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.
___
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