A curse of nature never known by man
for two-score years hath ravished our fair town.
From Erie’s banks spreads only wretched woe,
which festers in the bleak and barren ground.
For through these trying times, no tiny taste
of Victory’s libation hath been had
within our kingdom’s walls: no cause for glee,
nor celebrations gained to leave us glad.
Whilst other lands did celebrate success
our Cleveland here’s grasped only potent pain,
and in such damning ways, our damn defeats
be known them each by foul and famous name.
The Drive, the Shot, the Fumble, and the Catch:
each word another dagger to our throat;
each title, triumph snatched from out our grasp
as swiftly as had grown our peoples’ hopes.
‘Tis so with such great chances come and lost:
such flowers plucked before they’d brightly bloomed,
‘tis no surprise, our city’s sorry state
as one bedecked in haplessness and gloom.
Thursday, November 14, 2013
OUR KING SHALL GATHER ALL HIS STRENGTH/AND DUNK ON FORTUNE'S ASS: Via Hang Up and Listen, The Tragedy of King James the First by Michael Salomon, a Shakespearean retelling of The Decision. The opening soliloquy of Gilbert, excerpted here, provides context:
Posted by Adam at 9:42 AM