"'Bite your tongue'? Control that ire!..." Take a Bite: A Nonsense Glossary

"Bite your tongue"...? Control that ire!
"Bite your lip"...? Halt! Hold your fire!
"Bite your thumb"...? I quote the Bard.
"Bite the bullet"...? Do what's hard.

"Dog bites man"...? That's nugatory.
"Man bites dog"...? Now, that's a story.
"Dog bites God"...? That's an'gram glory.
"God bites dust"....? That's Fred's* furore.
     * Nietzsche

"A is for Aesop. 'Tis I..." Abbreviated Aesop: An Alphabet in Rhyme

Presenting the fab fabulist in 26 distichs (several of 'em expanded), 
his tales encapsulated for any who'd otherwise give these myths a miss. 
For fuller treatments, conduct a web search for 'em or their alternate 
titles as provided in the footnotes.  

A is for Aesop. 'Tis I.
(Who'd act brash spells it 'ash, sigma, omicron, pi.')*


     * Æ, σ, o, π. 

Reads one "Andra moi ennepe Mu-..." here...?*
Not one whit! This lit's wit's writ for you, dear.


       * The opening line of Homer's Odyssey. 

B's for my "Belling the Cat."*
Gist...? To say's not to do. (Dudes like you should know that.)


     * Also known as "The Mice in Council."

C's for "The Cock and the Jew'l."
What's its gist...? Who'd persist fetching frills finds...a fool.

D's for "The Dog in the Manger."
Who accrues without using...? Snarls any cur stranger...?

E is for Ennus, my scion.
Me he jailed. Si! He failed. (Enn's no gens I'd rely on.)

F's for "The Fawn and His Mother."
No raisón favors fight -- not when flight is one's druther.

G's for "The Gnat and the Bull."

It's too true: you're just you. Don't let pride pull the wool.

H...? For "The Hare and the Tortoise."

Read and weep; never sleep! (Ring's a bell does Abe Fortas...?)*
  

     * The Justice's descent into scandal is here considered 
a sort of ethical somnolence.

I's for "The Idol of Clay."*

Not cajoled (to it pray though one may),

it spills gold when one breaks it one day.

(It appears the god hears -- in his roundabout way.)


     * In Aesop's original, the idol is made of wood.

J's for my "Jove and the Monkey."*

Read! Take note! Your son's haut, be he fair-haired or funky.


     * Aesop's fable, called "The Beauty Contest of the Animals," 
features Zeus as the judge.

K's for "The King of the Frogs."*

Moral? Don't for storks sue! Do make do with god's logs.


     * Also called "The Frogs Who Wished for a King."

L's for "The Lion in Love."

Be how passion's irrational cognizant of.

M's for "The Miser's Lost Gold."

Knick'd: the lot. Nor is Cotta consoled.*

Still, some thought: naught he bought, naught he sold:

what's amiss...? Merely this: not one dollar he'd doled!

     * In Aesop's "The Miser and His Gold," the miser 
is unnamed. Cotta is Pope's miser in that poet's 
"Epistle to Bathurst."  

N's for "The Neats' Tongues Adventure,"*
when, on balance, droll talents proved awkward to censure.

     * Not a fable but an incident recorded in various 
versions of The Aesop Romance.

O's for "the Old Man and Death."
Don't entreat Death's relief! Save your breath! Death's a thief.

P's for "The Peacock and Juno."

Point? You can't have it all. Folks will call you...(well, you know).

Q's for "The Quack Frog: a Fable."

First, Docteur, thyself cure! Or deserve your "quack" label.

R...? "The Irrational Raven."*

Change of scene doesn't mean you shall glean all you're cravin.'

     * Search for it as "The Swan and the Raven."

S...? For "The Stag at the Pool."

Don't say "Nay!" to what may prove a life-saving tool.

T's for "The Thieves and the Cock."

Your belief and a thief won't undo you...? A crock.

U's for "Four Oxen, United."*

Graze alone, on your own...? Quick demise you've invited.

     * Better known as "The Oxen and the Lion."

V's for "The Vine and the Goat."

Keep your fast! Who laughs last when lies open your throat...?

W...? "Wolf and the Kid."

Acting smart ain't great art when one's cautiously hid.

X is for Xanthus, my master.*

Had slave not been my lot, would've pastures proved vaster...?

     * Again, not a fable but biographical lore to be found 
in Aesop's Vita.

