Hello. We don’t
know who the fuck you are.
Presumably you’ve done some nasty shit.
We’re here to guarantee you pay for it.
We’re gonna kill you in your fucking car.
You’ve done it now; you’ve really gone too far.
Your demographics are a perfect fit.
Google terrorist: you’re the first hit.
We’ll drone your ass and then we’ll hit the bar.
Oh, um, we also got your kids and wife,
your goats, your fields, your buddy who stopped by
to catch a lift on market day; though we
regret all unintended loss of life,
we knew that one of you was number three,
or near enough to number three to die.
26 comments:
Nicely done.
interesting rhyme scheme
Well, they've finally done it. They've killed me in my fucking car.
Perfect. Obama in a nutshell. Liberals are swooning.
Want it in writing
I owe you nothin' ...
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TzrK2fAJHKg
Oh be serious. This stuff is not happening. Drones are imagination figments. We use fancy manned helicopters that sometimes crash into the ground.
-Anonymous because I don't know how to use the other options.
Hey, it's something to du.
That was so good about so bad. We're evil people, no question..
The Dr. Seuss of "Death From Above"!
"Mussolini’s son, Bruno, wrote a lyrical description of what it was like to watch Ethiopians explode like petals when he dropped his bombs among them."
http://www.counterpunch.org/2011/04/05/100-years-of-bombing-libya/
I will have more to say about the poem itself qua poem, but not until the lumpencommentariat have had a chance to strut their brittle for us.
given the existence as uttered forth in the public works of puncher and wattmann of a personal god quaquaquaqua with white beard quaquaquaqua outside time without extension who from the heights of divine apathia divine athambia divine aphasia loves us dearly with some exceptions for reasons unknown but time will tell...
The rivers are full of crocodile nasties
And He who made kittens put snakes in the grass
He's a lover of life but a player of pawns
ioz, read this right after reading c. floyd's latest on obomba reading aquinas before he picks the next target for his personal global kill squad.
fuck....
baron barak harkonnen obomba...these politicians make me want to vomit in terror.
nonny@8:32
Be very careful. Beint anti-Harkonnen is being anti-Semitic (dontcha know Herbert was anti-Semitic) and you risk an AIPAC-sponsored response from Inky.
You'll have more to say about the poem itself qua poem? You have more to say about everything else qua everything else so why wouldn't have more to say about the poem itself qua poem? What you fail to understand is that you provide more than anyone could possibly want more than.
Ill be sharing my short story about an Italian infantry man who deserts and marries a local, giving birth to the last of the house of Menalik. Or you may purchase a copy at Penguin.. Or Qua va fan culo.
Isn't that the plot of The Secret of Santa Vittoria?
Qua poem:
English poetry appears to favor a particular kind of prosody to express moral outrage, particularly when this outrage is expressed sardonically.
It is instructive in this respect to compare the prosody in M'sieur's poem above to e.e.cumming's poem about Olaf:
http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/15408
i sing of Olaf glad and big
by E. E. Cummings
XXX
i sing of Olaf glad and big
whose warmest heart recoiled at war:
a conscientious object-or
his wellbelovéd colonel(trig
westpointer most succinctly bred)
took erring Olaf soon in hand;
but--though an host of overjoyed
noncoms(first knocking on the head
him)do through icy waters roll
that helplessness which others stroke
with brushes recently employed
anent this muddy toiletbowl,
while kindred intellects evoke
allegiance per blunt instruments--
Olaf(being to all intents
a corpse and wanting any rag
upon what God unto him gave)
responds,without getting annoyed
"I will not kiss your fucking flag"
straightway the silver bird looked grave
(departing hurriedly to shave)
but--though all kinds of officers
(a yearning nation's blueeyed pride)
their passive prey did kick and curse
until for wear their clarion
voices and boots were much the worse,
and egged the firstclassprivates on
his rectum wickedly to tease
by means of skilfully applied
bayonets roasted hot with heat--
Olaf(upon what were once knees)
does almost ceaselessly repeat
"there is some shit I will not eat"
our president,being of which
assertions duly notified
threw the yellowsonofabitch
into a dungeon,where he died
Christ(of His mercy infinite)
i pray to see;and Olaf,too
preponderatingly because
unless statistics lie he was
more brave than me:more blond than you.
The double-lettered dolt, lacking days
Wherein to find a poem to show he's read,
Remembered deep within his pompous head
That the "olaf" one was worth his bloggy praise.
As poems go it had it all, its grace
And childish swing, its awful, building dread,
Its tragedy well-rhymed from heart to head,
Its hero quite angelic amidst his demon race.
But poor pacific olaf's not a wall
To hide one's eerie, lazy ass behind.
A sonnet Cummings wrote might lend you smarts!
If you would plan to comment here at all,
And want us give your wit but half a mind,
Quote a propos of something, or do not start.
re nonny@11:30
As I've repeatedly said, the snark here is among the best on the net, and I am pleased to do my part to bring it out in people.
That poem, qua poem, was truly excellent doggerel.
Now that you've complimented yourself for recalling a Cummings poem, go ahead and compliment yourself for occasioning a lampoon.
Actually, nonny@2:23, I'll do one better than that. I'll give you an anti-war "reverse sonnet" which is actually very much in the spirit of M'sieur's post and the cummings poem:
****
Cry Uncle
Tammy's Uncle Jerry passed away
at home in Alabama yesterday,
who didn't choose to go but what the heck
he said, and joined the least generation,
thereby earning the Agent Orange check
that would be his from a grateful nation.
Although I met him once, I didn't know
him any better than I ever knew
my Uncle Julie, who begged his Mom to go
at seventeen because he was a Jew,
and who never knew he'd be enrolled
somewhere in England on a graven list
of those for whom some English bell had tolled
so Jerry could be drafted or enlist.
*****
See?
This is one of the reasons I read here - where else could I find sonneteers (M'sieur and our anonymous lampooner) who are as good as I am?
Lol no "The secret Santa of SALO" you have a good chance of getting a box of shit or a pastry.
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