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Monday, December 7, 2009

Al Gore's climate warming poem


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 

(From his book, Our Choice on page 28--When you can't fudge facts, break out the poetry!)

(whoops we have an update of Big Al's poem!!!)

One thin September soon, which is next year, you know,
A floating incontinent Santa disappears
In a land of the midnight sun with lots of snow.

Vapors rise as quickly as a sad neurosis;
Fever settles on an acid sea and, therefore,
Neptune’s bones dissolve from osteoporosis.

Snow glides from the mountain—set off by some villain—
ice in father’s gin, floods of salt, for a season,
a hard rain comes quickly for we do like Dylan.

Then dirty Al is parched from a sad lack of beer.
Still, let’s party! Kindling is placed in the forest
for the lightning god’s celebration. Over here,

unknown creatures, like Bear-pig, with his human face,
take their leave, unmourned, and I hope your heart is stirred
as Horse-men must ready their stirrups for a race.

An old passion seeks heroes and friends who are young
though the bell of the city bike needs a good clean.
On the hill is a ladder with a broken rung.

The shepherd cries, “Hey, voters are deluded fools!
The hour of choosing a global hoax has arrived!
I gave you the warming notion, here are your tools.’

1 comment :

Deadman Turner said...

Though poems need not rhyme or have a set number of syllables in each line, I believe that we can reconstruct an original rhyming version which Mr. Gore could have edited to look more modern (or which could have been damaged while in MS):


One thin September soon, which is next year, you know,
A floating incontinent Santa disappears
In a land of the midnight sun with lots of snow.

Vapors rise as quickly as a sad neurosis;
Fever settles on an acid sea and, therefore,
Neptune’s bones dissolve from osteoporosis.

Snow glides from the mountain—set off by some villain—
ice in father’s gin, floods of salt, for a season,
a hard rain comes quickly for we do like Dylan.

Then dirty Al is parched from a sad lack of beer.
Still, let’s party! Kindling is placed in the forest
for the lightning god’s celebration. Over here,

unknown creatures, like Bear-pig, with his human face,
take their leave, unmourned, and I hope your heart is stirred
as Horse-men must ready their stirrups for a race.

An old passion seeks heroes and friends who are young
though the bell of the city bike needs a good clean.
On the hill is a ladder with a broken rung.

The shepherd cries, “Hey, voters are deluded fools!
The hour of choosing a global hoax has arrived!
I gave you the warming notion, here are your tools.’