Poetry Slam
O dark early morn, 'fore the sun doth rise
'Fore the wee birds a-chirp in the leaves of the treeses
How I love to rest within thy breast, close mine tired eyes
To thine beauty, thine quiet, and thine softly whispering breezes.
Ahh; to sleep, perchance to dream
Whilst the morning stars, moon, and the fireflies seem
Preternaturally powerful against the blackened sky,
Some live for their sights! But nay, not I;
I seek naught but slumber, whilst the hours pass by
I seek naught but silence, as in Target sheets I lie.
A ferocious clamor outside mine window glass!
Encroaches upon my lullaby, what crisis hath come to pass?
An atrocious manner of awakening mine ass!
Too precocious, too alarming, for this over-exhausted lass.
I hasten to the pane to see what could be the matter,
Who should, so early, so wrongly, be causing such a clatter?
Who would seek to be so surly as to create such a ruckus?
Those Tom-Petty-concert-parking-lot-looking-motherfuckers!
Mine eyes, they open wide, then they narrow into slits,
As I hastily plot revenge, in detail, bit by bit.
The engines howl and scream and whine, useless are the police,
I merely seek to redeem what's rightfully mine; peace. O blessed peace.
Storm from the bed chamber! Run to the door! Into the yard!
My feet, they barely gloss the floor; I am full guard! Streaming curses
I lunge for the lawnmower, edger, hedger, and leafblower,
Soon it shall be over, soon it shall be over.
I reclaim the weedeater and start to beat the mouthbreathers,
They scatter and they flee but they shan't escape me!
They should not have made so soon, such a thunderous sound
For now I shall not rest, until I hunt each of those bastards down.
You! With the yellow ribbon glued to the butt of your riding mower!
You are an idiot, a lout, an oaf, a buffoon;
And you are mistaken to believe that I am slower
For the trimmer now revs for thee, you obnoxious maroon.
Fueled by the fiery hatred of a million burning suns
I go a-chopping mullets, one by one by one by one
Shreds of stringy greasy hair, they now alight the morning lawn
They shimmer so prettily with the goose poop, shining 'neath the birthing dawn
Never shall such cacophony disturb any of us forevermore,
The yard guys hath been silenced, and peace hast been restored.
posted by Jen @ 11:29 AM
11 comments
11 Comments:
O truly wondrous and most excellent poesy.
hahahahaha
We have yard guys around here, too, that wake me up on a regular basis. Leaf blowers make me nearly explode with frustration, though I will say that the guy who works on the house next door, who seems to have a soft spot for us based largely on Cara's fluency in Spanish, is constantly cleaning up the leaves from our front, too, when we're not looking.
Which reminds me that I need to get that guy a six pack or something. I'm ashamed that to find out what he likes, I'm going to have to make Cara ask him. I start my first-ever Spanish class in a few days, and I'm glad to have a live-in tutor. ;)
Thanks, Andi!
Spit: if she's quite fluent, then once you get a basic vocabulary, ask her if she will talk to you only en Espanol for weeks on end; it will help loads. I stayed with a Colombian girlfriend & family once for a few weeks (in a part of South FL where Spanish is the primary language in shops, etc. as well) and my Spanish improved immeasurably. Alas, it's been years and I've lost a chunk of it since.
She's pretty fluent -- lived in Spain for a while, though that means of course that she doesn't always get the latin american slang, though that's improved from working at the public library, I suspect. She already keeps harrassing me by switching into Spanish for simple things, like getting her ingredients for recipes. At some point when I feel remotely capable, I will probably do just what you're saying.
It'll be good. I think it's impossible to learn any language well through classes alone, though they give good insight on grammar and the like. The only way to really get a language is to use it as much as possible, IMO, and I also live in one of the better neighborhoods for that in Sacramento.
It's why I still suck at French -- took years of classes in it, and I still know the grammar, but it's not something that comes up in CA very often, so my vocabulary is shit (though now we have fun new neighbors who speak a dialect from Benin, and seem willing to humor my poor skills and strange curiosities, which is also exciting).
I have tried to learn French and failed miserably. It totally makes me hot, though. ;p
Heh. Well, unfortunately I don't speak it well, so in my case it might only make you lukewarm or somewhat tepid.
If I were remotely interested in straight men, I'd be all over one of the new neighbors, actually. Damn, he's got a nice body. And he speaks French.
As it is, so far we've agreed that our households must barbecue together soon. I'm just happy we got the good sort of weirdos -- I was really worried we'd wind up with yuppies next door. We have a bit of a plague of them around here lately.
Lord, I don't think I could stay on a single topic if my life depended on it. School starts next week, I'd better start tying up my brain to a post somewhere nearby...
Kinda funny how pretty much the only thing we haven't employed child labor to mass produce is Yuppie B-Gone Spray. World sure could use some of that. Or maybe some candles, like those citronella deals...
Yuppie-B-Gone is also known as Reasonably High Crime Rate. I don't think they'll stay in this neighborhood for very long, honestly -- we've gotten it far less badly here than many neighborhoods in other parts of the city. The tradeoff for that is that our house has been broken into three times, but that's part of why we got a goofy and sweet but very noisy dog, and we've had zero trouble since.
When I lived in the most heavily gentrifying part of downtown for a while, I used to joke that we should all start a Neighborhood Gentrification Watch, from which we would all get routes to wander around at 2 am pushing shopping carts, smashing beer bottles, and cussing at stray cats for about three hours, just to keep the rent low.
It sounds like you encountered the southern Ohio "greasy ramen noodle mullet" which I thought became extinct in the mid 90s.
Spit: Makes sense. Sometimes the best antidote comes from the same source as the toxin it's intended to treat, and both yuppiehood and petty neighborhood crime are traceable to the roots of the Fear-of-Poverty Tree. Of course, we should all try to scare the hell out of yuppies at 2am just on general principles.
Laura: I firmly believe that the mullet follows the the basic rule of matter; being neither created nor destroyed, it only changes form over time.
The Crocodile Hunter had a mullet... I wonder if he was anywhere near Jen's window when she went a-chopping mullets?
Nice poemage!
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