Dispersing before wit’s bane
First a trickle, then a cascade,
And the sun slowly began to wane
It’s slow, predictable fall
Marking the stages of an intellectual brawl...
Best leave it there... we still have 3 more rounds left! Can’t go and have our final confrontation or anything similar just yet! And, since there seem to be few outs from a continuous slew of riddles as befits the story’s competition...
I give Dakota the floor.
Nary forty contestants remained in the Contest of Riddles
Deafening silence greeted the jubilant outburst. All of Aremair’s ladies had their hands over their mouth, shocked. Lenny looked on at the situation, confused. And that mysterious woman – she was smiling!
There was a puzzle that Lenny could not solve:
Who did Aremair truly love?
Oh he had no clue, best to absolve
And yet, to shine intellectually as a dove...
“We have a problem,” said Larry curtly. “The only person who can solve this riddle is Aremair. I ask, was the answer true?”
Aremair was in a terrible bind
Struck by a horrible decision
Say ‘yes’ and face a most horrid grind
Of former lovers anguished precision
Or say no and cause a terrible uproar
Face the cries of ‘liar!’ and ‘fiend!’
Oh the terrible furore
Was there no other answer that could be gleaned?
How do I fall upon my sword?
My gallantry be so adored
That I could ill-afford
To be so abhorred... [Internal monologue for this stanza]
Finally the answer came
And Aremair’s wit was aflame
With a gentle smile Aremair began to speak, his words flowing smoothly as silk. A web of beauty to spin. All he needed was the right words.
“My good friends, I am touched by this riddle. I am called gentlemen, and honoured within. A true gentleman sticks to fidelity; he is chaste, he-“
“Get to the point Aremair. We’re not here to listen to you prattle on,” stated Lenny, his manner brusque and gruff.
“My apologies. As I was saying, a gentleman is chaste, but he is of the kindest disposition to all. I fear that this fair lady has mistaken my friendly overtures for something deeper. I wish I could be the closest of friends with every lady, but I am true to a lady – a different lady.”
Fair and kind-hearted Aremair sounded
But oh how he had mislead;
So shocking was his words that the lady was astounded
And the tears began to flow with harrowing speed
“Lady, what is your next riddle? And to whom do you address it” asked Lenny. The woman smiled, her mind racing with fun. Not a bad try Aremair; you didn’t fall just like that, but you’ve left a terrible hole in that false armour of chivalry.
“I shall ask the same riddle again.” A murmur ran through the crowd - what was the lady’s plan? “I ask this question... to Aremair!” she boldly pronounced.
The crowd burst into a frenzy. Why ask a question when the answer could only be known by the person answering? Why give a free question to Aremair?
“To me? But my lady, how could I not know whom I am pledged to? I am confused as to why you ask. All you’ll do is give me a free question. Do you know how foolish that would be?” The lady smiled, and watched as a drop of sweat appeared on Aremair’s furrowed brow as she said:
“Lenny, start the hourglass.”
Aremair stood as if in eternally silence
For what could he do?
He’d tried to save his alliance,
Yet that lady had served him up as one would chocolate fondue...
He could say it was no one, and trust that all of his ladies to remain quiet. He could pick the woman herself and cause a furious uproar. Now that would be funny indeed! However, that was assuredly a loss. Or, he could pick the sharpest of those he had seduced and hope to succeed amidst every other lady turning against him and ripping into him. Death by a thousand cuts, even if the blades were terribly dull. There was only one real choice.
“I fear my lady is mistaken. A love you know? No, I have no lover sorry to say. Great friends and the confidant of many, but not that lover of the tales of yore.” Silence hung in the air for a bare second, until the lady smiled knowingly. This excuse was doomed to fail, given his earlier talk.
“But moments ago you said to that weeping lady in the stands ‘but I am true to a lady – a different lady’. You’re lying; that’s grounds for disqualification!” Aremair looked around at the stern faces. His doom, closing in, closing in.
“No, you misunderstand me. A lady from another village. You know, the love you don’t, er... know. Yes, that’s right. I said ‘A love you know? No’. Another village!”
“But you’ve never left Lemore,” said Lenny.
“And you said ‘I have no lover sorry to say’” cried the lady.
“Yes. You play the crowd false Aremair!” shouted Lenny, well into his stride.
Aremair was in a terrible spot of bother
Yet a lady helps her man in trouble
And so many cried “I am his significant other!’
Yet then the trouble was double
It was clear that Aremair had lied
He had just played the crowd false
He had led his ladies to a false yuletide
Everybody had to ask – did he have a human pulse?
“Would you have him disqualified?” asked Lenny do that woman from yonder.
“No. Let him face the onslaught of the many.”
And so it was that Aremair solidered on against the many
He thrust a dozen riddles at his former allies
But they numbered a near twenty
And he soon had to capsize
Yet he took most of his allies down in the furious struggle
Nary 10 survived wit’s deadliest mauling
No one remained a vassal
But there remained an intellectual brawl...
The riddles flew with verve
The riddles flew with a blinding whirl
So sharp as to rustle a nerve!
