Dear Prof. S, I submit here for your kind and generous consideration a wholly new and original poem that tells the story of Clamssa. On first glance you may think that you have read similar poems in the past but I assure that you are mistaken. Sometimes this is caused by nearing perfection. That is, if 2 people are near perfection in their poetry then it is reasonable to assume that their poems would turn out the same. I have also suffered from the stealing my poems, or at least their forms, before I have actually written them. This is known as preplagiarism. I am a little vague as to how this is actually done by the preplagiarist, but I have seen it many times.
Here I give a gift to the world and hope it may someday be seen on the Clamsaa page. ~The Night Before Clamsaa~ By Leonard L. Brown ~The Bard of Laredo~ Twas the night before clamsaa when all through the pit not a horn was playing, not even a Schmidt The cases were standing alone by each chair in fears that St. Hubertus soon would be there; The players were nestled all snug in their beds while visions of Geyers danced in their heads; and I in my tux with a cumberbun quite pink Had just settled down to long night of drink; When out on the beach there arose such a splash I rolled off my table, and fell flat on my ash. Away to the window I crawled in low gear tore open the shutters to see what was near. The moon on the beach shown such a light I winced while watching from being so tight; when to my eyes that drink had befud a miniature truck drove out of the mud With a little old driver whose clothes were amus I knew in a moment it must be St. Tus More rapid than Bruckner his helpers they came and he whistled and shouted and called them by name: Now Lowell! Now Paul! Now Dennis and Phil! On Wes, On Aubrey, On Herman and Bill! To the edge of the beach to the top of the wall now come on boys, come on boys push it! Push it all! As old cheese that before the nose befouls as helpers these guys were no better than cows but they pushed the truck up this talented crew with a cargo of clams and St. Hubertus too. And then while tinkling, I heard in the mire the spinning and groaning of each little tire. As I affixed my zipper and was turning around to the stage St. Hubertus came with a bound He was dressed in Velvet from his head to his knees and his clothes were all stained with valve oil and greas'. A case of clams he had brought on his back and dropped on stage ; it landed with a smack His eyes- how they twinkled, and his grin how hellish as the box of clams started to raise a great smellish his droll little mouth was drawn in a sneer Then I knew that Clamsaa must be coming quite near The stump of a mouthpiece he held tight in his teeth and a brasso smell encircled his head like a wreath he had broad face and was not at all cute his body was shaped much as a stopping mute He was plump as Myers, a right scary old elf And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself; A wink of his eye and a twist of his head soon gave me to know I had much to dread. He spoke not a word but opened the box; the stench of clam filled the room like a pox "I have clams for amateur and clams for pros and clams for schoolkids, I even have those!" "I have thinking clams and clams for counting and clams for entrances", said he, his enthusiasm mounting "I have clams for high notes and even for the rest I have clams for the worst and clams for the best" He sprang to his clam truck and gave his section a call and suddenly they were out of the pit and out of the hall But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight "Happy clamsaa to all, to all a bad night." _______________________________________________ post: horn@music.memphis.edu unsubscribe or set options at http://music2.memphis.edu/mailman/options/horn/archive%40jab.org
