Defused Lethal Al Gore Poem Released by Government
Vapors rise as
[Picking up the pace our poet transports his reader, for one brief and pungent moment, into the most private, intimate and smallest room in his house. In such a setting the deepest odors of Mr. Gore's poetic gifts waft upward and subsume the unwary reader, inducing in him a trance like state ... ]
Fever settles on an acid sea
[ ... in which the effects of the previous night's vast consumption of various endangered species at Chez Gore are spewed forth into an ocean of Zantacs and Pepto-Bismol on the waves of a refreshing high colonic that engulfs the reader in high poetic fancy previously known only to Dante.]
Snow glides from the mountain
[Here we begin to discern the sense of infinite loss that overwhelms a billionaire bard who discovers that the Black Diamond route behind his Aspen mansion no longer holds the deep powder.]
Ice fathers floods for a season
[This is a line resplendent in its simple complexity. It could be a warning "written on the subway walls," one that says, mayhap, "cannonballs." It could be the poet reflecting on the state of his wife's flickering affections as some of Tiger Woods' schedule opens up. It could be a humble observation that prostate afflictions are not easily overcome. The uncertain richness of this strain of ambiguity stuns one into mute vacillation.]
A hard rain comes quickly
[Not content with pillaging the minor poets Donovan and Milton, Gore boldly rapes the early work of the great Bob Dylan's "Hard Rain's Gonna Fall" by his deft enjambment of that poem's signature refrain with his personal erectile difficulties. An intimate if perhaps ill-considered disclosure that draws the awed reader deeper in to Gore’s shallows.]
Then dirt is parched
[This stunning image sketches like a rainbow in curved air what perhaps happens to mud when moisture is removed, presumably by too much hot air, and returns to the poem entire to a firm foundation in the natural world of Gore that is “Gaia all too Gaia.”]
Kindling is placed in the forest
[Scholars have noted this echo of "coals to Newcastle," but more practical readers have observed: "Kindling is pretty much what is found naturally on the forest floor and there's no need to bring it."]
For the lightning’s celebration
[We are approaching the bitter end of this sweet song hymn to the earth with this evocative calling up of the lightning from far heaven on the oft yearned for Walpurgisnacht of the gods. One can almost hear Odin's anvil sing out its warning. If only the progressives had heeded it, but then if Nancy Pelosi had only shared half her Botox with Hillary Clinton both may have survived exposure to the poem.]
The shepherd cries
[If you thought that shepherds were made of sterner stuff, you weren't paying attention in The Silence of the Lambs, were you?]
The hour of choosing has arrived
[Indeed it has and would that many of our dear departed progressive brethren had heeded this warning and stopped reading at this point.]
Here are your tools
[Noose, gun, high ledge at the CBS and New York Times skyscrapers, sleeping pills, cyanide Kool-Aid, self-immolation. All those tools and more were used. And each act was accompanied with the same note: "Al is right. My "hour of choosing" has arrived. I just can't go on inflicting my carbon footprint on the world any longer. I love you, Gaia. Goodbye forever."]
In terms of reducing the carbon load on the planet as well as purifying the air of American Progressive out-gassing, all can agree that this poem was not only Al Gore’s masterpiece but also his most fitting memorial.
Rumors that Gore is still hiding out in Copenhagen disguised as a blonde Danish prostitute are probably untrue, but since the poem was widely distributed to the disastrous “Copenhagen Conference” the bodies are still too thick around the periphery of that city to permit entry. President-Select Palin has promised “a full and complete search of the rubble for the remains of Gore as soon as it is deemed safe for our troops.”
Absolutely hilarious!I am going to send emails too all my Progressive friends and ask them to come here, read the poem, it it’s reassembled form as I did, (I’m immune being a good conservative), and to then act accordingly!! I am still LOL!
It’s always best to start and end the day with a good laugh. They haven’t figured out a way to tax that yet.
We can only wish that these losers would eliminate themselves. . .
If only Al would stand at the stone, crying loudly, “McKuen, come forth” we might hear this poem gravel voiced, of polar bears choking on seal femurs.
Only surpassed by your masterful art review of a certain photographer. Just brilliant stuff.
Please, Sarah Palin, when you are president, name Gerard as our Poet Laureate.
Mr. Van der leun has treated the subject and the odious villian, whose poisonous breath brought his legions to an untimely end, with decent solemnity. Bravo! Long live Gerard, our beloved bard!
Is “written” the right word for Gore’s poem? Most of the lines seem to have been generated independently.
He’s already won a Nobel peace prize. How can the committee possibly deny him one for literature?
Mayhap he will win the Putzer Prize for Litratcher, instead, Bob.
How in the heck did this creep win the popular vote in 2000? Other than John Kerry, I cannot think of anyone in public life any less endearing than Al Gore. He is pompous, insecure, completely devoid of humor, condescending, bitter, hypocritical, intolerant, effeminate, whiny, prone to hissy fits, afraid of confrontation, never answers questions, surrounds himself with sycophants, needs someone to dress him like an “alpha male”, he is a slumlord, swindler, fearmonger, liar, , hysterical, elitist snob.
There once was a poet named Gore
Whose rear was as wide as a door
So great was his gas
He could not pay the tax
And from then on baked beans he foreswore
(OK just to get things started
Spindok
#7
Yes. For this we have people like William Carlos Williams and Billy Collins to thank. Since essentials like meter and rhyme have been largely eliminated from the tool-kits of present day authors, any even marginally literate sap can write so-called poems (prose pieces chopped up to look like poems really), win formerly esteemed prizes, and even become the poet laureate of the U.S. I bet Al Gore is a big, big Billy Collins fan.
Great job Gerard!
“When poets say, ‘I’ve written fifty rhymes,’
They make you dread that they’ll recite them too.”
