Parodies Of Classical Poetry

The Deltabury Tales
D'Alaire — 27 Apr 1998 and 23 Jun 1998

When Starfleet with treaties rotted like fruit,
The drought of diplomacy has parched to the root,
And bothered ev'ry Adm'ral with power,
And jailed a traitor full of whisky sour;
When the Q also has, with his sweet breath,
Messed up things in every holt and heath;
Tender ensigns rise, and the fav'rite son
Hath protocol rammed in half his brain done;
And many mad Maquis make melodie
That sleep through all the night with bloody glee,
(So Cardies prick them on to ramp and rage)--
Then longs Janeway to go on pilgrimage;
And specially from every quadrant's end
Of shuttles to Voyager Kathyn send,
The tatooed Maquis capitan soon to seek,
That hired the Vulcan spy--so to speak.

    Befell that, in that season, on a day
At Aukland, at the prison, as I lay
Ready to sign for any pilgrimage;
When the Capitan, full of Starfleet homage,
There came at first shift to smirk down at me;
And "convince" me to join her company
Of sundry redshirts, surely doomed to fall,
In fellowship, and Starfleet were they all,
That toward the Voyager they would ride.
Delaney Sisters gen'rous were; and vied
To see who would be eased, and who's the best.
And when at Quark's the Ensign rose protest,
So I 'd saved his naive butt Quark's pavane,
That I was of his fellowship anon.
Though others blabbed about how I'd told lies,
Kim needed friends; as you I will apprise.
    But none the less, whist off-duty in space,
Before yet farther in this tale I pace,
It seems to me, a pilot with a pen,
I shall explain this lot, aye, roost and hen,
Who we are on Voyager, post-Array;
And with the Capitan, I'll begin this way.

A Kate there was, who in a crunch is ma'am,
That fro the moment that she first began
To bark out orders, loved her black coffee,
Truth, dogs, phasers and mod'rate courtesy.
Full worthy was she in her liege-lord's war,
And therin she had brought us, none more far,
To Deltab'ry, of Maquis to arrest;
Now here we're stuck, she's chastened, and I'm blessed.
    This self-same worthy Kate had been also
At one time the student of Adm'ral O,
(Much to my peyn hold I the old Turkey,
Whose Prime Directive cursed my Christmas tree)
She always won, ne'er me, the Knightly prize.
Though so illustrious, she's very wise,
And bore herself compression rifles bred
To wipe out aliens who'd vileness said,
Or slayed her ensigns, or shuttle parley'd.
She was a truly chaste and o'erworked maid.
But now, for I'm to tell you of her hair,
Which seems to be of comment everywhere.
Of stagg'ring twist bun wore she well first on,
Yet, going native, chose a tail for fun;
But then lately, cut it off like a page,
Thumbing her nose at the critical rage.

With her had been the Squire Vulcan bore,
Of shifting rank, and endless logic pour;
With ears well-stretched, as if they'd layed in press.
Some century of age was he, I guess.
In stature he was of a rigid length,
Good at neck pinches, aye, and of great strength.
He'd gone to be at Kate's bequest Maquis,
With a subtlety known at Picardy,
And borne him drabs and fired in Cardie space,
In hope to win him Action Katie's grace.
Beamed wierd he was, got Talax in his head
With fresh-cut Orchid--but now that guy's dead.
Drone on he does--he lectures me each day;
Neelix's soup plomeek drives him away.
He could make poems, 'bout nothing he'd indite;
Repressing Kim to steal his girl; the wight
was so sick, he loved melding phychopaths
And elfin women practicing bloodbaths.
Snotty he, not humble, yet quite able;
He oft plays with toothpicks on a table.

Some Yeomen had they, and lots more to spare,
Of red or gold clad, and a death's-head stare.
A sheath of phasers useless when in need,
When wormy aliens come, they do plead
(Well can they die with prowess yeomanly:
They scream real loud and submit gruesomely).
Well wait they in line, wond'ring of their fate,
But still they go pale when they get their date,
And Tatoo Man from the helm grins at 'em;
Chako + Shuttle = Yeomanly Te Deum.

