How comest thy part in this tale?
And who dared enlarge it so far
That, bloated, thou staggerest onward,
And thy role doth so hopelessly mar?
The footsteps thou strivest to follow
Are truly so small and so light,
That any attempt that thou makest
Goes blundering into the night.
Thou ought to be small, unoffensive,
And not go out wandering so much,
Chasing Gondorian Rangers,
Whose hearts thou so gropingly clutch.
Hypnosis by brain-waves thou sendest
To a gullible soul far away.
Thy necklace, a chain ever-clanking,
Obsesseth him day after day.
Thou seest how low is thy standing
In the favor of one, which is me.
I think that thou long ago should have
Been drowned on thy way o’er the sea.
Thou askest now why I am speaking
To thee, whom I esteemest so low?
I’m done now, but why did I bother?
Ask not, because nobody knows.
~Tierney Erwin
p.s. Since my reputation is worth so much, and hangs already on a thread so fine, I feel compelled to point out that 1) I wrote this years ago (I forget how many), and 2) even then, the formal English (thee, thou, -est, etc....what is that called, anyway?) was bad on purpose.
There. Now I feel better.
26 February 2009
07 February 2009
The Adventures of Biff and Iguana Man
"No throwing babies," the sign in the window said.
I stopped to gawk and wonder, and then to scratch my head.
I stood there for a moment, then I turned myself around;
I watched, with grave suspicion, the goings-on in town.
A woman swept the sidewalk while the grocer stacked his wares;
Some boys were playing freeze tag, and a girl sat on some stairs;
A teen, complete with ipod, with great effort parked his car,
And near a blowout sale rack, two young moms played tug-of-war;
A new car passed an old one, and a moped passed them both;
A couple lovebirds waltzed on air, apparently betrothed.
Upon this scene of normalcy I gazed with some alarm--
What dreadful secrets lay beneath this fair facade of charm?
What possibly could spur the drawing up of such a sign?
Were babies really being thrown? A shiver smote my spine.
For a time I stood there frozen, then my Inner Hero stirred;
“Well, don’t just sit and slobber! Get your cape, you lousy bird!”
To my face these words were spoken! I could scarce believe the spite,
But I didn’t pause to answer, for I knew that he was right.
And, besides, my Inner Hero (though heroic to a fault)
Is known to lean toward rudeness. Indeed, perfect he is not.
So I thundered to my pickup with my nostrils bravely flared;
A cape is in my trunk, you see. I always come prepared.
I flung it round my neck, and in its blueish-green embrace
A new Me took the spotlight, though I kept the same round face.
My hat was pulled down to my eyes; my collar touched my ears;
I was, as has been wisely said, among evil’s darkest fears.
I tore across the pavement, kicking sparks up in my wake;
My heart was pounding wildly, but I swear it didn’t quake.
When I reached the storefront window, with that awful sign inside,
I paused to shake my fist, and then I flung the front door wide.
The splendor of my coming would have scared a warlord stiff,
But the freckled kid inside just laughed (his name was likely Biff).
He had braces and bifocals, and he laughed like choking cats;
I couldn’t help but loathe him, but I stalked to where he sat.
“Tell me now where I must venture,” were my words to that young bloke,
“To avenge these hard-tossed infants.” And I gave his face a poke.
With the benefit of hindsight, that last gesture was not wise,
For immediately upon it, greenish flames flicked in his eyes.
“Did you just poke my face?” he rasped. What could I say but “yes”?
And what precisely happened next is anybody’s guess.
I tried to keep my balance, but that kid was quick and fierce;
The strength with which he kicked me quite defied his tender years.
We tumbled on the floor then, getting jabs in when we could;
Of this art I am a master, but this Biff guy sure was good.
At last I broke his hold and stood and grabbed a whiteish flag;
“Oh say,” I said, “Why not be pals? This fighting’s such a drag.”
He gave an awful gurgle and made three more well-aimed kicks,
Then he grinned a silly grin and said, “Ok. Let’s call it quits.”
With relief my soul was flooded now; I wrung his sweaty paw;
Then, “You must be Iguana Man,” he said in startled awe.
I smiled and blushed a little bit, for what he said was true;
Then, out of common courtesy, I asked, “And who are you?”
“My name is Biff,” quoth he, to which I said, “I thought as much.”
(A face like his, I thought, no other name could justly touch.)
“Are you looking for a job, Biff? For your wallop’s got pizzazz,
And a sidekick’s something I’ve not got, but really ought to have.”
Such radiance seized Biff’s features that it rather hurt my eyes,
And he gave a harsh, elated squeak, in affirmative reply.
“Come on now, Biff,” I said then, “There are babies to be saved.
Someone has been throwing them; let’s crush the errant knaves!”
Biff yodeled, and he set off down the street at such a pace
That I had to rent a scooter just to keep up with the chase.
For many blocks we sped thus, till we reached the edge of town,
Then Biff pulled up so sharply that I nearly mowed him down.
