Treasure Island

Daniel Nester

(29 February 1968 / Portsmouth, Virginia)

Deaf Rush Limbaugh's Macaronic Blues


Soon I'll hear your voices, people,
and you'll sound like Donald Duck.
I'll hear every car horn honk,
every plink and plunk and plonk.
And you'll sound like Donald Duck--
one voice, indistinguishable, under God.
Every plink and plunk and plonk.
Comprised of pitches and lengths,
One voice, indistinguishable, under God.
It was like free jazz there towards the end,
Just comprised of pitches and different lengths.
Soon I'll hear your voices, people,
every immigrant, businessman, pundit.
And you all sound like Donald Duck.

Submitted: Monday, January 13, 2003

Do you like this poem?
0 person liked.
0 person did not like.

Read poems about / on: car, people, god

Read this poem in other languages

This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.

I would like to translate this poem »

word flags

What do you think this poem is about?

Comments about this poem (Deaf Rush Limbaugh's Macaronic Blues by Daniel Nester )

Enter the verification code :

Read all 1 comments »

Top Poems

  1. Phenomenal Woman
    Maya Angelou
  2. The Road Not Taken
    Robert Frost
  3. If You Forget Me
    Pablo Neruda
  4. Still I Rise
    Maya Angelou
  5. Dreams
    Langston Hughes
  6. Annabel Lee
    Edgar Allan Poe
  7. If
    Rudyard Kipling
  8. I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
    Maya Angelou
  9. Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
    Robert Frost
  10. Invictus
    William Ernest Henley

PoemHunter.com Updates

New Poems

  1. Creators, Midnights Voice
  2. Without You..! ! !, Asma Riaz Khan
  3. I'm not fine without you, Pijush Biswas
  4. P08222014, Andy Caldwell
  5. Simple Thought, Tim Holmes Jr
  6. A Glowing Angel, Rohit Sapra
  7. Fire Balls, Alem Hailu Gabre Kristos
  8. AL-KATTAB (A PLACE USED TO BE AN ALTERNA.., MOHAMMAD SKATI
  9. I lack true knowledge, gajanan mishra
  10. THE INEVITABLE DEATH, AMADU KAMARA

Poem of the Day

poet Henry Lawson


The old year went, and the new returned, in the withering weeks of drought,
The cheque was spent that the shearer earned,
and the sheds were all cut out;
...... Read complete »

   

Member Poem

[Hata Bildir]