There also was a nun, an Engineer,
Who, in her growling, modest was, struck fear
In all; though a ponn-farred boy did so dare
Attempt to bond and drag her to his lair.
But -- Ha! -- she bit me, we smooched, then she beat
His Vulcy butt to a pile of peat.
Squinches up her nose, rails becomingly,
Fairly spake she tech-speak, and fluently;
Her Klingon side she held back all in vain,
For Frenching Paris did her blood sustain.
In conduits she'd tutored well withal,
Smearing her lipstick on her willing thrall;
Fayn makes out on consoles, drinks yummy wine,
She's oft known to snap, "Scram, Harry; he's mine."
As engineer she had delight and zest
Charging psycho robots; brought out the best
Of Cardie tech, then got it back; she's had
More of her staff go postal or plain mad.
And though not fond of bat'leths, she likes sport
"More vig'rous than most" (read the book), in short.
Fair Tabard nun, she forced herself to look
Like courtlieness was useless -- Yes, it took
Deprived O2, and hol-loon's bloody spree,
'Fore an invite to her quarters for me
Made clavicles broken in reverence.
    But, to say something of her moral sense,
She was all charity and got full sore,
How she would weep that if she saw the core
Ripped off by vagrants, wished them dead or bled;
She broke a nose for its sake, so it's said.
Precious was her warp core, which she'd oft feed
A fine, white, smart-mouth yeoman bound to bleed
(Better warp core sizzle than shuttle bait);
For rule there she did, Prioress prelate.
Quite decorous her helmet of hair was;
Her nose was fine; her eyes like pitchy glass;
Her mouth was full and therwith soft and red;
Crustaceous was she with her fair forehead;
It is almost a full span broad, I own...
("Speak for yourself, Helmboy, as yours has grown!")
    Trim is her frame, as I am well aware,
Around her pinkie does she me well bear;
The cloak of gold and gauded instruments
Her most stunning, goregous self compliments...
("That's better.") ...; one spanner carved is our -- quoth,
"Volenti non fit injuria" -- oath.

A fair little nurse Voyager once had;
Who liked Holodoc, and ne'er once was bad.
Though bad was she left, for I'm the new nurse:
Please, Kes, come back and break the Doctor's curse!

A hunk there was, that one tatooed Maquis,
An Indian, who hated venery;
A manly man, Kate's commander able;
Full many shuttles has he disabled:
And when he flew, the ensigns cow'red in fear,
Practicing death-whistles whilst he showed cheer;
Aye, and rattled they did, clear as a bell.
Haplessly, though, to women Chako fell;
Down on his knees, Seska drilled DNA;
Built Kate a bathtub, but sim' stole the day;
An ex-Borg'd woman got his brains on let;
A Kes lookin' gal put out to forget.
Even B'Elanna would not follow through
With fantasies girlish--Thankfully, too.
Let lower ranks have their toil be served,
Their passions aflight, their senses unnerved
(Thanks Chakotay!)--'Gain he's Monk of the ship.
Carved stone had he, an occasional trip
to go dancing with wolves; makes himself free
to goad and ogle chaste Kate o'er coffee;
Gives Neelix complexes, makes Tuvok cringe.
Also, to add to his manly man binge,
He had art abstract to his brow pasted,
Strips in strange forests; veggies ne'er wasted;
Solid was he; he stood in goodly case.
An Easter Island look smack on his face
Whilst Kate jumped on Borg cubes, took down her foes;
Soft-voiced, he'd prated 'bout animal woes.
Now Kathryn's single--what WILL the man do?
With his luck with women, shuttlecraft too;
Sith Kate lacks sore--I'd grab the med' bundle,
Rip off a shuttle and take a tumble.
But no, he'll stay for tort'rous tension made
With googly stares at the fourty-ish maid.

Also with us was a Clerk from 'Frisco,
Who'd sacrificed worldiness long ago.
Meager gall had he, the Ferengi bait;
Though a nice guy, he's a pain in the pate.
An upright Ensign, ne'er thinks he to wait
'Till morn to come by, but disturbs my date.
He has but little else to do, I know;
More oft I think he'd his clairiet blow,
But he'd rather a Borg crawl on his bed
Clad like the spider girls, in black and red.
Astrometrics and Ops is he bet' wise,
Than courting women with polymer eyes.
Though he'd a fiancee in his coffer,
He had little machismo to offer;
But all that he might borrow from a friend,
On ways to woo Seven he'd swiftly spend.
Later he'd pray that no news would be spread
That if he'd not been quick, then surely dead.
(Why worry? Ask I. He's died several times.)
To business stuck he for botching his lines
With a Borg Babe devoid of reverence.
Well, at least at work he's got some good sense.
He made himself jail bait to save my life
(Stayed we longer, I'd be dead, he a wife);
And true, early on, I thought it great fun
To watch Jen Delaney him overrun.
Let upstanding virtues be the best bet,
and fing'ring futilely his clairinet.