“This is it,” he whispered hoarsely, “This is where they toss the babes,
But they tranquilize the infants, so their cries don’t wake the nabes.”
“The fiends,” I darkly muttered, and with stealth we crept inside.
Then Biff got really nervous, and he said we’d better hide.
“They meet here every Tuesday right at seven, and that’s soon.
Let’s hide here in the closet, then we’ll snag the wretched goons.”
A first-rate plan I thought it, so we hid among the coats—
The reek of must and mothballs was so strong it hurt my throat.
We didn’t suffer long, though, for there soon arose a din,
So we crowded to the keyhole to peek outside from within.
There was padding on the floor, and there was padding on the walls;
There were men in padded jumpsuits (some were short and some were tall).
There were cradles in the corners. There were babies all about
(They were wrapped up snug in blankets, with their faces poking out).
Then a great and solemn silence swept the chatter off its feet,
And there rose a muffled humming, and a soft but steady beat.
Then a man strode to the infants and he gently picked one up,
And with fluid, swift dexterity he slung the helpless pup;
Another silent man reached out and snatched it from the air.
I didn’t scream, but this I did: I pulled out half my hair.
As one body, Biff and I leapt out; we cried, “Lay down your arms!
Place the babies in the cradles, or you’ll certainly be harmed.
We are trained in Russian boxing, and we know a hundred tricks;
We have written epic poems, and we sometimes swallow bricks.”
Now, I cannot say with certainty that all of this is true,
But things were looking desperate, and, well, what else could we do?
It did the trick, at any rate—those brutes spun out and fled,
And we chased them round in circles till we all were almost dead.
At last the fiends surrendered, and they hung their heads in shame;
I told them that, if I were them, I would surely do the same.
Then Biff scooped up the babies, while I dragged the crooks to jail;
By sunset we were satisfied that one more case was nailed.
I was pleased with my new sidekick, who, though ugly as a toad,
Was very good at boxing, and with valor was bestowed.
We stood out on a hilltop then, my partner Biff and I.
We didn’t have to say a word—the same glints were in our eyes.
The world was now a safer place; our day’s good deed was done,
So we kicked back, had a beer, and watched the setting of the sun.
The End.
I stopped to gawk and wonder, and then to scratch my head.
I stood there for a moment, then I turned myself around;
I watched, with grave suspicion, the goings-on in town.
A woman swept the sidewalk while the grocer stacked his wares;
Some boys were playing freeze tag, and a girl sat on some stairs;
A teen, complete with ipod, with great effort parked his car,
And near a blowout sale rack, two young moms played tug-of-war;
A new car passed an old one, and a moped passed them both;
A couple lovebirds waltzed on air, apparently betrothed.
Upon this scene of normalcy I gazed with some alarm--
What dreadful secrets lay beneath this fair facade of charm?
What possibly could spur the drawing up of such a sign?
Were babies really being thrown? A shiver smote my spine.
For a time I stood there frozen, then my Inner Hero stirred;
“Well, don’t just sit and slobber! Get your cape, you lousy bird!”
To my face these words were spoken! I could scarce believe the spite,
But I didn’t pause to answer, for I knew that he was right.
And, besides, my Inner Hero (though heroic to a fault)
Is known to lean toward rudeness. Indeed, perfect he is not.
So I thundered to my pickup with my nostrils bravely flared;
A cape is in my trunk, you see. I always come prepared.
I flung it round my neck, and in its blueish-green embrace
A new Me took the spotlight, though I kept the same round face.
My hat was pulled down to my eyes; my collar touched my ears;
I was, as has been wisely said, among evil’s darkest fears.
I tore across the pavement, kicking sparks up in my wake;
My heart was pounding wildly, but I swear it didn’t quake.
When I reached the storefront window, with that awful sign inside,
I paused to shake my fist, and then I flung the front door wide.
The splendor of my coming would have scared a warlord stiff,
But the freckled kid inside just laughed (his name was likely Biff).
He had braces and bifocals, and he laughed like choking cats;
I couldn’t help but loathe him, but I stalked to where he sat.
“Tell me now where I must venture,” were my words to that young bloke,
“To avenge these hard-tossed infants.” And I gave his face a poke.
With the benefit of hindsight, that last gesture was not wise,
For immediately upon it, greenish flames flicked in his eyes.
“Did you just poke my face?” he rasped. What could I say but “yes”?
And what precisely happened next is anybody’s guess.
I tried to keep my balance, but that kid was quick and fierce;
The strength with which he kicked me quite defied his tender years.
We tumbled on the floor then, getting jabs in when we could;
Of this art I am a master, but this Biff guy sure was good.
At last I broke his hold and stood and grabbed a whiteish flag;
“Oh say,” I said, “Why not be pals? This fighting’s such a drag.”
He gave an awful gurgle and made three more well-aimed kicks,
Then he grinned a silly grin and said, “Ok. Let’s call it quits.”