Y's for "The Youth and His Mother."*
Raised your child to run wild...? Wait: he'll wind up not other.

     * Also called "The Boy and His Mother" or "The Young 
Thief and His Mother."

Z's for "the Zephyr/Sol War."*
What beats force...? Well, of course, domination will... Or...


     * Search for it as "The North Wind and the Sun."

Foam and the Colonel: Caricatures

Foam Chomsky

Colonel Cyclops

Eggcordian Fold, Four Views: A Book Design (Photographs)

"Push Comes to Shuffle..." or Shuffle Stuff: a Nonsense Glossarhyme

When push comes to shuffle,
one shuffles along.
Off to Buffalo shuffle,
like's done in Al's song.*

     * Al Dubin and Harry Warren introduced

their song "Shuffle Off to Buffalo" in the 

1933 musical film "42nd Street." It must 

not be confused with Noble Sissle and

Eubie Blake's 1921 Broadway show

"Shuffle Along."

When shuffleboard's offer'd,
a shuffle pass may
lend one's shuffle dance lev'rage
to carpe the day.

When shuffling one's feet,

as Burt Shevelove does,

price, then purchase, a snow shuffle.

Why...? Just because.

As regards mortal coils

which require shuffling off,

shite's what's shuffled -- from Augean Stables!

(You scoff...?)

"From dreams recollected..." What It Is & Where It's From: A Nonsense Rhyme

From dreams recollected. From fancies confected.
(It's nothing Bill Veeck did, nor reckless Glenn Beck did.)
Debuts unsuspected. D'ja vus resurrected.
(It's nowt Bela Fleck did nor aught Chiang Kai Shek did.) 

Affected. Reflected. Ex more inspected.
Finessed a la Greque, though by Shrek undetected.
(It's nothing no Czech nor no dead Zapotec did,
nor nowt Lech Walesa nor Gregory Peck did.)

Its lemmas? Dissected. Heck! Hypercorrected.
(Nowt Halo nor Breck nor no Antarctic trek did.)
It's ever respected. It's left disinfected.
(Nor -- just for effect -- is it something Cal Tech did.)

Perfection? Neglected when interconnected.
Erected in texts. Into tracts architected.
It's schtick Prilosec, plus an old tarot deck, did...
what "Nescio autem non volo noscito"* did.
     * In Latin, very roughly, "I dunno...an' I don' wanna know."

"Drumpf and his kids to our country's laid siege..." Noblesse, No Less: Drumpf Nonsense

Drumpf and Drumpf's kids
to our country laid siege.
I call it vice.
They cry, "Noblesse oblige!"

Drumpf spreads for Putin
like crackers for cheese.
To each, t'other's "noble."
So: noblesse...? Oh, please!

Senior touts Norquist,
claims Grover holds keys.
I call it blackmail.
Drumpf...? "Noblesse goatees."

Senior's small hands
fondle gals' As and Ts.
They shout, "Abuse!"
Drumpf cries, "Noblesse nookees!"

Junior'd keep Bangalore's
brides on their knees.
He cites, "Their rules."
I cry, "No! Less suttees!"

Senior'd have teachers
pack heat while they teach.
He...? "It's for safety."
Me...? "Shit! Let's impeach!"

"One puff is a pastryt..." Let Me Puff!: A Nonsense Puff Piece (from What A's Not For)

One puff is a pastry. One puff is a gust.
One puff is a sleeve. One's a claim.
One puff's a capacitance unit: pF.
(So: who gave Puff the rapper his name?)

One puff is an adder. One puff is a breather.
One Puff is a ground-attack plane.
One Puff is a slick sonar system for subs.
(So: who's playing with Puff -- Dick or Jane?)

One pouffe is a hairdo. One poof is a gay.
One puff is a public debate.
One Puff is a volcanic ash tracking model.
(So: who puffed that Puffed Wheat we ate?)

One Puff is a folksinger's magical dragon.
One puff's a medicinal herb.
But the best puff's a present-tense, English, cohortative,
first-person singular verb.

