Post by Ark on Jun 3, 2008 23:04:16 GMT -5
Okay, not even those really close to me will get this unless they've had the pleasure of hearing my highly amusing family history. Trust me, even though I followed my guideline of poetic spontaneity, this is so much more humorous in context.
So for a three or four generations now, apparently, we've all believe we were of Irish on my mom's side. We hail from this darling little fishing village on the french coast of Newfoundland called Conche, look it up sometime.
Anywho, it came to the attention of my great uncle Austen that a distant family member was in possession of a two hundred plus year old journal from our first ancestor to come over to the Americas. Apparently, it held some information that no one was privy to, but would flip our world around.
Apparently, we're actually traitors against the English crown. Smashing.
Sometime shortly before the journal's writing, my family was over in Ireland to give a report on the nature of British treatment of the Irishmen. We sent them a report chronicling the injust against Ireland and her people, and wouldn't you know it, those bloody English sent us back a letter saying that we were traitors for defaming the crown, and they wanted our heads seperated from our bodies.
Bloody wankers.
So, the Irish hid us long enough for the french, who were heading to the last bit of French land in the Americas, the French Coast of Newfoundland (which Conche was the capital of) to agree to smuggle us across the pond. The journal was passed down as the family grew, and that's that.
Long story short, fast forward two hundred or so years, and you've got a flabbergasted family that now takes up half a museum in our village.
I'd go on more, but it wouldn't be relative to the poem. PM me if you ever want more historical family humor.
This poetry and all rights to it are owned exclusively by me in all contexts. Any attempt to reproduce this work without my explicit, hand written permission will elicit immediate legal action within the bounds of United States law in regards to literary property.
Upon the completion of contest voting, and after awards have been designated, this work will be removed and placed in my online gallery, provided there isn't a specific request to leave it up until the next round of contests is completed.
Enjoy.
Irish
I am an Irishman.
Simply, truly,
We embrace our heritage.
My heritage was taught, not told.
We are Irish, we are Irish,
Ignore the journal,
We are Irish.
Wait, now we have a museum back home?!
We are English, so I hear.
A let down, assuredly.
Oh well, it could be worse:
They did try to kill us…
So for a three or four generations now, apparently, we've all believe we were of Irish on my mom's side. We hail from this darling little fishing village on the french coast of Newfoundland called Conche, look it up sometime.
Anywho, it came to the attention of my great uncle Austen that a distant family member was in possession of a two hundred plus year old journal from our first ancestor to come over to the Americas. Apparently, it held some information that no one was privy to, but would flip our world around.
Apparently, we're actually traitors against the English crown. Smashing.
Sometime shortly before the journal's writing, my family was over in Ireland to give a report on the nature of British treatment of the Irishmen. We sent them a report chronicling the injust against Ireland and her people, and wouldn't you know it, those bloody English sent us back a letter saying that we were traitors for defaming the crown, and they wanted our heads seperated from our bodies.
Bloody wankers.
So, the Irish hid us long enough for the french, who were heading to the last bit of French land in the Americas, the French Coast of Newfoundland (which Conche was the capital of) to agree to smuggle us across the pond. The journal was passed down as the family grew, and that's that.
Long story short, fast forward two hundred or so years, and you've got a flabbergasted family that now takes up half a museum in our village.
I'd go on more, but it wouldn't be relative to the poem. PM me if you ever want more historical family humor.
This poetry and all rights to it are owned exclusively by me in all contexts. Any attempt to reproduce this work without my explicit, hand written permission will elicit immediate legal action within the bounds of United States law in regards to literary property.
Upon the completion of contest voting, and after awards have been designated, this work will be removed and placed in my online gallery, provided there isn't a specific request to leave it up until the next round of contests is completed.
Enjoy.
Irish
I am an Irishman.
Simply, truly,
We embrace our heritage.
My heritage was taught, not told.
We are Irish, we are Irish,
Ignore the journal,
We are Irish.
Wait, now we have a museum back home?!
We are English, so I hear.
A let down, assuredly.
Oh well, it could be worse:
They did try to kill us…