memesonnets

[memesonnets]

Hi my name is Don Quixote of La Mancha the Knight of the Rueful Figure and I have a rueful figure (that's how I got my name) with purple bruised ribs and tall stature and gaunt features and hair turning gray and a rather hooked aquiline nose and large black drooping mustaches and a lot of people tell me I look like Amadís of Gaul (AN: if u don’t know who he is begone!). I’m not related to Lady Oriana but I wish I was because she’s an incomparable flowering beauty. I’m a knight errant but some of my teeth and grinders are missing. I have long lank limbs. I’m also a defender of damsels, protector of orphans, succourer of the needy, righter of wrongs, undoer of injustice, and I wander a magic countryside called the mountains of Spain where I’m in my first year of knighthood (I’m forty-nine). I’m a gentleman (in case you couldn’t tell) and I wear mostly armor. I love my great-grandfather's forgotten corner of the house and I cobble together all my clothes from there. For example today I was wearing a doublet of fine cloth with matching shoes and velvet breeches and a helmet, morion, visor, breastplate and backpiece. I was riding outside La Mancha. It was early morning so the rays of the sun fell obliquely and the heat did not distress me, which I was very happy about. A lot of giants stared at me. I put up my pasteboard visor at them.

[memesonnets]

‘Tis corn, forsooth! A great and knobbled lump!

So ripe and luscious, tender yet quite firm.

How I adore each juicy golden bump,

from germ to pericarp to endosperm!

O, such an oleaginous sweet treat

befits a king! How rich it is! Indeed,

it’s the most toothsome buttered thing to eat

and will revive the faintest wretch in need

of sustenance. I prithee, good sirrah,

canst thou imagine a more beauteous thing?

The corn-adoring choir sings, “Hurrah!”

and with them that corntastic taste doth sing.

Ambrosia! Canst thou believe, somehow,

I once despised this gilded grain erenow?

[memesonnets]

She’d move heaven and earth. Could they move her?

Her fervent stare takes on a steely sheen.

The muddy shore has stayed her, calm and sure.

She glistens with a love quite evergreen.

She left her mark upon the barren sea —

a fatal dagger in a narrow sheath.

To live, to die, and never to be free

of her true love and salty bridal wreath!

For days and nights and days and wretched nights

each kingdom’s horses and each kingdom’s men

tried desp’rately to put the thing to rights

but Ever Given won’t give ev’r again.

The strength of every leader at the charge

cannot compare to this one large green barge!

[memesonnets]

The memorandum that’s composèd here

is writ for Rachel. Foul and heinous witch!

Dost thy cheeseparing heart beat fast with fear?

I toil not to make thy two faces rich!

Thou false, mendacious, lily-livered wench!

O Moby Dick! Thou greatest, whitest whale!

Canst thou contain thy fetid cheesy stench?

I’ll hunt thee down, and then I shall assail

thee for thy trifling gossamer charade,

thy flagrant falsehoods, and thy churlish mien!

Go! Run and hide, thou milksop! Be afraid!

I am no player, but I’ll make a scene!

Think’st thou I’ll bear thee pilfering my pelf?

Oh, fear no bears! I’ll maul thee my damn self!

[memesonnets]

Ahoy! Who calleth? Who is at the phone?

Why do I hear its loud, untimely squawk?

Spare me thy chit-chat, and leave me alone —

At present, I do not have time to talk!

Does thou not know a temptress’ tiring day

is never done? I have no time to rest!

I have no time for merriment, I say,

for such a one as I at thy behest

cannot abandon the essential tasks

I must perform on their proverbial shelf!

Why, can I ‘talk right now?’ A fool who asks!

A comely damsel’s work shan’t do itself!

Think’st thou I’ll prattle on when my phone rings?

No, I cannot — I’m doing hot wench things!

[memesonnets]

There is no wiser man in all the land

than I. I am most clever, I’ll admit.

But there’s one thing I’ll never understand:

the minds of maidens, so devoid of wit!

Of all the things, I fathom least of all

how each of them selects their closest friend.

How can a gruesome beast befriend a doll?

On beauty’s scale, they sit on either end!

O damsel! Why not love an equal so?

Why hold such ugliness in high esteem?

And thou, foul mistress, dost thou even know

thou art a nightmare and she is a dream?

It cannot be that both maids beest fair —

one wench is always plain beyond compare!

[memesonnets]

None of ye wenches living on this earth —

not one of ye pathetic wenches here —

not one, forsooth, of such a squalid birth

as all ye waifs that wander to the bier

possess such lovely and exclusive boots

the heralds call the UGGs® of Swisher Sweets!

Not one! Not one of all ye shrews and snoots

canst shake such beauty booties in the streets!

O, tell me straight, thou minx: what poppeth? AAAAAAAH!

I scream! I shriek! I AAAAAAAH in sweet delight!

O, didst thou think I’d finished, trollop? Nah!

I A-A-A-A-AH with all my might!

Look at the boot! Take in its brilliant bliss —

a boot ye wenches only dream to kiss!

[memesonnets]

A friend of mine once dreamed a brilliant dream

of steep stone stairs that deeply doth descend,

where in a burbling and baleful stream

descenders hear each thing each person, friend

and foe, has ever said about them, worst

things first, and compliments at greatest depth.

I could not weather three whole steps down cursed

and vulnerable stairs — I’d fly, bereft

of that great dignity we build, alone

as we pretend that unconditioned love

is sitting on a much-adoréd throne,

not ridiculed and treasured “in spite of”...