"Take a Mother of Invention..." AmalgaMates, AmalgaMarriages & AmalgaMavens: Abecedarial Caricatures

Take a Mother of Invention.
Tack on terminal detention.
Ne'er a cuter persecute.
Alter ego? Sheik Yerbouti.                             Anne Frank Zappa

Poke a '10' -- one lithe and lanky.
Yoke her to the New Yo'k Yankee.                  Bo Derek Jeter

We've been attacked, shellac'd, Iraq'd.
We've sure been meg'lomaniac'd.
Who best to research and redact
our "Tarzan Does the Tal'ban" tract?              Condoleezza Rice Burroughs

He trilled "My Peggy Sue-a-hoo,"
then thrilled us in that tome by Tru                Buddy Holly Golightly

Ubercop (the best of Chester)
spliced his genes with GynoJester.                 Dick Tracy Ullman

Plu-poetess -- no sonneteer --
she won a prize but lost an ear.                     Edna St. Vincent Van Gogh

His lips, 'twixt sips, drip quips sarcastic.
Plastic ears? Attached with mastic.                 Fat Jack Leonard Nimoy 

This tree-tall tourist trots the globe,
becomes Miss McEnroeophobe.                      Goose Tatum O'Neal

Arrives as FDR departs. 
With him, bucks stop but bugg'ry starts.         Harry S. Truman Capote

With friends like these* (all "homes" he had)

you'd think he'd banish boys who're bad.**    Isiah Thomas the Tank Engine

     * Percy, James, Gordon...

     ** Laimbeer, Rodman, Mahorn...

Who quells a Cuban Missile Crisis
yells, "Eleven herbs and spices!"                    JFKFC

Green velveteen? It’s never easy.
This bean’s spleen’s lean, mean and sleazy.    KerMitt the Romney 

He bids his nymphets, “Let’s pretend."

(Are di’monds still this churl’s best friend?)      Lewis Carroll Channing

Dismissed as a harlot by Pinkerton (varlet!),

this missy play’d Prissy to Vivien’s Scarlett.    Madame Butterfly McQueen

He trilled re Gioconda’s smile. 
They killed him. (Bye, Br’er Batophile.)          Nat King Kong 

Mean fiends he beans with beams of light. 
His caffeine beans be outta sight.                  Obi Juan Valdez

This pale, peculiar juvenile 
is Hitler’s tool – and hot as “heil!”                  Pee Wee Hermann Goering 

Her “pot and pan” is Ferdinand. 
She hassles Transylvanialand.                       Queen Isabella Lugosi 

No frump: a goddess, deemed domestic, 
humping iron. (Seems catachrestic.)              Roseanne Arnold Schwarzenegger 

Olympic oro won as minor. 
Famous, though, for one one-liner.                Sonja Henny Youngman 

Eyes? True blue. Skin? Faux-bronze. So: 
how’s his journalism? Gonzo!                         Tab Hunter Thompson   

Hailed ‘has-been” by a “never-was,” 
he’s not your nephew, bro or cuzz.                 Uncle Sam Donaldson

She’d love to lead you to the lighthouse. 
Too far out? How’s ‘bout the White House?      Virginia Wolf Blitzer

His nom de nursey is Edward. 
Does he nudge his nation red-ward?                Winnie the Putin 

“Fretful,” “frightful,” “for the birds.” 
(Not mine but Xenophon’s harsh words.)          Xanthippe Hedrin

Cops to more than fifteen Grammies. 
Tops my list of heinous mammies.                   Yo Yo Ma Barker 

Cinematic. Pre-Socratic. 
Eliatic. Enigmatic.                                           Zeno of Elia Kazan

"There bides a bigly man..." Bigly: A Prediction

There bides a bigly man
who sports an orange tan
'neath bigly yellow hair.
So sad: he's not all there.

Not seldom does he bawl:
"I'll build a bigly wall,
and Mexico will pay.
(I'm bigly, by the way.)" 

Far worse, this bigly dude
with Putin did collude
to guarantee a win --
which is a bigly sin.

But Mueller's on the case.
Rob's bigly database
will prove Drumpf did the crime.
Will Drumpf do bigly time...?

"Who mal-mouths men..." Regalia: A Nonsense Alphabet in Rhyme (from What A's Not for)

Who mal-mouths men for mismatched clothes 
must know what who's not no one knows:
all suits (such duds these dudes drag on!)
aren't suitable for ev'ry john.

Aren't armbands apt for activists?

(Weren't you, once, one of those?)

Aren't boas built for blondes ("Les Gilt")

in pumps and fishnet hose?

Aren't Cardigans collegi'ns costumes -- 

seen on senior fellows

smoking briars in their libraries

("...the beechwood and the bellows...")?

