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Archive for the ‘parody’ Category

Day Watch not by Rembrandt-1

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My heart wakes to a nauseating sound:

My eyes as though from some shock electric

Reacting cannot but stare at him in front

Crouching, Oh it’s my hound Patrick;

‘Tis not like tabbycat with his mice

A share from spoils of his field chase

He lays at my feet,- Patrick has his way

To bulldoze my reverie and get away;

Why fawning tongue work all over me

As though its glad oil has charm

O’er the most supine master into alacrity?

What freezes my blood is sepsis, its harm

Shall outpace your fidelity, Patrick

I shall throw this ball and wish it gone

And chasing it to hell that is a trick

I wish you had taken up-Begone!

benny

 

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Cincinnatti Blues ©

 

She is watching by her high fence,

Harambe, with deep, deep blue eyes

She is sporting a tinted glass, all blue:

‘Keep a big ape, have free laff

It brings gawks who will pay your bill’.

Cincinnati! Cincinnatti!

How is it, that you let go

Harambe poor big ape?

 

Apes aren’t common as fruits on flatfeet:

Cops are apt to play to the crowd

Than see who is on the right;

Cincinnati! Cincinnatti!

How is it, that you let go

Harambe poor big ape?

No small thanks you let her keep the goggle

A fair exchange for the lead that tore her heart!

benny

Note: Harambe is a male gorilla but could his life have been saved? Life is a life; Gorilla is a gorilla but the million dollar question is this: is life of gorilla of less value than divisive vituperative enemy to peace, Trump?  The gawks who scream to high heavens now want the poor mother lose her job! What hypocrisy!

A four year kid as usual is the case, knows how to strike for freedom, escaping the tight leash of his parent; This freedom in this case brought into a close encounter with a Gorilla in its cramped confines of the zoo.  All would have ended well if the crowd  behaved well. They wanted their money worth of excitement, and is as much culprit as the officer who took him down with a single bullet. The bystanders sent gentle Harambe in panic. How come nobody thinks he or she is equally at fault?-b

 

 

 

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Ac.1 Sc.4 lines:800-815

(The Duke of Albany’s Palace)

Sheikh al-Biruni:

my Lord, I am guiltless, as I am ignorant

Of what mischief I caus’d.

 

Al-Lear:

It may be so, Oh Sheikh

Hear O hear, hear Lord of three worlds

Suspend thy purpose, if thou didst intend

To make this kingdom fruitful.

Into her wealth convey sterility;

Dry up her wells, dry up in their outflow;

And from her palm fringed soil never spring

A tribe to honour her! If she must teem,

Create her child a zero, that he may live

And be a bone ever stuck in her gullet,

Let he stamp wrinkles in her brow of youth,

And cadent tears cause mothers to mourn:

For the house of bandits dispenses law and

Has done away the tender greens with the sere;

With lashings and highhandedness of impiety

Vile are the guardians of stone and hollow word.

Yet police they highways and by ways

Their moral purpose null, and void the article of law :

Oh hear let them be crushed under the weight

of sins thy have hoisted on all

With tainted bribes have devil’s service done.

Hear, O hear the Lord of three worlds

Let her learn her lesson but not benefit from it

How sharper than a serpent’s tooth it is

Trifle with laws from above, with her own. (Exit.)

benny

 

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The Merchant of Venice- Ac.2.Sc.7

Top aide of Trump:

O hell! what have we here?

I see none but Trouble spelled T-R-U-M-Pay

There is Oh vitriol! I’ll read the writing.

 

Reads

All that glitters is not gold;

Look at that thatch, it’s fool’s gold.

Many a man his hair has dyed

But this is real coxcomb’s hair:

But I cavil not at his thatch-

Pea-sized in girth do make grey matter

Run on and on to no avail.

Had he been as wise as his gold

What he speaks will make all glad.

Empty in thought, in speech rude,

His suit to the White House is doom’d.’

 

Top  aide of Trump:

Fare you well; your suit is cold.

Cold, indeed; and labour lost:

Scram then, beat it,- you said enow:

Hide your hulk in shame, saying:

Farewell, heat, and welcome, frost!

benny

 

 

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(On 400 th anniversary of Shakespeare here is a parody. Macbeth: Ac1.Sc.4. Then of course Prince is also remembered. -benny)

Late Prince of Purple Rain! That is steep

One song I could belt out in falsetto

While he’s dust and ashes. Stars stop your ears

I dare not sing my black and deep desires.