With relief my soul was flooded now; I wrung his sweaty paw;
Then, “You must be Iguana Man,” he said in startled awe.
I smiled and blushed a little bit, for what he said was true;
Then, out of common courtesy, I asked, “And who are you?”
“My name is Biff,” quoth he, to which I said, “I thought as much.”
(A face like his, I thought, no other name could justly touch.)
“Are you looking for a job, Biff? For your wallop’s got pizzazz,
And a sidekick’s something I’ve not got, but really ought to have.”
Such radiance seized Biff’s features that it rather hurt my eyes,
And he gave a harsh, elated squeak, in affirmative reply.
“Come on now, Biff,” I said then, “There are babies to be saved.
Someone has been throwing them; let’s crush the errant knaves!”
Biff yodeled, and he set off down the street at such a pace
That I had to rent a scooter just to keep up with the chase.
For many blocks we sped thus, till we reached the edge of town,
Then Biff pulled up so sharply that I nearly mowed him down.
“This is it,” he whispered hoarsely, “This is where they toss the babes,
But they tranquilize the infants, so their cries don’t wake the nabes.”
“The fiends,” I darkly muttered, and with stealth we crept inside.
Then Biff got really nervous, and he said we’d better hide.
“They meet here every Tuesday right at seven, and that’s soon.
Let’s hide here in the closet, then we’ll snag the wretched goons.”
A first-rate plan I thought it, so we hid among the coats—
The reek of must and mothballs was so strong it hurt my throat.
We didn’t suffer long, though, for there soon arose a din,
So we crowded to the keyhole to peek outside from within.
There was padding on the floor, and there was padding on the walls;
There were men in padded jumpsuits (some were short and some were tall).
There were cradles in the corners. There were babies all about
(They were wrapped up snug in blankets, with their faces poking out).
Then a great and solemn silence swept the chatter off its feet,
And there rose a muffled humming, and a soft but steady beat.
Then a man strode to the infants and he gently picked one up,
And with fluid, swift dexterity he slung the helpless pup;
Another silent man reached out and snatched it from the air.
I didn’t scream, but this I did: I pulled out half my hair.
As one body, Biff and I leapt out; we cried, “Lay down your arms!
Place the babies in the cradles, or you’ll certainly be harmed.
We are trained in Russian boxing, and we know a hundred tricks;
We have written epic poems, and we sometimes swallow bricks.”
Now, I cannot say with certainty that all of this is true,
But things were looking desperate, and, well, what else could we do?
It did the trick, at any rate—those brutes spun out and fled,
And we chased them round in circles till we all were almost dead.
At last the fiends surrendered, and they hung their heads in shame;
I told them that, if I were them, I would surely do the same.
Then Biff scooped up the babies, while I dragged the crooks to jail;
By sunset we were satisfied that one more case was nailed.
I was pleased with my new sidekick, who, though ugly as a toad,
Was very good at boxing, and with valor was bestowed.
We stood out on a hilltop then, my partner Biff and I.
We didn’t have to say a word—the same glints were in our eyes.
The world was now a safer place; our day’s good deed was done,
So we kicked back, had a beer, and watched the setting of the sun.
The End.
03 February 2009
my flitting thoughts light briefly hereon...
...in other words, here are a few things I've been thinking about lately. This is my excuse for a blog post when I lack the motivation or subject matter to write anything of my own.
Though He slay me, yet will I trust Him.
-Job 13:15
Oh Master, grant that I may never seek
So much to be consoled as to console,
To be understood as to understand,
Or to be loved as to love with all my soul.
-a song
I cannot think well of a man who sports with any woman's feelings; and there may often be a great deal more suffered than a stander-by can judge of.
-Jane Austen
And Jesus answered and said to her, "Martha, Martha, you are worried and troubled about many things."
-Luke 10:41
It takes no courage whatsoever to type alone in my study. Especially when I'm typing for a safe audience.
-Andree Seu
For mad scientists who keep brains in jars, here's a tip: why not add a slice of lemon to each jar, for freshness?
-Jack Handey
Time sneaks up on you like a windshield on a bug.
-John Lithgow
Though He slay me, yet will I trust Him.
-Job 13:15
Oh Master, grant that I may never seek
So much to be consoled as to console,
To be understood as to understand,
Or to be loved as to love with all my soul.
-a song
I cannot think well of a man who sports with any woman's feelings; and there may often be a great deal more suffered than a stander-by can judge of.
-Jane Austen
And Jesus answered and said to her, "Martha, Martha, you are worried and troubled about many things."
-Luke 10:41
It takes no courage whatsoever to type alone in my study. Especially when I'm typing for a safe audience.
-Andree Seu
For mad scientists who keep brains in jars, here's a tip: why not add a slice of lemon to each jar, for freshness?
-Jack Handey
Time sneaks up on you like a windshield on a bug.
-John Lithgow
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