Aren't dickeys, donned by dapper dons,

to deans and docents sold?

Aren't epaulettes and earmuffs worn

by ensigns catching cold?

Fedoras aren't for females.

They're for fellas -- Indianas,

Michael Landrys, Lester Youngs...

(For their fedoras they're bananas!)

Aren't galluses the garb of grandpas

('zaydes' if they're Jews)?

Aren't H'wai'an shirts "haut cout" 

for Honolulu'ns on a cruise?

Aren't ice bags for inebriates,

to keep hung hotheads cool?

Aren't jodhpurs for the jet set

at the Spanish Riding school?

Aren't kilts the kit of Scottish knights --

Kincaid clan kin included?

Legwarmers warm lads' legs,

lest limbs catch chills because denuded.

Don't mousquetaires make mitts

for musketeers -- not mice, not moose?

Aren't neckties for the natt'lly dressed --

knots knotted tight, not loose?

Orchids, pince-nez, quivers, muffs:

for whom might those togs be?

For fleurphiles, Poirots, Quinns, Pierrots

and Royals...suitably.

Are spats not for sophisticates?

I know so few. (You do?)

Are teddies not for Ts and As?

(Transvestites tout 'em, too.)

Aren't underpants default for uncles

unemployed (sans jobs)?

Are vests not viscounts' vestments --

and for vestiges of slobs?

Aren't Wellingtons (originally

worn by Duke of same)

now worn by weekend gardeners?

(Is Monty Don to blame?)

Xylóxabats (they're wooden shoes): 

are they not for the Dutch?

Are yarmulkas not for yeshiva boys'

"nice Yiddish touch"?

Aren't zippered and well-padded

body stockings for Zen Buddhists

who, while striving for dokugo,

also relish being nudists?

So: what is Man without his clothes?

I know: one who's not no one knows

that clothes aren't always in demand --

unless they're a designer brand.

"Since when are Gs (gasp!) energies...?" Physics Distichs: A Nonsense in Rhyme

Since when are Gs (gasp!) energies?
Does antimatta matta?

Which pitch-dark night might speed of light
Al's* light-speed limit shatta?

Whose razzmatazz frames physics, as
our cosmos waxes fatta?

Why'd physicists pick psychic twists
to machinate their data?
     * Relativity's Albert Einstein, of course.

"My Russian dramatic fave..." The "I'm Not Bald!" Eagle: Portrait of a Con Artist

My Russian dramatic fave? Chekhov's The Seagull.
Norwegians who'll trigger your tears? Edvard Grieg'll.
The canine folks learn to love? Peke-... Wait! The Beagle!
Worst guilty obsession? (Is Oprah illegal?)
What weakens one's will to win? Chronic fatigue'll.
Our favorite dead princess? Di [sob] was so regal.
And who's more distressing than Ben "Bugsy" Siegel?
A golden-vibrissae'd (Drumpf: "I'm not bald!") eagle. 

"There's this dick down the Dales..." About Andy: a Limerick (from AmalgaMates_

(Dalziel, a not uncommon Scottish surname, is pronounced, more or less, Dee-ELL. 'Dick' is slang for detective, and, while Andy is a detective superintendent, he's also a vulgar prick as well. 'The Dales' refers to the Yorkshire Dales, Andy's patch. The author of the Dalziel and Pascoe novels is Reginald Hill (in standard orthography). 'Tha' is thou or you in Scots dialect.)

There's this dick down the Dales dubbed Dalziel.

He puts partner Pete Pascoe through helziel.

In Hilziel's novels' accounts

his name's hard to pronounce,

and, I'll telziel tha as welziel, hard to spelziel.

"A is for Arbor Day..." A Most Unusual 'Day': An Alphabet

A is for Arbor Day and "Any Wednesday."
B's for the birthdays of Bolshies born "Boris."
C's for the catch of the day. (Fridays? Flounder.)
D is for Danny O,' Dennis and Doris.

E is for "Every day I have the blues."
F is for Friday, who's Crusoe's home dude.
G's for "...a good day for payin' your bills..."
H? For High Holidays' holiday mood.

I's for "In just one day Rome wasn't built."
J's for Joe Friday: "...just facts, ma'am, just facts..."
K is for Kalends: Rome's new moon emerges.
L is for laundry day. (Who swiped my slacks?)

