sweasel.com

a 21st Century Psalm

December 7th is coming fast
We must act, before Copenhagen is passed
If that Treaty is law I guarantee
Another occurrence of infamy
As they strip away democracy

We wish to debate the natural state
It was warm for awhile, but cold as of late
The scientist tried to hide the decline
Deny debate through deceit and design
The science was settled and the data deleted
All opposition was effectively defeated
From checking the facts, and results repeated
Who could prove the science was cheated
Man Made Global Warming is a lie
The CRU e-mails and codes do testify
The purpose, a Carbon Debt to apply
Kiss your money, technology and freedom goodbye

The silence is deafening across the land
As the revelations the public now understands
The weathers a carrot meant to disguise
A corrupt agenda before our eyes
And now we see light shining in Truth
Politicians, media, and search engines declare moot
You can glimpse the extent of the hypocrisy
In how they declare there is nothing to see
So much for transparency

Climategate Googlegate Copenhagengate
Who gave you permission to decide our fate?
Censoring discussion denying debate
The Spirit of Truth you desecrate
In all debate Truth intervenes
Asks does the end justify the means?
Demands that honesty remains supreme
That commitments aren’t made on fraudulent schemes.

It’s time for the passive acceptance to end
It’s time to stand for freedom as free men
It’s time to expose the lies and deceit
It’s time to take it to the streets
Do not commit sedition do not get jailed
Non-Violent revolutions do not fail
The voice of the Prophets, Gandhi and King
Are calling for you to get marching

Or just sit back and take the vaccine

I’ll be in the greenhouse. A bit big to be mistooked for a rat, but… well, you can’t be too careful with these country types.

Your stumbler was probably the Cornfield’s very own LordFlashHeart. He’s a Kiwi with little tolerance for bullshit, and loves to piss the CF’s local commies off, which your blog does BEAUTIFULLY…. 😉

I think my brain just melted. Al Gore the poet… Jeebus. You know the problem some of the cliamte researchers are having are all due to Gore. They sat around and decided to reduce a dynamic, complex, non-linear system to a single metric of dubious provenance: the global average temperature anomaly. All so Al Gore could understand it.

Let me put it this way, when your science is boiled until a pin headed politician can understand it you’re probably leaving some of the important bits out.

For the record, these are the bits of the poem Vanity Fair reproduced:

One thin September soon
A floating continent disappears
In midnight sun

Vapors rise as
Fever settles on an acid sea

Snow glides from the mountain
Ice fathers floods for a season
A hard rain comes quickly

Then dirt is parched
Kindling is placed in the forest
For the lightning’s celebration

The shepherd cries
The hour of choosing has arrived
Here are your tools

They say there are 21 lines of it, so seven are missing here. It’s in that sort of loose, simple Song of Hiawatha style that practially writes itself, even if you’re a goober like Al Gore.

And STILL it was prolly ghost-written.

They should send Gore to the North Pole to save teh polar bearz, ’cause it always snows where ever he goes. The douche.

We’re having a wonderful bout of “global warming” here in Colorado right now. Oh, and you should tell the rat catcher to head over to Denmark, a bunch of rats are meeting there.

Scuba,

Lord Flashheart eh? All I can say to that is WOOF!

Kipling, he ain’t.

Ah. Thanks to Ace, here’s the whole thing:

One thin September soon
A floating continent disappears
In midnight sun

Vapors rise as
Fever settles on an acid sea
Neptune’s bones dissolve

Snow glides from the mountain
Ice fathers floods for a season
A hard rain comes quickly

Then dirt is parched
Kindling is placed in the forest
For the lightning’s celebration

Unknown creatures
Take their leave, unmourned
Horsemen ready their stirrups

Passion seeks heroes and friends
The bell of the city
On the hill is rung

The shepherd cries
The hour of choosing has arrived
Here are your tools

Shit-fucking-fire, that is ALL KINDS of stupid!

“The bell of the city on the hill is rung” is a conflation of “getting your bell rung” and Reagan’s “shining city on the hill.”

In other words, America gets her clock cleaned.

Asshole.

“Horsemen ready their stirrups.”

What kind of stupidity is that? How do you ready a stirrup? I’ve been riding all my life, and I’ve never even heard of that.

Let me try this shit.

Unseen Unicorns
Fly over the moon, unremarked
Cowboys ready their cattle

My fists seek a noggin
As the fool at the podium
Has his bell rung

Jesus, Allen. That’s…poetry.

I don’t want him stepping in the door and saying, “Ah. I can see your problem, ma’am. You’re a pair of filthy, disgusting slobs.”

You say that like it’s a problem. ;-p

And, I must say, Al Gore is as much of a poet as he is a president.

Stoatie – I doubt that the town bell comment was a coincidence. I doubt that it is a coincidence that the Gropenhagen summit begins on December 7th, either.

Rather, it telegraphs what their intentions have been all along…..

He’s no Bukowski, but he’s starting to look like one:

the vultures at the zoo
(all three of them)
sit very quietly in their
caged tree
and below
on the ground
are chunks of rotten meat.
the vultures are over-full.
our taxes
have fed them
well.

Hmmmm…. just checking: does everyone’s version of the “Little Bunny Foo-Foo” story end with, “and the moral of the story is, Hare today, Goon tomorrow!”?

Just wondering if it’s a regional thing….

Glenster,

Well, it seems to happen in this version…

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a84IowoW00w

Now that’s really bopping them.

“Hiawathan” verse is easy.

“Any fairly practiced writer
With the slightest ear for rhythm
Could compose for hours together
In the easy running metre
Of the Song of Hiawatha…”

So noted Lewis Carroll in an introduction to his poem “Hiawatha’s Photographing”.

But it appears Our Al lacks even that “slight ear for rhythm”, as his “poem” has no perceptible meter at all.

So does the rat-catcher’s last name happen to be Mozart? I know his father wanted him to get out of the nasty, low-down field of composing…

If a “documentary” like his can win an Oscar and Pres. Teleprompter can win a Nobel, why can’t this win a Pulitzer? All he has to do is put covers on the front and back and call it a “volume of original verse.”

I suspect that it is his own work–a ghostwriter would have created something a bit more coherent, and maybe even a little evocative.

Got a soft spot in my heart for Carroll’s verse–the Hiawatha one is fun.

Sticks finger down throat.

Longfellow liked him some trochees, that’s for sure.

This was my comment on Telegraph blogs (where the blogger was suggesting Gore was an OK poet):

Oh come on. Gore’s ‘poem’ is sophomoric doggerel. “The shepherd cries/The hour of choosing has arrived/Here are your tools.” For God’s sake, spare me. Cod-portentous drivel that a first year undergrad would get a B- for. It doesn’t scan – it barely flows. Hardly a hint of rhyme or assonance or metonymy except of the most banausic kind.

I rather like the suggestion from John Derbyshire of National Review that poets should be credentialled, like doctors or lawyers, to stop such immemorial rubbish being inflicted on us poor saps.

Gosh, David. You’re comment #3 on the Telegraph’s site. It’s got your spiffy psychedelic avatar and everything. (Curiously, I see avatars in my blog’s admin page, so I’m accustomed to how those of you who have them look).

And, yeah, honestly. That thing is so High School.

Ha – Recycling: I do it for Al – Ha – ha!

That’s funny.