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Rebuttal
Contributed by
screwge
on
Saturday, 14th June 2008 @ 05:30:31 AM in AEST
Topic:
sarcasticpoetry
|
When you have emerged
From your Precambrian chamber -- and splurged
On the perquisites of today, with a jarring fit
Of seizing -- then absconding -- so as not to revisit,
And elected to rebuttal
With a prodigal scuttle,
Clouds protesting like embattled lungs
And you climbing sterile rungs
Of a place not much more than an aesthetic crime --
Stomping, stomping on your slime,
And you have begun the robotic clinching
Of a greenish destiny, not without flinching
(An ancient era that worked hard, save surcease,
Deserves, not our amenities, but a modern police
A little cosmopolitan, but in the form of gang --
Yes, indeed, a little transcendent, part orangutan)
(For, I am told that this epoch,
Even post-apocalyptic,
Will long endure with a flurry
Of plastic inhibiting scurry)
(It isa kind of avalanche
If only it could make slate and blanche!
But instead, it simply topples; with a few pitiful logos,
It echoes very tinny echoes)
(Admittedly, we have been pampered, pampered flaccid
In the doting, bloated acid
Of this epochs pouring rain:
I do complain, I do complain!),
You shall glimpse asylum,
Shall find tradition like a rattled drum,
But theres little substance for armistice --
You, the atavist, bagging injustice.
The lack of germs will have strong effect!
Ive been notified of no prefect.
And can your body handle dairy?
Ive not been notified of this crucial corollary.
Indeed, indeed I was wrote
That you were not some prokaryote.
Indeed I researched your every fetish --
But only when I imagined you with Eye of Fish.
And that long-sought-after tradition!
You might hear a puerile, misguided gunshot
After a father-and-child trot,
And see berries in their schoolhouse cliques,
Their thorns refuting outer licks.
The father reaches out a limp finger like Adam,
Touches the fruit, says with conviction, Damn
This world of petty bombast.
He mourns each luxury that he will outlast --
And certainly youll miss great Hulking Beast
Of desiccated storm clouds inching East,
An oppression, critics will say, is quite outmoded,
But they are cyber-mongers; they are overloaded.
Caustic smothering clouds of moss!
To be dismissed not your, nor their, loss,
But you will have emerged -- the dust to settle --
To find, behind their gusts, little -- if any -- mettle.
And out of your lair,
On to discover the smoke and mirrors of our curly hair,
The capriciousness of that follicle
Elegantly shaped like a devilish sickle.
And when you preach these shady whereabouts,
When you have emerged, a someone touts!
You -- yes, you -- an archaic buzzkill,
A real destroyer of intrinsic frill.
Copyright ©
screwge
... [
2008-06-14 05:30:31]
(Date/Time posted on
site)
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