M's for a 'Menndich,' a 'Maandag,' a 'Monday.'
N's for ennui -- that's to say, noonday devils.
O is for One-A-Day gummies for grownups.
P is for payday, occasioning revels. 

Q is for 'quaque die,' i.e., 'daily.'
R is for rubric, for red letter, eh?
S is for "Saturday Night" -- "Live" or "Hot Jazz."
T? Pearl Buck's Wang Lung's "Today is the day."

U is for Uday, Saddam's sadist son.
V's for V-E Day, as well as V-J.
W's Wednesday -- for "Sheffield" or Week,"
X? For today...if today's Xmas Day.

Y is for yesterday. Yesterday's gone,
as did Bill from his pillar with Hillary tell us.
Z is for Day of the Zombie, when Sean
(of the Dead) and his f(r)iends come to (more or less) kill us.

"North Korea? Seedy 'hood..." Chorea Brief

North Korea? Seedy 'hood.
Chicory, a weed? "'Tees good."
South Korea? Tech'xpertise.
Chick Corea? Pecks your keys.
Sydenham's Chorea? Tough!
Like Huntington's, it's savage stuff.

"Who's bit thrice but not shy...?" The "No 'No-Nonsense'" Guy: A Nonsense Rhyme

Who's bit thrice but not shy?
Who's, though smitten, still spry?
Who sports mittens -- no tie?
The "No 'No-Nonsense'" Guy.

Who resides at the Y?
Who confides, "I'm a spy"?
Who's tried trisecting pi?
The "No 'No-Nonsense'" Guy.

Who loves Laurie, loathes Fry; 
disses Christian, digs Bligh;
Googles K Ophir (Shai)?
The "No 'No-Nonsense'" Guy.

Who chugs canteens of chai

with pastramis on rye,

and cries, "Let 'em eat pie!"?

The "No 'No-Nonsense'" Guy.

Who sings, "B'ruch...Adonai..."

before sundown each Fri?

(You might give that a try: 

you're no "no-nonsense" guy!)

"Three Gershwins..." & Other Tripartite Situs Limn'd as Lim'ricks

A Shwin / Shwin / Lose Situation 

Three Gershwins seem show business pros.
There be George, brother Ira and Rose.
George's tunes are the best.
Ira's words pass the test.
Yet all shows of Ms. Rose quickly close.

A Wright / Wright / Wrong Situation  

Three Wrights seem a laudable trio.
There be Orville and Wilbur and Leo.
Orville's printing press...? Nifty.
"Burr"'s bicycles...? Thrifty.
Yet, Dio! Poor Leo lacks brio!

A Grant / Grant / Keep Situation 

Of Grants we observe more than two.
There's Ulysses. There's Gogi. There's Hugh.
Uly's POTUS -- two terms.
Gogi's hairdos are perms.
As to Hugh, I've no clue. Nor have you.

"If each holiday song, gotten jotted down wrong..." Ymas Story or There's No Place Like an Alternate 'Yule'niverse for the Holidays

If each holiday song, gotten jotted down wrong,
reappeared, but sung weird and inchoate,
would've stuff taking place showed a different face?
Would the world have unfurled as we know it?

If (say) Clement Clarke Moore had penned "Fortnights Before..." --
this in lieu of the lyrics we love,
then would issues of race now but rarely take place?
Would each push need to come to a shove?

And if Bach's "Hallelujah" were sung "If I knew ya
were coming I'd bake ya a cake,"
would've Adam's mate Eve from God's garden took leave,
scarffed a pear and then married the Snake?

If a true lover sings. "...five aluminum rings..."
in his air about pear trees and partridges,
would've JFK's 'cade proved a less grim parade?
Would Lee Harvey have run short of cartridges?

If those Magi guys were from the Occident, myrrh,
gold and frankincense might have, instead,
been a Myrtle Beach condo, one Golden Fernando
and Frankenstein's second-best bed. 

Had he* dashed through the snow in a multi-horse No-
va instead of a single-horse sleigh,
would they've figured a way -- that proverbial "they" --
to prefabricate Rome in one day?     
     * James Lord Pierpont, composer of "Jingle Bells."

And had Frosty the Snowman proved less tele-showman
and more ecological hero,
would the globe have stopped warming, stopped tropical storming?
Would rumors of war approach zero?