And to solve required a jump, a sprint and finally a twirl
The furious assault continued until only 5 contestants stood. Lenny the Fiddler, the mysterious woman, a grey haired gentleman, a bookish middle aged woman and a nondescript young man were all that remained in the Contest of Riddles...
I shall turn it over to Dakota. We still have 2 rounds left after all.
DakotaKrafick forfeited this round.
Well unfortunately Dakota forfeited, and I hadn’t quite planned a continuation in the slightest. Nevertheless, this story debate is still absolutely up for contention – make no mistake about that!
“Young man, where be your wit?”
“Where be your riddle Lenny?”
“Jumping the gun? Soon you’ll be in a such a fit!”
“Come now, I am plenty ready.”
“What be so undeniably yours, and yet be used so callously by others by your permission? What be said upon your death by friends and family? What do I speak of?” The young man thought for a moment upon the question.
“You ask a good question. What is said upon a death? Virtues of a man. What is said in passing to friends? Experiences and camaraderie. But wait a moment! Camaraderie can be perceived as virtue. Camaraderie it is!”
“Your mind be sly
Your mind be inventive
Yet we say goodbye
For wrong you are and plenty inattentive”
“What? But my link...”
“...was abstract and frail. The answer was your name.” And so it was that they were now 4, and Lenny pitched another riddle.
“Rain does it
We do it in the face of face
Time moves slower than it by a bit
And we dare not do it in our race,
To the future... What do I speak of?”
The middle-aged, dour, bookish looking woman sat quietly, focusing and contemplating her answer. All the while the sand fell, and the minute was near passing. Finally, she answered.
“You speak of a fall.”
“A fall? Another mind who misses the forest for the trees;
How you miss the answer on the wall?”
“Then do enlighten me,
For rain falls, we dare not fall in our lives in the face of peril, we may fall in the face of fire and...”
“Time does not fall. The answer was run. Rain can run, we run from fire, time does move slower than a run, and we dare not rush to our future grave. You are wrong.” And then there were 3.
“Only 2 contestants left! The lady who chided me yesterday and you Gerardier. Think it will be the 2 of us duelling it out for the 5th year in a row? Let’s make it so! Need I remind you both that we can now reply with a question to those who asked us?” Gerardier shook his head, and the lady smiled. I’m getting rid of that pesky smile.
“My lady, a second riddle for you.”
“Good. Do have your guile this time?”
“I most certainly do.
Now, here be your rhyme:
It goes by many names,
It stops crime forevermore
It never shirks it’s true claim
“Perchance you speak of death Lenny?” cut in the woman. Lenny looked dumbstruck – she answered my riddle before it was even finished!
“You are correct,” he said begrudgingly. The lady smiled, as if in gracious acceptance of the praise.
“Gerardier, your riddle:
Tears of the heavens;
A king’s subjects acquiesce;
The gallop of the wild tamed;
To bestow in great droves...
What do I speak of?”
Gerardier pondered, the very image of a wisened elder statesman. Quickly he came to his answer.
“’Rain’ , in all it’s meanings. Rain, reign, rein. May I ask my riddle?” The lady nodded. Perhaps this could be an amusing 3 way fight.
Gerardier loosed a riddle at Lenny the fiddler
But his shield was steady and the answer rang true
Lenny returned fire as the riddler,
Gerardier caught the arrow and attacked anew...
Gerardier was just going to throw every riddle at Lenny. Did he think her no threat? Finally, Lenny threw a riddle her way; an easy one, easier than the ones she’d teased about. Everybody knew the riddles where the answer was ‘nothing’ ! What to ask now? If she didn’t get rid of Gerardier then who knows how long she’d be waiting for another riddle...
Then it clicked.
“Gerardier, another riddle for you:
The gentle-hearted do not dare do it
The tales of myth speak of it often
Did one deny the titular writ?
No! And yet today we’d first choose to be in a coffin!
And we dare not profane
As some have done to their shame...
What is this to do?”
Gerardier pondered for the whole minute, seemingly distant as the minute passed away. As the final grains of sand fell he raised he head slowly.
“I shall admit that I don’t know the answer. I am unsure of the riddle’s answer.”
“Come now Gerardier, you’re not even going to try?” boomed Lenny the fiddler, chuckling as he spoke.
“If I had to hazard a guess... I’d say this is a call to arms. It can be stretched and twisted to match the rhyme, yet it lacks elegance. What is the answer my lady?” The lady looked one final time at Gerardier.
“A good attempt, but not enough. To swear was the answer.”
“Yes, I see now. Very well, I shall bow out.” Gerardie retired to the stands.
“Got rid of Gerardier, eh? Not too shabby. You’ll be in some trouble if you don’t have at least a triple entendre at the ready though!”
White noise. Nobody had a triple entendre at the ready. Now, what rhyme to cut the fiddler strings?
Apologies for my last round’s forfeiture; it seems time has not been my friend in this particular debate. The conduct point is inarguably my opponent’s.
