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Quote:

Originally Posted by san rensho (Post 316291)

THE RABY
(with apologies to both Jake Raby and Edgar Allen Poe)

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten 986 lore.
As I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a rapping, as of something gently tapping, rapping, from behind my driver's door.
Tis just valve noise, I muttered, just a sticky, tiicky valve lifter, tapping from behing my driver's door.
This it is and nothing more.

Ah, distinctly I remember, it was in the bleak December, and each dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow, vainly I had sought to borrow from my books by Bentley,
encouragement that my intermediate shaft bearing, that that rare and radiant bearing, was not about to be, no more.

And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
thrilled me, filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before, so that now, to still the beating of my heart I stood repeating
Tis just valve noise from a sticky lifter,
Just some valve noise from a sticky lifter,
Only this and nothing more.

Back into my chamber turning, all my soul within me burning, Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
Surely, said I, surely that is something at my window lattice
Let me see that, what thereat is, and this mystery explore
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore
Tis the wind and nothing more.

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
in there stepped a stately RABY of the saintly days of yore.
Not the least obeisance made he, not a minute stopped or stayed he,
But, with mein of Lord or Lady, perched above my chamber door,
Perched upon a bust of Porsche just above my chamber door, perched, and sat and nothing more.

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling, by the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
"Tell this soul full of fear and dread, that the tapping of the motor is not the failing IMS bearing that I dread,
that my engine is not dead, that the sound is not the IMS death rattle, but just a valve and nothing more.
Quoth the Raby, 'Nevermore.'

"Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!' I shrieked up starting
"Get thee back into the tempest and the nights Plutonian shore
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul has spoken
Leave my loneliness unbroken ! quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart and take that form from off my door
Quoth the Raby, Nevermore.

And the Raby, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Porsche just above my chamber door
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demons that is dreaming
And the lamp light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor
And my soul from out the shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted, Nevermore!

I'd love to see what you could do with the Rape of the Lock !

From my bed I gather …. to the painful sound of engine clatter …. amidst the echoing noise of tearing and shearing … I realize it's the sound of my IMS bearing.

Still waiting to here from the forum's bardolator himself - Jager !

Winter Hath My 986

For my brothers in northern lands, oh how I remember,
Hide their Boxsters during winter, on this first day December…

Winter hath my nine-eight-six, absence sheen,
Freezing leather felt, what dark days seen;

For thee, remembrance of the past driving year,
December, Boxster bareness now everywhere;

Yet this time removed it will be spring time,
Bearing the Porsche badge, Boxster at its prime;

Today the paint pale, dread the winter’s near,
Tuned exhaust notes that sang, 'tis now with dull cheer;

Thou Boxster away, thy exhaust echoes mute,
Longing for warmth, beaches, women in swim suit;

Yet abundant cold and scarce driving seems to me,
Occasion for Porsche dreams, mods, until new driving pleasures return to thee.

Quote:

Originally Posted by Jager (Post 316607)

For my brothers in northern lands, oh how I remember,
Hide their Boxsters during winter, on this first day December…

Winter hath my nine-eight-six absence sheen,
Freezing leather felt, what dark days seen;

For thee, remembrance of the past driving year,
December, Boxster bareness now everywhere;

Yet this time removed it will be spring time,
Bearing the Porsche badge, Boxster at its prime;

Today the paint pale, dread the winter’s near,
Tuned exhaust notes that sang, 'tis now with dull cheer;

Thou Boxster away, thy exhaust echoes mute,
Longing for warmth, beaches, women in swim suit;

Yet abundant cold and scarce driving seems to me,
Occasion for Porsche dreams, mods, until new driving pleasures return to thee.

We are in the presence of a poetic genius !!!!!!!

Quote:

Originally Posted by Kenny Boxster (Post 287605)

A haiku about my boxster:

Car drives fine,
Must Upgrade vehicle,
Empty Wallet.

5-7-5. But I feel ya.

Like sands through the hourglass... so are the oil changes of our boxsters.

Quote:

Originally Posted by Johnny Danger (Post 321835)

Like sands through the hourglass... so are the oil changes of our boxsters.

Hmmm... Let me think about this one.

Like sands through the hourglass... so are the small brown plastic pieces of cam chain tensioner pads found during oil changes of our boxsters

Winter wind in my face
The song of the flat six
Faster. Faster. Faster.

When I blink, dim, then mine eyes don’t see,
A flash, was it my thoughts or eyes that looked on thee?