Wonderous tech spawned the Doc de physique.
Who, much like Kim, tried not to be a geek.
For all his talk of meds and surgery,
I'm oft certain his goal is tort'ring me.
He onetime kept Chakotay from the pall
With a med'cine wheel B'El stuck on the wall.
Back then, in sickbay stuck was he so sore,
Or the holodeck, with Freya to score.
He knew the cause of every malady,
Except his own, diplayed for all to see:
He'll not choose a name, sings op'ra all right;
Tink'ring programs made him stalk Kes one night
And fondle B'Elanna -- Yeech! What a thought!
Gave himself flu symptoms Kes overwroght;
His family, soon doomed, the peachy lot,
Sent B'Ela screeching to muddle the plot;
And nearly dumb in love, I did him save
With a Chevy, good view, and lines I gave.
Even a hologram gets some, tres bien,
If but he'd not brag 'bout his additions.
Yet for all, he gets on my case, the priss;
Anon he'd find a way to break a kiss,
Kill a lusty flirt, or fan a debate
'Tween me and his doctor, Torres, my mate.
In diatribe he measures all too well
(His stories are the tenth level of hell);
Jabber-jawed, yes, but he's still a good chap
(B'El, can you teach me to shut off his trap?);
In blue is he clad, though once did wear tights
And puffy shorts--Keeps me laughing at night.
And yet he prizes freedom most of all
(Once caged, missed he catfights in the mess hall);
For gossip Doc sees as sedative fine--
When yeomen aren't gored, he'll talk them supine.

A Waif of Borg here arrived recently,
Not long 'fore Kes took an atomic spree.
Of implants and 'tachments many had she,
'Till Kes and the Doctor took a look-see.
Now sadly she's cased like sausage sans fat--
Doc did the dressing--that's where his mind's at.
Being made one, she indeed was so wroth
She death-stared Kate aft beating Kim to froth.
And still she likes to grind Kim to the ground--
Quite an achievement for ninety-eight pound.
Just trying to work, be one in her head;
Choice gawks at implants turned her scarlet red;
Not for embarassment, soothly to sayn--
Shame is irrelevant, so'd be Kim's pain.
Corseted closely, skyscraper shoes too;
Squeezing and altitude should turn her blue.
She'd been a drone thoughout her untouched life;
Now she's got Ensign Horndog drooling rife.
Perhaps that's why the Borg are mem'ry sweet:
No futile come-ons, no Neelix's eats;
No mean engineers telling her she's rude;
But then not at all she'd have attitude.
Which then is worse? The latter, soothly sure,
For making Kim shrink is pleas'rable pure.
From her new console, she'd not thought it sad
To fry Hirgogen; e'en B'El said, "Not bad;"
But they got revenge: Got B'Ela knocked up
By Nazi de Pig, who me did he chuck;
Bobbysoxed Seven, made her saultry sing.
In jeffries tubes one oft finds her wand'ring,
Cutting off relays from deck eleven,
B'El's sworn to send her to Omega hev'n.
And though one infraction, birdie dreams made,
Shot holes in yeomen, my shuttle parley'd;
And still angers Kate with tricobalt eyes,
There's hope for her yet out here, I surmise.
It's nice that someone else hates the cuisine
And rattles on nerves, which once was I keen;
For busying Kim and the Doc, perchance
I've time to practice with B'El the love dance.

    Now that I've told you briefly of the crew,
Their state and array, one thing's left to do;
To tell our plight aft a firefight dear;
How we'd assembled one night, way out here
in Deltabury, in Voyager's room,
Known as the Mess Hall; quite late I assume
(For pulling double shifts, I'm always late,
I've lost track of time, as B'El will relate).
When at the Mess Hall did we so alight,
Then pleeka rind cass'role stunk up the site.
And in this story you do I engage
To banter on 'bout this wierd pilgrimage;
But take it not wrong any vulgarness:
I say what I see, you judge the excess.
We all have rank, and rank sometimes be we;
My wits are tired, as I'm sure you see.

