Engrish Crass

Today we presented our takes on the poem “The Highwayman”. It was very interesting.

We were supposed to present it in some original way, and I had the pleasure of coming up with most of our edit.

For the original version of the poem, click here.

My terrible, terrible edit that the class had to suffer through:

The wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees,
The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,
The road was a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor,
And the highwaywoman came driving–
   Driving–driving–
The highwaywoman came driving, up to the old bar-door.
 
She’d a French cocked-hat on her forehead, a pink bowtie at her chin,
A coat of fine black leather, and jeans of dark blue denim;
They fitted with never a wrinkle: her boots were up to the thigh.
And she cruised flashing a metallic gloss,
   Her glove compartment holding a glock,
Her knife’s blade a-twinkle, under the jeweled sky.
 
Over the cement she sped and screeched into the parking lot,
She tapped with her whip on the shutters, but all was barred and locked;
She whistled a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there
But the barkeep’s black-eyed son-in-law,
   Jeff, the barkeep’s son-in-law,
Removing a piece of chewed gum from his long black hair.
 
And dark in the dark old bar-front an iron gate creaked
Where Tam, Jeff’s wife, listened; her face was white and peaked;
Her eyes were hollows of madness, her hair like moldy hay,
She now hated the barkeep’s son-in-law,
   Her husband, the barkeep’s gorgeous son-in-law,
Dumb as a slightly deranged dog she listened, and she heard the robber say–
 
“One kiss, my bonny sweetheart, I’m after a prize tonight,
But I shall be back with the yellow gold before the morning light;
Yet, if they press me sharply, and harry me through the day,
Then look for me by moonlight,
   Watch for me by moonlight,
I’ll come to thee by moonlight, though hell/Darth Vader shall bar the way.”
 
She put her ride in drive; she scarce could reach his hand,
But he loosened his hair in the casement. Her face burnt like a brand
As the black cascade of eau de cologne came tumbling o’er his breast;
And she kissed its waves in the moonlight,
   (Oh, sweet black waves in the moonlight!)
The she zoomed off into the moonlight, and drove away 52.3 degrees northwest.
 
She did not come in the dawning; she did not come at noon;
And out of the tawny sunset, before the rise of the moon,
When the road was a gypsy’s ribbon, looping the purple moor,
A po-po squad came marching–
   Marching–Marching–
Dick Cheney’s men came marching, up to the old bar-door.
 
They said no word to the barkeep, they drank his booze instead,
But they gagged his son-in-law and bound him to the foot of his narrow bed;
Two of them knelt at his casement, with shotguns at their side.
There was death at every window;
   And hell at one dark window;
For Jeff could see, through his casement, the road the she would drive.
 
They had tied him up to attention, with many a sniggering jest.
They hand bound a shotgun beside him with the barrel pointed at his chest.
“Now keep good watch!” and they kissed him. Yes, indeed they were gay.
And throughout their creepy words;
   He remembered the doomed woman’s words–
I’ll come to thee by moonlight, though hell/Darth Vader should bar the way!
 
He twisted his hands behind him, but all the knots held good.
He writhed his hands till his fingers were wet with sweat or blood.
They stretched and strained in the darkness, and it seemed like time didn’t pass,
Till, now, on the stroke of midnight,
   Cold, with a slight chance of rain on the stroke of midnight,
The tip of one finger touched it! The trigger was his at last!
 
The tip of one finger touched it, he strove no more for the rest.
Up, he stood to attention, with the muzzle against his chest.
He would not risk their hearing; he would not strive again;
For the road lay bare in the moonlight;
   Blank and bare in the moonlight;
And the blood of his veins, in the moonlight, throbbed to his love’s refrain.
Vroom-vroom; vroom-vroom! Had they heard it? The Mustang roaring clear;
Vroom-vroom, vroom-vroom, in the distance? Were they deaf that they did not hear?
Down the ribbon of moonlight, over the brow of the hill,
The highwaywoman came driving,
   Driving, driving!
The po-po’s looked to their priming! He stood up, straight and still!
 
Vroom-vroom, in the frosty silence! Vroom-vroom, in the echoing night!
Nearer she came and nearer! His face was like a light!
His eyes grew wide for a moment; he drew one last deep breath,
Then his finger moved in the moonlight,
   The shotgun shattered the moonlight,
Shattered his breast in the moonlight and warned her–with his death.
 
She turned; she spun 52.3 degrees northwest; she did not know who stood
Bowed, with his head o’er the shotgun, drenched with his own red blood.
Not till the dawn she heard it, her face grew gray to hear
How Jeff, the barkeep’s son-in-law,
   The barkeep’s black-eyed son-in-law,
Had watched for his love in the moonlight, and died in the darkness there.
 
Back, she accelerated like a desperate housewife, shouting a curse to the sky,
Coal-black shown her eyes in the golden noon; jet-black was her leather coat,
When they shot her down on the highway,
   Down like a dog on the highway,
And her car exploded on the highway, she died with the pink bowtie at her throat.
 
And still of a winter’s night, they say, when the wind is in the trees,
When the moon is a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,
When the road is a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor,
A highwaywoman comes driving–
   Driving–driving–
A highwaywoman comes driving, up to the old bar-door.
Over the cement she roars and screeches into the parking lot;
She taps with her whip on the shutters, but all is barred and locked;
She whistles a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there
But the barkeep’s black-eyed son-in-law,
   Jeff, the barkeep’s black-eyed son-in-law,
Removing a piece of chewed gum from his long black hair.

I actually forgot a line. Oh well. Yes, the class had to suffer through that. I wanted to pull a School Days, where Tam kills Jeff, the highwaywoman kills Tam, cuts off Jeff’s head, and stuffs it in a paper bag, but I didn’t have time.

This weekend I have to type up another story. I think I’ll go for the romance genre. Time to go survey girls about confession reactions…

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One Response to “Engrish Crass”

  1. hee hee :]
    i thought that was pretty funny :DD
    wow really, romance?
    your end story product result whatever should be… interesting lol
    nice blog, btw :]

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