My favorite place on the net for news and savvy commentary is LATOC, the discussion forum for Peak Oil: Life After the Oil Crash which is owned and managed by Matt Savinar. One of the regular forum members is a certain Benjamin the Donkey, real name unknown, who has given permission for some of his wonderful comment-in-the-form of-limerick to be posted here.
If you are not familiar with LATOC please do yourself a favor and check it out.
All poems by "Benjamin The Donkey".
The rich give the poor short shrift,
But the race is not to the swift;
When doom’s widely sniffed
And culture’s adrift
There will be an observable shift.
For teaching and having minds turn,
The time left should be of concern;
It is hard to bestow
When it took us much longer to learn.
Humor might help make us wiser
In dealing with things like this geyser,
Or it may turn out lame
Like trying to blunt blame
With a tiny tube in a riser.
Relax, nothing’s wrong with our spray,
Our stock’s nearly gone anyway;
But should it convey
Too much death and decay
We wont use it next time. OK?
So finally BP invites
You to look at some spewing oil sights;
You might be impressed
But you won’t see the best
Till they’ve peddled the movie rights.
If you totally kill the oceans
By using your poisonous potions,
Please do let us know
In a year or so
(Or at least, go through the motions).
Some say Socrates knew quite a lot,
But he said that he didn’t know squat;
People jeer and they smirk
At Darwin, that jerk,
And who understands Einstein’s rot?
Old Homer wrote his crap in Greek,
And Shakespeare, his words are oblique,
There is no Lolita
In Bhagavad Gita,
And Faust’s deal can wait till next week.
Distortions from Vincent van Gogh
Don’t look just like life, so they blow;
And the women, you know,
They come and they go,
Talking of Michelangelo.
Bach wrote junk for something divine,
Brahms ripped off symphonic design;
And you know, for my bucks,
Shrieking opera sucks,
And Beethoven only wrote nine.
In my view, the arch and the dome
Don’t compare to the woods where I roam;
Heard da Vinci imply
That people might fly,
But who cares for London or Rome?
I don’t like how people behave,
There is nothing here that I crave;
But I’m sure I would glow
In a time long ago—
I wish I were back in a cave.