Writing poetry is a natural human activity, something we all feel the impulse to do at one time or another. But most of us have the sense to keep our poems to ourselves.
Poems are like the private parts of the mind. The average person knows just how silly he’d look parading his before the general public. Celebrities, on the other hand…
Kate: laughter increases respiration, thus increasing carbon-dioxide output. So perhaps they’re trying to find a way to tax laughter after all (and “thingy”, too). And if the poem causes laughter, and laughter increases carbon-dioxide output, is the poem bad for the environment?
I think an environmental-impact study is needed.
Mentula conatur Pipleium scandere montem.
Musae furcillis praecipitem eiciunt.
Prickface tries to scale the heights of poetry.
With pitchforks the Muses poke him back down on his ass.
C. Valerius Catullus, 84-54 B.C.E.
http://www.demosnews.com/piece.php?115.1
“He Lied to us!! He played on our fears!!!” put that one to music…
My my how karma has her way with us….
OK Spindok:
Whatever happens will be armageddon,
I decided one day: that’s what I’m bettin.
The climate was cooling, the fish were still swimming,
How can I continue fleecing the lemmings?
I’ll change the danger that I’ve been warning
To Climate Change, not Global Warming!
With hurricane Katrina and hurricane Ike,
Everyone could see my uncanny foresight.
For who but a leader named Al Gore
is destined to make up an AlGorithm
And establish upon it a new religion?
No matter if CO2 makes plants thrive,
I call it a poison that threatens our lives.
I’ll sell carbon credits as the guilt antidote
Like indulgences were once sold by the Pope.
But what if some scientists say I’m a dope?
No need to argue, it’s all been settled.
They will be shunned, their theories muzzled.
How could a nature program possibly end
without preaching the doom mankind portends?
There’s too much money to be made by my friends.
I treat Mr. Gore’s opus as a damaged MS and reconstructed it to what it could have been before he edited or damaged it. My interpolations (based on the firm science of forensic palæography mixed with a little dendrochronology) turn
One thin September soon
a floating continent disappears
in visions of the midnight sun
into
One thin September soon (that’s gibberish, I know).
a floating incontinent fat man disappears
in visions of the midnight sun with lots of snow.
and
The shepherd cries
The hour of choosing has arrived
here are your tools
becomes
The shepherd cries, “Hey, voters are deluded fools!
The hour of choosing a global hoax has arrived!
I give you man-made warming; here, then, are your tools!”
More poems!
Thank you Gerard van der Leun for one of best satire pieces I have read in recent days and for what follows by posters here.
I was long ago wisely discouraged from any sort of creative writing by my masters at the University. I cannot remember the professorial language for “you suck at this, do something else”. I would have been happy with that but they said it better. That kindly way of saying “you have no future in this department – now go away”.
We have many creative people here at Pajamas Media.
Fire at will!
Spindok
Ah, the light touch of right-wing humor. Jon Stewart doesn’t stand a chance (but hold on to your day job just in case, Gerard).
Dear 2. Kate
Make that two things, for:
There once was a lady of fashion
Who jumped into bed ripe with passion
And said, “Come on, Joe
Let’s have a go ….
That’s one thing the bast**ds can’t ration!
uta yomi wa
heta koso yokere
ametsuchi no
ugokidashite wa
tamaru mono ka wa
a poem is
better off clumsy
the power to move
heaven and earth
is too hot to handle
Yadoya no Meshimori, 1753 – 1830
ROFLMAO!!!
“Do you feel like suicide? (I think you should.)”
~ Queen (Freddie Mercury), “Death on Two Legs (Dedicated to…)”
Lyrics:
“Aah
You suck my blood like a leech
You break the law and you preach
Screw my brain till it hurts
You’ve taken all my money – and you want more
Misguided old mule
With your pigheaded rules
With your narrow-minded cronies who are fools
Of the first division
Death on two legs
You’re tearing me apart
Death on two legs
You never had a heart of your own
Kill joy, bad guy
Big talking, small fry
You’re just an old barrow-boy
Have you found a new toy to replace me
Can you face me
But now you can kiss my ass goodbye
Feel good, are you satisfied ?
Do you feel like suicide (I think you should)
Is your conscience all right
Does it plague you at night
Do you feel good – feel good
Aah
Talk like a big business tycoon
But you’re just a hot-air balloon
So no one gives you a damn
You’re just an overgrown school-boy
Let me tan your hide
A dog with disease
You’re the king of the ‘sleaze’
Put your money where your mouth is Mr. know all
Was the fin on your back part of the deal…(a shark!)
Death on two legs
Tearing me apart
Death on two legs
You’ve never had a heart of your own
(You never did, right from the start)
Insane, you should be put inside
You’re a sewer-rat decaying in a cesspool of pride
Should be made unemployed
Make yourself null-and-void
Make me feel good
I feel good”
Oops. You can click on my name on either post for the link to the song, or here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ffiZPD6Quos
The Bloviating Shepherd Of Lies
On the thin edge of insanity
All logic disappears
As forked mouth starts to spew
A verbal stench arises
From air-conditioned palatial Tennessee mansion
Where he and Neptune soak in hottubs
Bullshit stacked like mountains
Hopeless naiveté floods the seasons
Hard facts dissolve quickly
Then science is politicized
Payoffs placed in bank accounts
For Elitist’s future celebrations
Stark reality
Takes it’s leave
Enforcers ready their whips and chains
Nonsense seeks useful idiots as friends
The hell of audacious empowerment
From a steaming hill of dung has begun
The shepherd of all chicken little cries
The hour to hide the data, trick, or treat, has arrived,
Because …
There is no controlling legal authority.
markusurealious/windpoet
I do not disagree with this writing