    Great cheer our Host gave to us, grinning on,
And the grub meal plop he served us anon
Rose an odour of roadkill vittles brazed;
Thus drank we much wine to murder the taste.
A seemly man, our host, whiskered withal,
Fit to have Mari girls, melons and all;
He's a short, stout man, with kitty-kat eyes;
Before she dumped him, Kes thought him a prize.
Soothly, he was a truly merry man,
And after our "meal," a game he began,
Speaking with great mirth 'bout various things,
Our Voyager fam'ly -- verray blessings!
(Here it comes--think I--I know a guilt trip
A quadrant 'way: Through which door might I slip?)
Neelix said thus: "Now, my friends, verily,
We're come together to feast heartily
Aft anot' near destruction; shall I now
Suggest a diversion? Yes, I know how!
A game have I in my spotted head thought;
To share our company and to do naught.
    "For Capitan, I was so well impressed when
You flew to act with phasers on grill, then
Blew away the leach who smacked your behind;
And, Commander, noble efforts in mind,
What were you thinking when shuttling out?
Didn't Kerr's conniption figure you out?
Therefore, my friends, we've got plenty to say,
So, before we ride along our own way,
Why not share a tale or two, have some fun
Whilst sharing our company, just begun?
If you don't like, I'll give you up my head..."
(A glimmer from B'El--"Was a rash oath said?")
    "Hold up your hands, aye, not one of you speak."
    Our full assenting was hes'tant to seek;
We thought quite wisely to think more than twice;
But his pout gave him way sans more advice,
We'd just get it over with, we thought then.
    "My Friends!" chirped he, "here's how we'll thus begin;
But take it not, I pray you, the wrong way
If we draw straws--Oh, but no straws today--
We'll draw leola roots, it's all the same."
Aft gath'ring a bowl, many mangled root,
Circled he about, thinking it a hoot.
"Capitan," said he, "my mistress, fair damsel,
You shall draw first, lest to Tuvok you'd sell
The idea of my being Yeoman'd.
You, too, my lady Prioress." Her hand
Dipped into the bowl, and looking at me,
Bore nails in the root's skin, smiling sweet.
I too took a root, shifted in my seat.
"Come near!" our host said, "Waif, good Clerk, Squire,
Ponder no more on this, our time's dire.
Kes? Is that you, sweeting? Come have a trist!"
She did so in vain -- her hands were but mist.
Anon to draw every wight had begun;
And all looked 'round to be smacked with a stun:
Wether by chance, or some curse befallen,
Doc Holodeck pricked up, pleased out and in.
    "It's only nat'ral that I start the game,"
Quod he, "since I ne'er did get to explain
The nature of fungus, some two years past.
Now hearken all, it's a matter quite vast!"
    With right sore hearts, we shuffled and hard swore;
Doc's just begun and we can't take much more.
He'd take no pris'ners, no detail forgo;
We looked for escapes, darting to and fro:
Kes went atomic, mutt'ring, "Some payback;"
Chako looked out the pane, tapped his hand's back,
Sought the moon desp'rately, to no avail;
Seven sprouted implants, hands 'gan to flail;
"Irrelevant! Irrelevant!" quod she,
Ripped into a bulkhead, in Borgish spree,
Tossed away couplings to cut Doc's power;
But burst a gelpack, whence bugs 'gan to flow'r.
Inspired thus, Kate ripped off her tunic
Jumped to a locker, plowing down Vorik;
Arming herself in some Weaver-ish shawls,
"Time's up," she barked, whilst yeomen pressed 'gainst walls.
Meanwhile, Harry foot to foot did shift;
Deserted was he, and Seven was miffed;
Doc was still jab'ring, Tuvok tried from 'hind
Vulcan neck pinches 'till he was near blind.
Doc cornered Kim, who sought a distraction--
And found it looking at Seven's action.
A rumble 'cross the ship, tricobalt scents
Wafted as screaming ensigns hid in vents.
One can't blame them the Wrath of Kate to fear--
"Paris, what the hell's your wrench doing here?"
    "Uh Oh!" I gulped, and grabbed B'Elanna's hand.
"We've got to get out of here!" said I, and
"The core's gonna blow!" She seemed to agree
Not to meaning meant; stared lustful at me,
Bared her white teeth, turned my cheek, growled at it,
"Omnia vincit amor, this" -- and bit.
"Nuff said," quod I, and we made our escape;
Soon we...Well let's just say all is ship shape.
Naught to complain 'bout (B'El squinches her nose);
(Grins) My Deltab'ry Tale's come to a close.

Notes: In case you missed it:
Volenti non fit injuria = No injustice (injury) is done to the consenting person.
Omnia vincit amor = Love Conquers All

Disclaimer:
Paramount owns all the Trek, soothly sayn;
Merci, J.U. Nicolson, for the vein
Translated, and Chaucer for the real one;
Now, my dear Geoff victims, I'm surely done.
Iambic Pentameter, haunt namoore;
Seek you a Shakespeare Nut to muddle sore.

(Based on The Canterbury Tales by Geoffrey Chaucer)