‘Twas a Boxster for all things highly respected,
Darkly bright, wildly fast, city streets directed;

To the clear day this Boxster shines a different light,
Thou building shadows do not make this Porsche less bright;

How would I say, mine eyes be blessed made,
Glossy black nine-eight-six racing through shadow’s shade;

How could thy shadows form such a beautiful show?
When to sunglass eyes thy shade shines stunningly so!

Behold, tis thee Boxster in the living day,
Through shade thy bright shine doth stay!

A blink, a moment, a Boxster mine eyes no longer see,
Ah, but closed eyes will always see bright when this Porsche memory shows thee to me.

Jäger, is this an adaptation of a Shakespeare sonnet?

Quote:

Originally Posted by san rensho (Post 321973)

Jäger, is this an adaptation of a Shakespeare sonnet?

Yes it is...

Sonnet XLIII
When most I wink, then do mine eyes best see,
For all the day they view things unrespected;
But when I sleep, in dreams they look on thee,
And darkly bright are bright in dark directed.
Then thou, whose shadow shadows doth make bright,
How would thy shadow's form form happy show
To the clear day with thy much clearer light,
When to unseeing eyes thy shade shines so!
How would, I say, mine eyes be blessed made
By looking on thee in the living day,
When in dead night thy fair imperfect shade
Through heavy sleep on sightless eyes doth stay!
All days are nights to see till I see thee,
And nights bright days when dreams do show thee me.

Gaily bedight,
A Boxster knight,
In sunshine and in shadow,
Had driven long,
Singing a song,
Top down toward Eldorado.

But he grew cold
This knight so bold
When winter brought its shadow.
Sighed as he found
No spot of ground
Snow-free like Eldorado.

And, as his steed
Of storage had need,
He met a pilgrim shadow-
"Shadow," said he,
"Where can it be-
This land of Eldorado?"

"Over the Mountains
Of the Moon,
Down the Valley of the Shadow,
Ride, boldly ride,"
The shade replied-
"If you seek for Eldorado!"

But Winter’s cold ground
And salt all around
Kept Boxster in a shadow.
Soon Spring revives:
Boxster comes alive
To drive toward Eldorado.

It's a battle of the "bards" !

To Me Fair Boxster

To me fair Boxster, you never can be old,
Such seems your beauty, especially in winter’s cold;

As you wait for spring your paint is eyed,
Tis remembrance of summers' driving pride;

Ah, Nine-Eight-Six beauty, with your speed dial-hands,
Peer your sweet hue, which methinks still, doth stands;

Through many winter’s seasons have I seen,
Improvements to your soul that require much green;

New parts on thy frame, faster pace perceived,
Now you hath quicker motion so eyes may be deceived;

Fresh Boxster, just wait for spring from winter’s turn'd,
April streets coming soon, tires shall be burn'd.

I would like to add this poem to this thread; I think it belongs here. I wrote this for JD cutting some cheese with his “Bird” a few months ago on another thread.

My birds' eyes are like the setting sun,
In my yellow nine-eight-six she’s plenteous fun;

Cabernet wine is far redder than her lips' red,
If hairs be silk, golden silk grows on her head;

I have smelled countless roses, red and white,
Her perfumes provide similar delight;

But no such roses I sense near her cheeks,
For some reason my bird suddenly reeks!

I love to hear her speak, soft evening breeze,
But hark; I believe she just cut the cheese;

That nightcap had a far more pleasing sound,
My bird squawked, time to hit the ground;

A wine bouquet meant to breathe, tis not,
My once attractive bird, now not quite as hot;

And yet, by heaven, in my Boxster uptown,
Swiftly push the button, relief, convertible top down.

So I thought it was time i shared my bit of passion hope you guys enjoy.

My 986 Passion

On those days that are tiring and dry,
In my garage sits one of the true beauties of life,
I dwell in my passion to drive,
So I set out into the world and step into the divine,
As the revs climb,
And my heart is revived by the glorious whine,
The tensions rise,
Those speeding tickets are something I want to deny,
So I keep calm and refined,
The love that is given to me by this ride,
Is soothing and benign,
Yet visceral and undefined,
And through every gear my smile is the sign,
I love Cassandra my gray 986.

What a bunch of Longfellows!:)

There once was a man from Munich who like to drive his boxster while wearing a tunic. While the radio was blaring ... he didn't hear IMSB shearing ... so when the engine stopped he called Jake Raby a panic !