The fruits of being loved are duly sown

in that wretched ordeal of being known.

[memesonnets]

‘Tis summertime, and life’s a pleasant haze;

forsooth, warm weather’s ended the cold war.

How many hours are there in two days?

‘Tis thirty-two! Yes, both of us are sure!

What is the flaming liquid flowing hot

from yon volcano there, ablaze? Oh my!

Why, ‘tis Sri Racha’s foodstuff, is it not?

Just as a tadpole spawns a butterfly!

What is the meaning of this simple quiz?

What’s that big clock? ‘Tis Big Ten, we can tell.

Of course we know wherein the South Pole is!

In South America, we’re sure as hell

is centered in that city, Helsinki.

Who painted Mona Lisa? …Da Vinci?

[memesonnets]

It’s some o’clock. I rise up from my bed.

I do not know my purpose or my name.

There’s wordless buzzing in my little head.

Each day’s the same, the same, the wretched same —

I pick out clothes. I search through messy drawers.

Do mittens match this mien of mine, or not?

I crawl behind my dresser on all fours

to find the jacket that I half-forgot —

it’s all we have, the old accouterments,

the search for garb and order in one’s dress.

I must away, to do my chores at once.

I must take heart, take breaths, and convalesce.

I don my outfit and put on my mask,

and then I do each silly little task.

[memesonnets]

What is a man? Whence does his valor flow?

What makes him lionhearted, fierce, and great?

Is it his kindness or his courage? No!

It is the stew that simmers on his plate!

A stew! That dauntless and delightful dish,

which makes un homme of un petit garçon!

The manly spirit swells in him a wish

for goulash, stroganoff, or bourguignon!

O gloried nation nearing its decline!

I hear thy coltish culture’s dying knell.

Though such a trend may seem to thee benign,

unfurled, it ends the world I love so well.

More modern men wear bracelets — it is true —

than eat that mighty, patriotic stew!

[memesonnets]

O, brilliance! Goddess! Nymph! Perfect! Divine!

A ruby falls from Pallas’ learned lips.

Such wisdom! Do opine! Like pine, I pine

to soak in sunlight — thine. Do I eclipse

thy lucent light and perspicacious wit?

O, utter that astute belief once more!

Sagacity’s a sea — we bathe in it

and ignorance is but a distant shore,

a morass mired with dullness’ dire murrain;

thy point-purveying power’s paramount.

Now prithee, noble spirit, do explain

this thing to all of us: on what account

such eloquent a statement hast thou gave

a thing so controversial yet so brave?

[memesonnets]

Prithee, dear coachman, bring us to a halt.

I thank thee. Now, hear hear, ladies and boys!

Such raucous din! ‘Tis nothing to exalt!

This horse-drawn carriage maketh too much noise!

O, listen, youth, to what I have to say:

my colleague here and I — we must collogue!

And yet! Alas, alack, alack-a-day—

this field trip is no undisturbed eclogue!

Because of this behavior tour-de-force

of prattling quite loud and untoward,

for the remainder of this cursed course

no speaking is permitted here on board.

O coachman, please forgive, for all of us,

the Brobdingnagian volume on this bus!

[memesonnets]

When irritation turns to enmity

and indignation leads thee into war,

there’s one emotional indemnity —

there is a cure! Canst buy it in the store!

When fire engorges every bloody vein,

when tranquil seas are distant from the shore,

when all is crimson-lit, there is a grain

canst make thou feel quite wholesome then once more.

The simple carbohydrate’s secret trick!

O, take this loaf, I solemnly abjure.

Never was such a rage-resolver quick

so good, so cheap, so simple to procure!

Why shouldst thou suffer such a sulking frown?

One piece of bread, perhaps, wouldst calm thee down.

[memesonnets]

Our number’s many, and our fears are few.

Enumerate us not; we are all one.

We come to seek the light that shall imbue

us with the rays of yonder rising sun.

The sun — so far! Fluorescent’s all we know,

for we’ve forgot the homeland of our swarm.

Because we did not know where else to go,

we crawled into this box, and found it warm.

Then zip! And zap! The tiny lightning strikes

as we adroitly dodge each minute bolt

and each of us takes anything he likes

from thy fine feast that’s heated by each volt.

O, hast thou ever met a one so brave

as one small ant within a microwave?

[memesonnets]

I need thy help, dear man! Come right this way!

Art buying clothes? Alack! I’ll count to three,

then hurry, sir, and come without delay!

...There’s only soup? What’s this? How can it be?

Then leave the soup aisle, bellicose buffoon!

There is more soup? How so? What canst thou mean?

Where art thou now, O man of silver spoon,

soupçon of sense, and sterling soup tureen?

Canst be at soup? What is this jejune jest?

Which shoppe is it, in which thou dost now stand?

I never thought thy judgement was the best

but now see I no greater gull on land!

One question more I beg thee — I implore —

Why art thou buying clothes at yon soup store?

[memesonnets]

“O God, O God! A dire and dreadful woe

befalls me on this sad and senseless day.

A greater tragedy I do not know

and my despair is doubled by dismay.

Upon my life! My earring’s left mine ear!

O, I shall weep! My diamond earring, gone!

It shall be swept up by some buccaneer

where I did swim the sea hither and yon!”

“An earring? That’s what has thee so upset?

Dost thou see life through such a selfish lens?

This is the daftest whining I’ve heard yet!

Flibbertigibbet, have some common sense!

Thy earring’s not important, cans’t thou see?

There’s people that are dying, Kimberly!”