Saturday, September 16, 2006

Since this Category Four Teacup Monsoon


shows little sign of abating, might as well batten down and discuss it calmly.

And as always, I find one must eventually turn to poetry to make cool and sober sense of the tangle of modern life.

Because, as Shelley once said, "Poets are the unacknowledged ta-ta wranglers of the world."


First, "Dirty Pink Pillows":

so much depends
upon

the dirty pink
pillows

glazed with gray
sweater

beside the white
bloggers.

-- William Carlos “Tit King” Williams


Next, the stark "Won’t-a-man-date-us"

I met a traveler from Wisconsin land
Who said: A flat and ashen poon of stone
Stands in Madison. Near it, on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,

Tell that its sculptor well those passions read,
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The blog that mocked them, and the heart that’s dead,
And on the pedestal these words appear:

"My name is Won’tamandateus, Queen of Spleens:
Look upon my posts, ye young and pretty, and despair!"


Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that tenured wreck, manless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.

-- Percy Bysshe “Really more of an ass man, but don’t tell Mary” Shelley


Then the haunting "The Whine of the Ancient Harridan" -- Part I

It is an ancient Harridan,
And she bloggeth for all to see.
`By thy withered dug and boohoo eye,
Now wherefore stopp'st thou me ?'

The Big Dog's meetup is opened wide,
And I am next to greet;
The guests are met, the feast is set :
But she’s bitching about some teat.

She holds me with her skinny hand,
'There was a tit!' quoth she.
`Hold off ! unhand me, greytard loon !'
Eftsoons her hand dropt she.


-- Samuel “Senior Fun Bags” Coleridge



And, finally, inevitably, "The High Road Not Taken"

TWO breast converged in a light gray top,
And sorry I could not handle both
And be one blogger, long I stood
And looked down as far as I could.
Down my nose at this lovely youth;

Then I busted out, most unfair,
Making loud and idiotic claims.
Because she was young and wanted wear;
Which made me blog and tear my hair
Now I watch my rep go up in flames,

Because on that morning I rose to slay
That cussed child with the hair of black.
Oh, I kept it up for another day!
Yet knowing how “back” leads on to “pay”,
I doubted if I shall ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a lie
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Feminism hung by a thread, and I—
I blogged the low road traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.


-- Robert “My milkshake brings all the boys to the yard” Frost



Ah, the classics!

23 comments:

tech98 said...

Sweeeet!

Gentlewoman said...

Robert “My milkshake brings all the boys to the yard” Frost

You crack me up.

cieran said...

And don't forget:

every wingnut is a bit
of quite unmitigated bullshit
(travelling in a futile groove
god knows why)
and so do i
(because they are afraid of Rove)


e.e. "kumrad" cummings

Anonymous said...

How can we forget Mr Yeats?

How can I, that girl standing there,
My attention fix
On Roman or on Russian
Or on Spanish politics?
Yet here's a travelled man that knows
What he talks about,
And there's a politician
That has read and thought,
And maybe what they say is true
Of war and war's alarms,
But O that I were young again
And held her in my arms



PwapVt

the bewilderness said...

T'was brillig and the slithy toves did gyre and gimble in the wabe.

cleter said...

When in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes
I all alone beweep my outcast state,
And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries,
And look upon myself, and curse my fate,
Wishing me like the man from Hope,
Featured like him, like him with friends possessed,
Desiring this man's art, and that man's scope,
With what I most enjoy contented least;
Yet in these thoughts my self almost despising,
Haply I think of the Clenis, then my state,
Like to the lark at break of day arising
From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven's gate;
For thy sweet love remembered such...

Kid Charlemagne said...

Drifty--when I go to your site on my home PC, my Spyware Doctor Cookie Guard keeps popping up with cookie-removal messages. Whaddupwiddat?

Kid Charlemagne said...

Oh, wait, I had two sites open; I'll close the other and see what happens.

OK, maybe the other one was the problem.

As Miss Latella would say, "Never mind."

JJ the Inquisitive said...

Got here from Feministe, and hooo boy, that is some of the funniest satire I have ever read. Well done, my friend.

This whole thing is so ridiculous.

roxtar said...

Quoth the Raven, "Nice rack!"

Gaias-child said...

Jeez, Drifty, what a treasure trove, even your commentators crack me up.

L. Dunnagan said...

"Alas, poor junior...a neurosis-riddled entitled fratrat of infinite jest.

Aye, Goatboy; where be your jibes now?"


Mad, mad, Driftglass....Love it!
:o)

I can't resist a little Doc Watson:

"You get a line and I'll get a pole, and we'll go fishin' in the Baghdad moat-hole..."

(As soon as the construction contracts have been let to Halliburton, after all of the ferociously competitive bidding...)

cleter said...

Drifty,
May I use the phrase "graytard loon?"
Thanks.

clarke said...

And what rough breast, its hour come round at last...

Anne Althouse: 20 centuries of stony sleep vexed to nightmare by a rockin' bod.

Anonymous said...

ahh...mnm...I didn't know.
Corona O Connell

driftglass said...

Well this has been fun, and you're all far too clever for your own good.

Perhaps next time, "The 'Areolian' Harp" by Coleridge ;-)

PwapVt said...

Or mayhaps my next duchess?

Darren Mallory said...

Very nice post thanks for that.
Financial Blog

Mr. Natural said...

WAIT A MINUTE, WAIT A MINUTE...WAIT A GODDAMNED MINUTE! I followed all the links I could in and out of this story, and it LOOKS TO ME as if the Gand Old Pedophiles have a cheerleading section of WIERDER THAN USUAL MENTAL PERVERTS! WOW MAN, HOODA THUNK IT?

Having tits in proximity of Bill Clinton, indeed!

Anonymous said...

Whose jugs these are I think I know
Her heart longs to be Big Dog's ho'
My creaking paps are withered sere
My cracked lips jealous smoke do blow.

From "Crapping on the Bawds on a Slow Evening."

parsec

Inkblot said...

smart selection. lol!

Anonymous said...

Driftlymon, one of your sickest yet and greatly appreciated, especially the Williams, a twist of one of my favorites.

L. Dunnagan said...

"Whose jugs these are I think I know..."

:o)