Say farewell to a curmudgeon, preferably, but not necessarily, in rhymed couplets.

So Sorry To See You Go!

So sorry to see you go -
It's been most fun you know.
I'll miss your snarls as you profess
To tell the world how much a mess
It's all become with its vices,
Drugs, drinks, and Fleisses.

As you said, the worlds gonna go
To hell in a hand basket, though
Needless to say, without you here
We can all give a mighty cheer,
Since one old mean S.O.B.
Who's finally out of his misery,
Will make life easy to some degree,
Knowing that you are history!

The news spread like a head cold, short and brief,
All walked in a confused state of relief.

It's finally okay for kids to run,
or ride their bikes or roller blades in front
of your dilapidated wooden fence,
It's finally okay to hear laughter
Without inevitable grievances.
No more of the identifying stench
That trails your balding, flea infested dog.
No more ghosts having tea on your front porch.

[This message has been edited by NADIA (edited July 03, 2001).]

Goodbye, adieu and cheerio!
I can`t say haste ye back.
Good manners bid you go,
The manners that you lack.

The witch, the one we knew would eat small boys
That witch was you, the ogre thief of toys
Your face would show up in the door, and say
"I'll have you no-good vermin pay some day!"

We miss you, ugly, now that you are gone
Our mortal fear for treading on your lawn
Was spice for our adventures every day
So peace, old foe: We love you where you lie

A Posteriori Justice

Dear friends, we gather here today
to see Old Windbag on his way,
so he may rest. But peace is ours,
for while he fertilizes flowers,
he cannot treat us rancorously,
dispense contempt cantankerously,
or twist our phrases front to back,
feign pious rage, then blow his stack.

A pain in the proverbial ass,
he passed his crassness off as class.
Now sweet revenge, his casket's here,
pre-customized by a coffineer.
Its lid's a window from which moons
his bottom like two white balloons.
May this goodbye reward his reign:
Farewell to hell, you ass in the pane!



[This message has been edited by Porridgeface (edited July 08, 2001).]

Oh my, some powerfully good stuff here!!!

To Mordecai

So long, old chap; your blunt and brutal words have saved
a mouselike Canada. I'm sure that in your grave
you bear the marks of surly anger even now:
the rat's-nest hair, those piercing eyes, that wrinkled brow.
Political correctness was a cankered sore
upon your arse, contracted from a specious whore.
Your Duddy's shelved with Jacob Two Two, battered, read
with glee so many times. I've had you in my bed,
you know, and underneath that prickled edge there lay
one damn fine literary lover. Can't you stay
for one more book? I'll buy the finest single malt
and light up your cigar. I want to savour salt
and bitter irony again. Just one more taste;
our lives were all the richler when you slapped our face.


Mordecai Richler 1931-2001


Rachel



[This message has been edited by Rachel (edited July 08, 2001).]

where are we going, and why am i in this handbasket??

you told me once, you told me twice:
more gin, less tonic, leave out the ice;
you told me three times, maybe four:
give me my breakfast and then close the door.
five times, six times, seven times, eight:
there's dust on the counter and grime on this plate.
ten times, twenty times, thirty times, more:
you'll never amount to much; now go clean the floor.
But then, where there's a will there's a way.
I called a good home and had you taken away.

I told you once, I told you twice:
it would serve you well to try to be nice.
I told you three times, maybe four:
karma remembers and opens the door.
five times, six times, seven times, eight:
there's a place I can think of I know you will hate.
ten times, twenty times, thirty times, more:
You should have thought about these things before.
Because: where there's a way, there's a will.
At least you won't be too lonely, and you won't catch a chill.

Rest in peace, you rebellious curmudgeon--
I delighted in your eccentricity.
When you'd fly from a pique to high dudgeon,
you were still an endearing curmudgeon.
Though your judgement could land like a bludgeon,
there's no match for your blythe authenticity,
so I'll miss you, you surly curmudgeon--
you were wise in your curt eccentricity.



[This message has been edited by PrttyKtty (edited July 12, 2001).]