[Rimbaud]

For men clad, I rob Rim o'88 Rimmel.
Go find rope to heal here (the man can pause the ph moat).
No aim rang hurt got in awful Spain;
Gong can dine large - can tell Ent story!

I can line a mini-owl -
Our lean, lewd she - bold ear.
Moth lurks on banjo, frees urn.
Herbert, by glib re-malt when I jam talk
Ogle a hot blob, OK.
Oh as elves darn new - hurl Drambui!

(Formendacil, Boromir88, mormegil, Feanor of the Peredhil, The Saucepan Man, the phantom, morai, Gurthang, dancing spawn of ungoliant, Anguirel, estelyn Telcontar, Cailin, Orominuialwen, Lalwende, Shelob, Morsul the Dark, Rune Son of Bjarne, Bethberry, Bergil, Mithalwen, Malkatoj, Hookbill the Goomba, Valesse, Lhunardwen, Rimbaud - all posters on this thread in order of first post).

The epic of the Downs anagrams is a curious one. Starting with the unlikely robbery of vintage designer lipstick from the exquisitely made-up Rimbaud by the burly imposter Boromir88, the poem sweeps to talking about the aloe strands within moisturiser required to heal a face ravaged by an unkind ph climate.

No matter how well applied though, the face cream cannot change the pain gained in Spain by the plain, and the story is broken by the dinner gong, where Esty regales us with her familiar ent story.

Meanwhile, I take up carving, and create a perfectly formed miniature owl, bold and fearless, whilst a large moth, previously supine upon a nearby banjo unfortunately knocks a precious urn over, thus freeing it.

My friend Herbert, whilst applying himself to pouring me another whisky as I delve into ebonics, unfortunately spills hot wax on to his trousers, at which he stares while I drink more; as the elves repair his pantaloons, I unfortunately have a Drambui too many...