Well at Least He Didn't Cry
Extremely busy day for TB so imagine blogging will be light. Off to Copenhagen...
He thought he would leave you with
Al Gore's poem
that has been written for the most important meeting of mankind ever:One thin September soonSomeone pass a revolver.
A floating continent disappears
In midnight sun
Vapors rise as
Fever settles on an acid sea
Neptune's bones dissolve
Snow glides from the mountain
Ice fathers floods for a season
A hard rain comes quickly
Then dirt is parched
Kindling is placed in the forest
For the lightning's celebration
Unknown creatures
Take their leave, unmourned
Horsemen ready their stirrups
Passion seeks heroes and friends
The bell of the city
On the hill is rung
The shepherd cries
The hour of choosing has arrived
Here are your tools
Posts
3 comments:
As Gore stepped down from off the plane
He said "You know that's funny.
It's really fucking chilly here
Let's go and make some money."
What a twat
5 mins hard toil, a much improved poem :
THE VICE-PRECEDENT
One thick Vice-Prez soon -
floating like a lost continent - disappears
to where the midnight sun never shines.
Noxious vapours rise as
his fevers settle. On an placid sea
Neptune's bones revolve gravely -
to a hornpipe.
Snow glides from the mountain
Ice fathers floods for a reason.
Rain comes easily, quickly :
the parched dirt is nourished.
Kindly placed in the forest
for mankind’s celebration
by unknown creatures
are altars of praise - the green terror has imploded,
taken its leave, very unmourned.
Horsemen ready their stirrups,
passion seeks heroes, real friends.
The bells of all the cities
on the hills and dales are ringing
as the shepherds cry for joy.
Their hour of choosing has arrived
Gore, that glaikit tool, is fully exposed ....
Alan McAlpine Douglas
glaik•it - adj. Chiefly Scot.
foolish; giddy; flighty.