La Belle Kara Sans Merci: A BSG Crack-Ballad
Not content with appalling the ghost of Sappho with my crackpoery, I must now make my apologies to Keats. What happens when you combine Keats' verse with "Unfinished Business"? A ballad about pilots that's become a bit more R rated than the original, that's what. This one is dedicated to my lovely f'list for digging lit geekouts -- I love you guys! Look, it's finally done now.
Special thanks and hugs go to the marvelous bop_radar for the beta -- particularly for coming up with the last line of stanza II and the rhyme in the first line of stanza VI, but this crackpoem owes much to her kind and courageous rhyme and meter (or metre) guidance throughout.
This might make a lot more sense if you refresh your memory with La Belle Dame Sans Merci first. (It’s also probably a good idea to read real poetry unsullied by my crack, anyhow.)
* * * *
La Belle Kara Sans Merci
Or, The Beautiful Starbuck without Mercy
I.
O what can ail thee, CAG-at-arms,
Alone and palely loitering?
The algae’s wither’d from the lake,
And no birds sing.
II.
O what can ail thee, CAG-at-arms!
So emo and so woe-begone?
The open bar’s no longer full,
And th’ ambrosia’s gone.
III.
I see a lily on thy brow
With anguish moist and fever dew,
And on thy neck a hickey’s bruise
Fast withereth too.
IV.
“I met a lady in fatigues,
Full beautiful-a bitch’s child,
Her hair was long, her foot was light,
And her eyes were wild.
V.
Her blonde hair whirled around her head,
we eye-frakked as we do-si-do’d;
She look’d at me and I did love,
And made sweet moan.
VI.
She took me to her cabin plot,
And roll’d her eyes, and snark’d full sore,
Until I shut her wild wild eyes
With kisses four.
VII.
She rode me like a pacing steed,
And nothing else saw all night long,
For sidelong would she bend, and grind
Her hips along.
VIII.
Her kisses were of relish sweet,
And cigar butts, and rotgut too,
And sure with giggles strange she cried-
‘I love Lee true.’
IX.
And there she lulled me asleep,
And there I dream’d-Ah! frak betide!
The latest dream I ever dream’d
On the cold field’s side.
X.
I saw pale Majors, and VPs too,
Pale lovers, death-pale were they all;
They cried-‘La Belle Kara sans Merci
Hath thee in thrall!’
XI.
I saw their starved lips in the gloam,
With horrid warning gapèd wide,
And I awoke and found me here,
On the cold field’s side.
XII.
And this is why I sojourn here,
Bereft and palely loitering,
Though the algae’s wither’d from the lake,
And no birds sing.”
* * *
And now, Gentle Reader, if you happened to like this, please consider friending me! The acquaintanceship of those who are fond of Keats, pilots, and/or crackpoetry is always welcome.
ETA: Hungry for more crackpoetry? Check out these by jcathm. She also has a wonderful “Lee Adama Wants YOU To Write Crackpoetry” icon available -- expect more crack-verse from her soon!
Also, don’t miss grapefruitzzz’s divinely inspired piloty take on Yeats - too fabulous. O lord Apollo, may they continue.
Special thanks and hugs go to the marvelous bop_radar for the beta -- particularly for coming up with the last line of stanza II and the rhyme in the first line of stanza VI, but this crackpoem owes much to her kind and courageous rhyme and meter (or metre) guidance throughout.
This might make a lot more sense if you refresh your memory with La Belle Dame Sans Merci first. (It’s also probably a good idea to read real poetry unsullied by my crack, anyhow.)
* * * *
La Belle Kara Sans Merci
Or, The Beautiful Starbuck without Mercy
I.
O what can ail thee, CAG-at-arms,
Alone and palely loitering?
The algae’s wither’d from the lake,
And no birds sing.
II.
O what can ail thee, CAG-at-arms!
So emo and so woe-begone?
The open bar’s no longer full,
And th’ ambrosia’s gone.
III.
I see a lily on thy brow
With anguish moist and fever dew,
And on thy neck a hickey’s bruise
Fast withereth too.
IV.
“I met a lady in fatigues,
Full beautiful-a bitch’s child,
Her hair was long, her foot was light,
And her eyes were wild.
V.
Her blonde hair whirled around her head,
we eye-frakked as we do-si-do’d;
She look’d at me and I did love,
And made sweet moan.
VI.
She took me to her cabin plot,
And roll’d her eyes, and snark’d full sore,
Until I shut her wild wild eyes
With kisses four.
VII.
She rode me like a pacing steed,
And nothing else saw all night long,
For sidelong would she bend, and grind
Her hips along.
VIII.
Her kisses were of relish sweet,
And cigar butts, and rotgut too,
And sure with giggles strange she cried-
‘I love Lee true.’
IX.
And there she lulled me asleep,
And there I dream’d-Ah! frak betide!
The latest dream I ever dream’d
On the cold field’s side.
X.
I saw pale Majors, and VPs too,
Pale lovers, death-pale were they all;
They cried-‘La Belle Kara sans Merci
Hath thee in thrall!’
XI.
I saw their starved lips in the gloam,
With horrid warning gapèd wide,
And I awoke and found me here,
On the cold field’s side.
XII.
And this is why I sojourn here,
Bereft and palely loitering,
Though the algae’s wither’d from the lake,
And no birds sing.”
* * *
And now, Gentle Reader, if you happened to like this, please consider friending me! The acquaintanceship of those who are fond of Keats, pilots, and/or crackpoetry is always welcome.
ETA: Hungry for more crackpoetry? Check out these by jcathm. She also has a wonderful “Lee Adama Wants YOU To Write Crackpoetry” icon available -- expect more crack-verse from her soon!
Also, don’t miss grapefruitzzz’s divinely inspired piloty take on Yeats - too fabulous. O lord Apollo, may they continue.