I should firstly like to thank Dakota immensely for this unique story. I had never planned on rhymes! It has been my pleasure to write this tale with Dakota, and now we come to its end. I trust the audience will enjoy the finale.
On a sidenote, I see Dakota’s point about the contest. I thought it impossible for the story to last 5 rounds if the Contest was the end of the story! That’s why I brought in the Aremair character – a desperate attempt to give our contest some extra punch and length. Would that I knew of Dakota’s intentions... but that’s the challenge of these story writing debates!
And now, without further ado:
If an archer were to have,
But one arrow left,
Then they’d do best to poison it or take a stab...
Luckily, the fiddler had one poisoned arrow that would cause a deep cleft...
“Tie the knot,
Bind two ends together
In an unbreakable unison,
Watch the dashing bow...
So deft work the precious hands of fate
So quick does it seem,
Yet so long does it last
“Can you solve this riddle?”
asked the fiddler, playing his strings.
The woman laughed, no thumb to twiddle.
Spoke she did, and an answer she did bring
“Lenny, you seem to love your shoelaces.”
“What?” he asked, his mind in a fit.
“Why the long face?
“The riddle is about shoelaces, isn’t it?
Lenny stared at the lady, surprised.
“Wrong so wrong
The day is won
But not for you
For my charge begin anew...”
The crowd began to raise up, as if to cheer.
But first, there was one more thing to hear.
This time, the woman did pause for a second.
“What is your answer to the riddle?”
“Is it not obvious? Marriage. I know that a young lady is ignorant of the knot, but...”
“...but I’m not so arrogant as you. The riddle has 2 answers - yours, and mine! Tie the knot, join it in a bow. It requires a deft touch, is done quickly and lasts far longer. That describes your shoelaces Lenny and marriage as well.” This time, it was Lenny’s turn to be dumbfounded. He stood speechless. The crowd held their breaths, and the silence continued.
“A mayor with pride in his veins,
Stuck in an untimely rut,
Why, he should let go of the reins!
A riddle with 2 answers? Tut tut.”
This time, the crowd did cheer. The lady had outfoxed Lenny on his own riddle, and the fiddler’s strings produced not a word. Was it time for the finale?
“The eye doth see
A lovely maple tree,
The spires of the world,
The wind as it whirled
In the apex of mountain;
The eye doth see that lovely fountain...
We see all before us,
And the blind see none,
Yet we see less than a bus
And cannot see the world’s fun
When we are gripped by a false chariot
Rushing us forth to heights that are an illusion,
When we act so predictably as if a marionette,
Dancing wildly in our myopic seclusion
And right now it comes to the fore,
Trying to break on a mind’s shore...
What is this that prevents us from seeing so clearly now? What is this false chariot?”
Confused was the Fiddler,
And rightly did he quiver ,
For time passed and still he had no solution,
His rule’s coming dissolution...
No! How could I lose to this woman?
I see straight! I don’t dance like a marionette,
For I am a proud man.
Nothing, nothing prevents me from seeing clearly; I ride no chariot!
“I see straight. Nothing prevents me from seeing the truth! There is no false chariot!”he cried as the final seconds came.
The laughter rang through the square
As the woman realised an irony so rare
“You are the epitome of this riddle’s answer” she callously remarked.
“What? I’m right!” Lenny shouted, oblivious to forthcoming rejoinder.
“That’s exactly my point!
You let pride choose an answer that disappoints.
For does not pride make you blind?
And it is most relevant now, with your title on the line!
Or should I say... was on the line, for pride was the answer.”
The crowds cheered for the game had been well played,
The fiddler had sprinted into quarrel and lay splayed
Upon his title, for he had been defeated by one beyond his wit’s reach
And now the crowds cried for the new mayor’s first speech
“Lemore, oh Lemore,
Would that it were the jewel of them all
But the fiddler’s strings are but an old bore,
And we cry for more!
So quaint this town, yet so old too!
35 years has been the reign of Lenny
I say, there has been little to rue,
Yet good ideas have been forgotten like a dropped penny.
Lenny ties his knots with another;
Well, I tie my knots by myself thankyou very much!
I tie my shoelaces without a significant other,
Of that you can be sure. And, it’s by a deft touch!”
The crowd guffawed with laughter, well remembering the contest’s penultimate riddle.
“Lenny’s an old hand,
But he’s so, so bland,
This town needs a few new ideas...
Just like the men ‘need’ geishas!
Okay, maybe the men don’t need them...
If fair Aremair is but a lady’s dull jem!
But I digress. Look, this town is a treat,
But it’s lost the bit between it’s teeth
And it’s becoming old
Now, I respect and love the tales of your, but I hate mould.
Let’s sample some modern touches
And be fair judges
Of that which is good and that which is bad,
For else we be mad!”
“People now forget the joys of the past and disparage it.
In Lemore though embracing the future causes a fit!
But the beauties of quaint Lemore will shine brighter if we refine their lustre;
let us take what modernity’s good and throw away that which doesn’t pass muster!
I’m like modernity – new thoughts.
Sample my wit and ideas, let Lemore take what is good, and we shall do better:
It shall not be for naught.”
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