You may clap at the end, -yea let that be

I will take that I outdid Prince

While he’s dust and ashes. Stars hide your fires

If my words suck, -my heart was not in it;

The eye wink at the hand while the question

Of dollars and cents make my words sound false.

The original version is given here below.

Macbeth

Ac.1.Sc.4

(aside) The prince of Cumberland! That is a step

On which I must fall down, or else o’erleap,

For in my way it lies. Stars, hide your fires;

Let not light see my black and deep desires.

The eye wink at the hand, yet let that be

Which the eye fears, when it is done, to see.

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I will leave but shalln’t leave as I came in:

For droll as though I had my brain addled,

Or sniffed benzine or snorted of cocaine;

While there on the giant screen ‘fore me flash’d

Some trickery wrought by light I’m loath to say

And I took them all in without batting eyelid-

I giggled,I whooped and like a puling kid

I wanted more Oh what more can I say?

The show is over, I head for the exit

My heart aches :A-tisket, A-tasket

ii

O, for a draught of moonshine! that has been

Distill’d in some backwoods, perhaps from Lethe:

I am at peace with the world that has been

Contentious and most bizarre in its mirth.

A-tisket, A-tasket who dropped the basket?

And my mind yearns to pick up images

From some spool threaded by devil’s sprocket

No more can I free my mind from these images

 Was it a vision for which all I did was peep?

                Fled is that peace:—Do I wake or sleep?

benny 17 Dec,2014

Original version

My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains

         My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk,

Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains

         One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk:

‘Tis not through envy of thy happy lot,

         But being too happy in thine happiness,—

                That thou, light-winged Dryad of the trees

                        In some melodious plot

         Of beechen green, and shadows numberless,

                Singest of summer in full-throated ease.

O, for a draught of vintage! that hath been

         Cool’d a long age in the deep-delved earth,

Tasting of Flora and the country green,

         Dance, and Provençal song, and sunburnt mirth!

O for a beaker full of the warm South,

         Full of the true, the blushful Hippocrene,

                With beaded bubbles winking at the brim,

                        And purple-stained mouth;

         That I might drink, and leave the world unseen,

                And with thee fade away into the forest dim:

Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget

         What thou among the leaves hast never known,

The weariness, the fever, and the fret

         Here, where men sit and hear each other groan;

Where palsy shakes a few, sad, last gray hairs,

         Where youth grows pale, and spectre-thin, and dies;

                Where but to think is to be full of sorrow

                        And leaden-eyed despairs,

         Where Beauty cannot keep her lustrous eyes,

                Or new Love pine at them beyond to-morrow.

Away! away! for I will fly to thee,

         Not charioted by Bacchus and his pards,

But on the viewless wings of Poesy,

         Though the dull brain perplexes and retards:

Already with thee! tender is the night,

         And haply the Queen-Moon is on her throne,

                Cluster’d around by all her starry Fays;

                        But here there is no light,

         Save what from heaven is with the breezes blown

                Through verdurous glooms and winding mossy ways.

I cannot see what flowers are at my feet,

         Nor what soft incense hangs upon the boughs,

But, in embalmed darkness, guess each sweet

         Wherewith the seasonable month endows

The grass, the thicket, and the fruit-tree wild;

         White hawthorn, and the pastoral eglantine;

                Fast fading violets cover’d up in leaves;

                        And mid-May’s eldest child,

         The coming musk-rose, full of dewy wine,

                The murmurous haunt of flies on summer eves.

Darkling I listen; and, for many a time

         I have been half in love with easeful Death,

Call’d him soft names in many a mused rhyme,

         To take into the air my quiet breath;

                Now more than ever seems it rich to die,

         To cease upon the midnight with no pain,

                While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad

                        In such an ecstasy!

         Still wouldst thou sing, and I have ears in vain—

                   To thy high requiem become a sod.

Thou wast not born for death, immortal Bird!

         No hungry generations tread thee down;

The voice I hear this passing night was heard

         In ancient days by emperor and clown:

Perhaps the self-same song that found a path

         Through the sad heart of Ruth, when, sick for home,

                She stood in tears amid the alien corn;

                        The same that oft-times hath

         Charm’d magic casements, opening on the foam

                Of perilous seas, in faery lands forlorn.

Forlorn! the very word is like a bell

         To toll me back from thee to my sole self!

Adieu! the fancy cannot cheat so well

         As she is fam’d to do, deceiving elf.

Adieu! adieu! thy plaintive anthem fades

         Past the near meadows, over the still stream,

                Up the hill-side; and now ’tis buried deep

                        In the next valley-glades:

         Was it a vision, or a waking dream?

                Fled is that music:—Do I wake or sleep?

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