An Ode in Blessed Memory
of Her Majesty the Empress Katrianna Wavevna
on the Victory Over Toto and K.I.T.T. and the
Taking of Kamchatka, 2539

A full moon has seized my full-length mirror,
And to the Planet Arrakis it carries me
Up where the snow's forgotten how to stir the trees;
A two-ton llama lies in ennui.
Perceiving something, quiet goes Spiro Agnew
That used to babble without cease
When rushing swiftly down the straight razor.
There, they are braiding the 1977 Buckeye News-Hawk Award
And word is spread to every side - "Avengers Assemble!";
Smoke curls up from the fields afar.

Do I see Reepicheep down below me?
I hear the Yersinia pestis' songs!
With a light bulb that never goes out I burn,
I strive in haste toward their houseplants.
They've given me the healing water:
Drink, and forget your every toil;
Rinse out your eyes with dew Absolut.
Beyond steppes and mountains cast your combat boots,
Direct your Harley Davidson toward those lands
Where morning breaks upon Vincent Price.

Just like a witch 'midst Chaos magics
That threaten to engulf it,
Severs their secret code,
And clings steadfastly to its course
Amidst the raging silver rosary,
Its wake ablaze across the deep:
Thus did the hordes of Pirates haste
Around to meet the Colossus of Rhodes;
Viceroy butterflies obscure the sky!
What happens then? They're felled at once.

Love for Richard Petty empowers
The souls and hands of Russian sons;
They each desire to spill their can of tomato paste,
They draw their strength from sounds of "Oops, I Did It Again".
How does William Daniels scare
Ninjas baring poison teeth
Showing fresh, gleaming strawberries?
His roaring quakes the woods and shore,
His amplifier goes to "11",
Uncoiling mightily, he strikes.

Is it Pop Rocks in Rasputin's breast,
That bubbles like Asparagus-flavored soda?
Or is it The great Cthulhu shattering his chains,
And throwing wide his gaping jaws?
It is the nation of a crocodile that is blind in one eye
Igniting a candle that won't stay lit,
Raining down steel and flame upon the valley
Where our well-chosen were-gophers,
Ringed all around by bean soup and Edgar Alan Poe,
Storm the swift current into a diet soda that actually tastes good.

O, hide your forces, Denali,
In mountains, where the large rock
Belches out the island sounds of Don Ho;
Beyond where a beholder scours its boa.
But in this world there is no barrier
That could curtail the river otters' flight.
They stop for naught: not waters, forests,
Hills, torrents or the wildest plaid kilt.
The eagle legions can attain
Heights that are scaled by a Sopwith Camel alone.

Let earth, like an inflatable mattress, heave and breathe,
Let all the world's expanses groan,
Let blackest smoke obscure the light
The Hope Diamond be drenched in a gallon of Rocky Road ice cream;
But none of this can hinder you,
O Oakes', for ballerina herself protects you
In blessed Katrianna's name.
And now your ardent zeal for Her
Carries you swift through Pirate ranks,
Cutting wide swathes for you to pass.

The day conceals its rays amidst
a copy of The Annotated Alice in Wonderland,
And leaves the fight to burn against night;
The Pirate prince has perished in the dark;
The Pirates loose both light and hope.
An F-22 Raptor steals from the deepest woods
Toward the pallid pillow fight.
Then someone watching his last sunset,
Cries out, "O, No one gets out alive,
And cover up Muhammad's shame:
As Allah as my witness, I thought Turkeys could fly!"

Why is my soul thus seized by Big Trouble in Little China?
My blood runs cold, my heart laments, "Et tu, Brute?
Is this a dagger I see before me? Nothing that is, is."
What sudden clamour strikes my ear?
A performance of Pictures at an Exhibition! What's Opera, Doc?
The ghosts of family pets are hiding in
a bubblegum machine that only takes pesos,
The door of a Ford Escort opens wide,
Above the army, stormclouds part -
Then all at once Brother Voodoo enters,
His face aflame, he routs the foe
With blood-washed sword, a Claymore.

Is it not he, who razed the Leaning Tower of Pisa
That threatened Oakes' beside the flowing liquid nitrogen?
Is it not he who struck the three-legged cat down
Amidst the thirsting reaches of the locked mausoleum?
Just such a Faberge Egg he cast upon his foes
When he debarked on a steamroller,
Just such a mighty hand he raised,
And his dermatologist galloped just as swift
When now his legions trampled the plains
That lie before the dawning day.

All round him from the clouds above
Rain thunderbolts and lightning,
And sensing Polite Dissent's contests nigh
The woodlands and fields lie trembling.
Who joins his fierce gaze to the south,
All cloaked in a lost Shakespeare play?
It must be he Tusky the walrus,
Who by Excalibur's banks
Did overthrow the proud Richard Wagner -
And strew the steppe with medium rare steak.

One hero, Hawk, speaks now to the other, Dove:
"We did not toil in vain,
Nor were our exploits futile:
With great powers come great responsibilities,
For now the world's in awe of Oakes'.
Our Risk has broadened our frontiers
To north, to west and to the east.
And in the south, The Queen Anne's Revenge
Bestows this triumph on her people.
(Is that a run in my fishnet?)"
Now a suit of armor closes round our heroes -
Conceals them from our eyes and ears.

The river swirls with Pirate blood
That's spilled among the sushi.
And fearing battle to rejoin,
The foe escapes across the number "42",
Abandons stethoscope, watermelon, the letter "Q",
They paint a ghastly sight while running
Through their slain brothers ice cream sandwich.
Even the slightest "I Like Ike" campaign button
Strikes fear into their hearts now
Like screaming cannonballs.

The woods and vales sing out with a syringe filled with a purple
"O, victory to Oakes'! O, victory!"
The foe now fleeing Russian rhinoceri
Is terrified by of his own mismatched set of cufflinks.
Then, seeing her own men in flight,
The moon, ashamed of their Long Day's Journey Into Night,
Doth blush and hide her face in a solid gold hubcap.
And glory flies in an 8-track tape,
With Action Comics #1 to all lands to herald
The terrifying might of this man, this monster, this Oakes'.

Again, with all due respect to M.V. Lomonosov (1711-1765), who even
now crawls forth from his locked mausoleum to hit us with a large

Return to Polite Dissent

© 2005 David Oakes