It’s that time of the day for the buffet do they say,
When supper is the upper meal of the day.
The settings are set, less than twenty chairs all aligned,
Some low seats, some high, I hope you find mine.
There are candles with handles strewn smack on the table,
With dishes and wishes, and too many labels.
On one end of this feast, the chef of Slamina,
Tempts fate with a cheese plate, pass the fontina
The cheddar is better for writing a letter,
And the Swiss you may miss, if it wasn’t so redder.
A fruit bowl comes next, with pink plums for your tum,
if you’re a fan ‘a banana, make sure to have one
With apples of blue and grapes of bright orange,
The melon they’re sellin’ the color of corn-ge.
If you’re crazin for raisins you must be amazin,
You could and you should be runnin not grazin.
Fruits and some berries, eat one and eat more,
The treats and the sweets, they’re munchin galore.
Muffins by puffins or Niffups if you will,
Are a delectable respectable insatiable bill
Then there’s Flow and Retto, a quite silly pair,
With their noses and toeses, in a pudding of pear.
Can they muster this custard, like a herd that just stirred
Or do they mellow with jello, with milk or some curd?
A green chocolate cake has Yekrut’s neck all a bobble
His neckin’s a peckin about to just gobble.
Ollafub and Llub are parked across the table,
With rings in their snouts, connected with a cable
This causes a stir to be sure,
As the line shifts the plates
So gip-let did snip it,
And then opened the gates.
More greeters became eaters, filling their bellies with jelly,
One’s done with this fun, may we go watch the telly?
After fruit burgers with sugar, and a veggie filled crepe
All this eatin and meetin, I am ready to slep.
But the final finale is worth this last wait
One more bite, maybe three, and you’ll walk a strange gait
At last comes Alaska all baked with a tint
With a favor for flavor of blue peppermint.
The chef of Slamina , Natagnaro his name,
Did razzle and dazzle and frazzle for fame
He winks and he drinks then he roasts as he toasts,
“My friends of Slamina, quite good eh? I shant boast
I cook without books, and never quite look
I joss, and not boss, my sous chef, Alaook.
My game is not lame
Aren’t you glad you all came?
If you come again and again,
I certainly won’t blame.
Now have fun in the sun, go on happily
And thank you, merci, and grazie tante”
Tune In and B Sharp
There’s a patter and a clatter
that wafts thru the clouds
We hear more chatter that matters
from the Catina’s
The sounds do abound, as we walk thru the door
Get the heat of the beat, it’s shakin the floor
“Please come and stay if you may, the show’s about to begin”
Welcomes Anaugi, doing the boogie, as he directs us within.
The lights go down low, there’s a hush in the air
The anticipation of syncopation
This will be quite the affair
We hear a hum and the drum and
see plumes of purple sage
And a spotlight so bright direct on center stage
Opening the show, the soft stepping T-na
Begins a dance of romance as a prima ballerina
Yet the crowd begs for her legs
to do the Macarena
So the beat of her feet, magnifique with a squeak,
Starts to step and not schlep
To shake up the Catina
Joining her and dressed for the street,
Dancing hip hop with soda pop,
The Adnaps catch the beat.
On stage left reading a cleft,
there’s Tibbar on guitar, amazingly deft
His style bizarre, while puffing a cigar,
his reverb superb, while waving au revoir
He’s laying down chords, and a spectacular riff
He’s like Clapton, or Page, or Jimi Hendriff
And an amazing site
at corner stage right
There’s Krahs with his fin,
pizzicato on violin
How he plucks with his point,
with no knuckle joint
His pick is his schtick, while flashing a grin
Old guard surlaw is on standup bass
His licks and his picks even wow the Namuh race
Mossoppo on the drums playing with his thumbs
He’s jiving and thriving next to his chum
Noobab who’s nimble while clanging his cymbal,
he’s banging and thranging, His thumb needs a thimble
Rotag and Corc, who’s bit of a dork,
Are both dressed in their leather
Playing scales without fail
no matter the weather
Worc caws with a cause only because,
he would croon with a swoon if he had jaws.
Like Naver who squawks when he talks,
but these Dribs do ad lib,
and rarely do pause
Their voices have choices, hitting high notes and low.
Doing pop maybe rock, like U2 and Bono
The chorus is before us, pitching notes in their prime
The Lerriuqs singing lyrics, running scales every time
A capella on nutella, vocals sweet in melody
Each stanza a bonanza, whether it’s blues or country
The backline has Redips on the keys being squeezed,
A tinkle with a sprinkle
you just freeze on your knees
a clinkle without wrinkle
waiting on his reprise
So the tunes at high noon in this marvelous Catina
Create a cause for applause, in the world of Slamina