And another entry by Our Father in Christ(y Kane)
Good morrow kind friends,
I thought it best to greet the day with a sonnet and a song,
winter's frigid breast waxing full with seasonal chill and
bereft of sunny hope for awhile longer.
Tis a nobler thing than not
to honor thy parents
Partners in Kryme
a young emerging bouyon group taking the Caribbean by storm.
Think of those fine 10 weeks atop the charts,
with catchy hit and solemn chanting
of T U R T L E Power.
A fine toast to the green machine,
tribute to the new swing sound,
or so it seemed.
I think fondly on those days of yesteryear,
collapsed in footies in front of the television's
shiny gaping cyclopic eye,
to gaze upon visions of an alternate present
the desired future
and crumbled pasts that never were.
No, never were.
But should have were,
should have whirrrrrrrrrr
I AM THE WALRUS
Coo coo. Ka-choo.
I yearn for the summer days
or anything springly and spritely
to transport me to my beloved
subterranean stomping grounds.
To bask in the glow of golden pizzas,
wizened rats, and green things oozing,
and not oozing. And all sorts of sport.
May those comely virgins return to me,
dancing about the maypole.
For I am alive. LET IT BE KNOWN.
Or. At least. I will be in good time.
When the sun restores in me, vitality
to endure
another blistery season
of frozen calm
and tundra-like conditions
Ad infinitum
lest I escape this chilly fortress of wintertude
for vistas of gold.
And much diabetes.
I thought it best to greet the day with a sonnet and a song,
winter's frigid breast waxing full with seasonal chill and
bereft of sunny hope for awhile longer.
Tis a nobler thing than not
to honor thy parents
Partners in Kryme
a young emerging bouyon group taking the Caribbean by storm.
Think of those fine 10 weeks atop the charts,
with catchy hit and solemn chanting
of T U R T L E Power.
A fine toast to the green machine,
tribute to the new swing sound,
or so it seemed.
I think fondly on those days of yesteryear,
collapsed in footies in front of the television's
shiny gaping cyclopic eye,
to gaze upon visions of an alternate present
the desired future
and crumbled pasts that never were.
No, never were.
But should have were,
should have whirrrrrrrrrr
I AM THE WALRUS
Coo coo. Ka-choo.
I yearn for the summer days
or anything springly and spritely
to transport me to my beloved
subterranean stomping grounds.
To bask in the glow of golden pizzas,
wizened rats, and green things oozing,
and not oozing. And all sorts of sport.
May those comely virgins return to me,
dancing about the maypole.
For I am alive. LET IT BE KNOWN.
Or. At least. I will be in good time.
When the sun restores in me, vitality
to endure
another blistery season
of frozen calm
and tundra-like conditions
Ad infinitum
lest I escape this chilly fortress of wintertude
for vistas of gold.
And much diabetes.