We **HEART** Swillers!
Happy Valentine’s Day, each and every one! In the spirit of the day (the ancient spirit, not the Chicago-style celebration), we’d like to open the post to poetic odes scribed by YOU, celebrating the personage who most exemplifies ‘joie de vivre’ (politics, entertainment, global warming, whatever) in your humble eyes. (A WSS to Capt. Ed) We will have a POETRY contest, you will all cast votes, the winner will be announced and awarded an authentic, good as new, “Sod Off Swampy” mug! Hot DAMN!
So, unquiver those iambic arrows and let the love shafts fly!
Fun | tree hugging sister | 
February 14, 2007 9:54 am
Subscribe
“let the love shafts fly!”
That’s what got me into the trouble I’m in now.
‘Tis neither the time nor the place for tawdry confessionals, John.
Breitbart’s Valentine to Tammy Bruce is a thing of beauty, no?
‘Tis! But completely ineligible under the rules. Crittenden’s poem, OTH, is the perfect example.
Oh! I forgot the usual disclaimers ~ no goats were harmed during this posting, no f-bombs were used in it’s inception rendering us available should the Edwards campaign call (I heard they were f*cking looking for someone)(sh*t!), no alcohol was involved unless it’s noon somewhere in the world and no employee of the Coalition of the Swilling/member of TOWACA© Press International can vote for himself…
…BINGLEY…
…multiple times.
If you don’t like the rules, move.
Roses are red, violets are blue
That’s all I got so far but I’ll keep working on it.
Roses are red, violets are blue
Rudy doesn’t care about the 2nd Amendment
as it pertains to me and you.
Rhubarb is Red and the damn Grass is Green
McCain doesn’t mind trampling free-speech,
WTF was he ganging-up with the traitor Feingold?
And that roles effortlessly off the tongue…
You’re supposed to swirl it around in the glass and then sploosh it around in the mouth…
Rutabagas are green, fungus-spores are black
Obama said our soldier’s lives have been wasted
and wants to bring them all in defeat back.
“Evergreen”, rewritten for Dennis Kucinich
Brains, soft as an easy chair
In a head that’s mostly air
One man seemingly cut in two
I have found with you
Like my skin burns in the August sun
Or the ship that crashed into Area 51
Strange, clueless and evergreen
Dennis, dear, that’s you.
Murtha, Murtha, come hither thou!
Pray, accept from me
My deepest vow
of love and feality!
I hear your voice, firm and clear
whenever your printed words do appear
My knees, they always quake
whenever your picture they take
Murtha, Murtha, come hither thou!
Your mind doth inspire
Truly, beyond all doubt
Such that I give the order to fire
And kill Yankee soldiers all about!
Murtha, Murtha, come hither thou!
Pray, Murtha, cease not your fight
Continue your battle without rest
With time, all will be right
When America we will best!
Murtha, Murtha, come hither thou!
Tomorrow, together, we will stand as one
Allies of the heart and mind
America will fall down and into ruin
And what we have sought we both shall find.
Murtha, Murtha, come hither thou!
A love sonnet penned by Osama bin Laden. Or should be.
Inspired by this.
“It’s Hard Out Here For A Simp”, rewritten for Dennis Kucinich
You know it’s hard out here for a simp (you ain’t knowin)
When he tryin’ to get this money for the campaign (you ain’t knowin’)
Livin’ in Buicks and Hondas and Fords, no gas money spent (you ain’t knowin’)
Because a whole lot of bitches talkin sh*t (you ain’t knowin’)
Will have a whole lot of bitches talkin sh*t (you ain’t knowin’)
My four eyes I done seen some crazy thangs in the Ohio streets
Gotta couple interns workin on the changes for me
But I gotta keep my game tight like Gore on election night
Don’t be takin’ from a ho don’t know no better, that ain’t right…
It’s hard out here for a simp.
(work in progress – straight up gangsta sh*t)
Ode to Hilary
You always look like you’re having fun
Chimpmunk cheeks full of joy
Smiling face sometimes distant, always pleasant
Hair looks happy-er, clothes more relaxed
Sometimes on TV we smile with you
’cause Bill is gone, you are the one
Official events standing straight
Looking up at flag poles high
Debating foe with clarity and depth
Recalling stats with ease and wit
Standing tall, with pride, in heels
Music plays, flags unfurl
I know you could love me
If I were a gurl.
Where’s Henry Gibson when we need him?
(can I vote for Colin?)
No, you may not. It’s a contest about politicians, not mountain climbers.
BUENO! Wonderful entries. I’ll leave it open for another day or so (in case someone’s midnight inspiration strikes) and then solicit votes for the Bard Award.
Hang down your Head Jack Murtha,
Hang down your head and cry,
What you’re doing to our Troops
Is why they invented the term fragging.
Damn I still can’t rhyme.
Ode to Ken
Fifth time is a charm said the Tree to the corn
String me along waiting does no harm
On-ward and upward grow like a weed
The reaper visits thrice, if he misses on the third
Banjo playing starch is the best you can be
Of those that remain my birds will do their best
Life as alternate fuel, ain’t no better than the rest.
I think I’m honored, but I’m not really sure…
The First Mate’s name was Carter,
By damn he was a Farter!
When the wind wouldn’t blow,
and the ship wouldn’t go;
They got Carter, the Farter, to Start’Er!
(excised from a naval ditty learned when I was a great deal younger!)
Susanna nearly voted for me.
Bless her cotton socks.
Where’s my SOS mug
Or at least a piece of cake..