Subject: Slightly Rewritten Classic Poetry
For Starters,
History buff Henry Wadsworth Longfellow:
Listen, my children, don't dare ignore,
The midnight actions of Bush and Gore.
In early November, in the year ought-ought,
Hard to believe the mess that they wrought.
Two billion bucks of campaign bounty,
All came down to Palm Beach County.
What result cold have been horrider,
Than the situation we found in Florider?
Edgar Allen Poe is his usual gloomy self:
Once upon a campaign dreary, one which left us weak and weary,
O'er many a quaint and curious promise of political lore
While we nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a yapping,
As of some votes overlapping, energy-zapping to the core.
"Tis a mess here," we all muttered, as the network
anchors stuttered,
Stuttered over Bush and Gore.
Could there be another election with such a case of misdirection,
yet fraught with tension to the core? Quoth the ravers, "Nevermore."
Britain's Edward Lear's limerick is lighter:
There once was a U. S. election
That called for some expert detection:
How thousands of pollers
Could become two holers
Like outhouses of recollection
Ditto Ogden Nash:
I regret to admit that all my knowledge is,
What I learned at Electoral Colleges,
So tell me please, though I hate to troubya,
Will the winner be Al, or will it be Dubya?
Joyce Kilmer's a media analyst:
I thought that I would never see
The networks all so up a tree.
Walt Whitman is lyrical, as always:
O' Captain! My Captain! Our fearful trip's not done,
The ship has weather'd every rack, but nobody knows who's
won.
Alfred Noyes rhythmically rumbles:
And still of an autumn night they say, with the White House
on the line,
When the campaign's a ghostly galleon and both candidates
cry, "'Tis mine!"
When the road is a ribbon of ballots, all within easy reach,
A highwayman comes riding,
Riding,
Riding,
A highwayman comes riding and punches two holes in each.
Dr. Seuss takes a look at election officials:
I cannot count them in a box
I cannot count them with a fox
I cannot count them by computer
I will not with a Roto-Rooter
I cannot count them card-by-card
I will not 'cause it's way too hard
I cannot count them on my fingers,
I will not while suspicion lingers.
I'll leave the country in a jam
I can't count ballots, Sam-I-Am.
Clement Moore adopts a holiday theme:
'Twas the month before Christmas, when all through the courts,
all the plaintiffs made stirring bad ballot reports.
Which leaves the problem:
Perhaps the best way to stop complaints that are raucous is,
Start over again, with the Iowa caucuses.
* * *
THE PALM BEACH HOKEY POKEY
You put your stylus in,
You put your stylus out,
You put your stylus in,
And you punch Buchanan out.
You do the Palm Beach Pokey
And you turn the count around,
That's what it's all about!
You put the Gore votes in,
You put the Bush votes out,
You put the Gore votes in,
And you do another count.
You do the Palm Beach Pokey
And you turn the count around,
That's what it's all about!
You bring your lawyers in,
You drag the whole thing out,
You bring your lawyers in,
And you put it all in doubt.
You do the Palm Beach Pokey
And you turn the count around,
That's what it's all about!
You let your doctors spin,
You let the pundits spout,
You let your doctors spin,
And your people whine and pout.
You do the Palm Beach Pokey
And you turn the count around,
That's what it's all about!
You do the Palm Beach Pokey,
You do the Palm Beach Pokey,
You do the Palm Beach Pokey,
That's what it's all about!
* * *
Dr. Suess goes to Flori-duh
Dr. Seuss Goes to Flori-duh (by "Phil")
Can we count them with our nose?
Can we count them with our toes?
Should we count them with a band?
Should we count them all by hand?
If I do not like the count,
I will simply throw them out!
I will not let this vote count stand
I do not like them, AL GORE I am!
Can we change the numbers here?
Can we change them, over there?
What do you mean, Dubya has won? This is not fair, this is
not fun
Lets count them upside down this time
Lets count until the state is mine!
I will not let this VOTE count stand! I do not like it,
AL GORE I am!
I'm really ticked, I'm in a snit!
You have not heard the last of it!
I'll count the ballots one by one
And hold each one up to the sun!
I'll count, recount, and count some more!
You'll grow to hate this little chore
But I will not, cannot let this vote count stand! I do
not like it, Al Gore I am!
I won't leave office, I'm stayin' here!
I've glued my desk chair to my rear!
Tipper, Hillary, and Bubba too,
all telling me that I should sue!
We find the Electoral College vile!
RECOUNT the votes until I smile!
We do not want this vote to stand! We do not like it, AL
GORE I am!
How shall we count this ballot box?
Let's count it standing in our socks!
Shall we count this one in a tree?
And who shall count it, you or me?
We cannot, cannot count enough!
We must not stop, we must be tough!
I do not want this vote to stand! I do not like it AL
GORE I am!
I've counted till my fingers bleed!
And still can't fulfill my counting need!
I'll count the tiles on the floor!
I'll count, and count, and count some more!
And I will not say that I am done!
Until the counting says I've won!
I will not let this vote count stand! I do not like it,
AL GORE I am!
What's that? What? What are you trying to say? You think
the current count should stay? You do not like my
counting scheme? It makes you tense, gives you bad
dreams? Foolish people, you're wrong you'll see! You're
only care should be for me!
I WILL NOT LET THIS VOTE COUNT STAND! I DO NOT LIKE IT.
AND AL GORE I AM!
Thanks to Philip
RushOnline.com
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