"'Lady Justice is blind, so adjust her I must...'" SCOTUS: A View from the Left (from What A's Not For)

"Lady Justice is blind, so adjust her I must."
Thus whines Justice Neil Gorsuch, who's not to be trusted.
"She must be confined: I must truss her or bust."
Thus opines Clarence Thomas, who ought to be busted.

"Although she's disgusting, I'm lusting, nonplussed,"
stammers Samu'l Alito. (Such sang froid! Such crust!)
"And as ashes to fascists be, pus be to rust."
Dost John Roberts misquote The Good Book? Yea, John dost.

"When I's citin', I side wit' consuvatives fu'st."
Justice Anthony Kennedy's less than robust.
Now Scalia is dead, of course. (Isn't he just!
(Sonia? Ruth? Steve? Elena? They'll not be discussed.)

"'Great Grandpa: you're old,' the man's great grandson cried..." Pool Noodles: A Nonsensical Nod to Lewis Carroll's "Old Father William"

"Great grandpa: you're old," 
the man's great grandson cried.
"What's your century taught you of life...?
Has it taught, for example, 
what factors make pool noodles
so-o-o inexplicab'lly rife...?"

"You're so young, darling boy," 
his great grandfather sigh'd.
"If the truth be told, too young to know
how shrewd brood poodles serve 
to preserve poodle puppies.
Whence think you brand new poodles flow...?"

"Great grandpa: you're moldy," 
the youngster grew snide,
"and your left ear's so awf'lly impair'd
that you hear my 'pool noodles' 
as 'brood poodles' now.
Zut! Ton ouie, I am fearing, est merde!"

"You're so young, " 
the old gentleman blithely replied.
"I'm just pulling your leg, Mister Silly.
But attend! Let me tell you 
what nude strudels are.
They're those pastries 
which lack fruity jelly."

"Great grandpa: you're bold," 
the youth yet again tried,
"but your brain's turn'd berserk with bad beer.
Naked strudels are not 
what I'm talking about.
It's pool noodles 
we're dealing with here."

"You're so young, little one," 
the old man amplified.
"I've been drawing blue doodles for years.
There are days I use crayons 
and days I choose chalk.
Go tell that to your skeptical peers!"

Great grandpa: I'm sold," 
the young lad clarified.
"What I fear's both your ears 
are no good.
Just forget about doodles! 
I'm talking pool noodles.
Please open your ears as you should."

"You're so young, witless one," 
the old man turn'd aside,
"fusing 'doodles' with 'poodles' with 'strudels'...
not to mention 'caboodles.' 
And what about 'feudals'...?"
(Just look where they've led us: pool noodles!)

"Of tongue or pen the saddest word..." The Saddest Words

Of tongue or pen the saddest word:
"It might have been"? Don't be absurd.
Some say the saddest, without doubt,
are, "Sorry, son; thy time's run out."
Still sadder some see, writ or spoke:
"Hey! Whassa matta? Jus' a joke."
Who hears these phrases owns he's failed:
"She's split, yer bird. Yer ship? She's sailed."
"Abandons hope, who enters here!" 
The saddest? Nope! (Though mighty near.)
More sad by far these triste terms be:
"As thou art now, so once were we."
The Virgin to God's Son doth whine
in John, chap. II: "They have no wine."
Still, THE most sad of all, I fear?
The barkeep's call: "We're outta beer."

"Where now is young Stella..." The Stroh's of Yesteryear; or, Villon for the Vulgus: A Ballade on Dead Soldiers

Where now is young Stella who's christened Artois...?
And where dwells fair Glynnis nee Guinness the Dear...?
And where bide the Buds of May...? One now I'd draw.
O, where be the Stroh's of yester-year...? 

(Francois Villon (1431-1463) composed a poem entitled "Ballade of the Dead Ladies" wherein occurs the refrain "Where are the snows of yester-year?" -- one of the most famous lines of translated poetry in the English-speaking world. The dead soldiers mentioned in the title are empty beer bottles and cans.)

"All ador'd my angora..." Incomplete Abecedarial Paean to Plaid (A through L)

All ador'd my angora,
nor'd none dare ignore a
chemise made of Aertex I had.
Then I glimps'd Alan Ladd
on my iPad: Egad!
Was the shirt Al was girt with a plaid...?

Burlap broadcloth's unique,
and who'd not love batik,
nor'd a Battenberg lace be too bad.
But along bounded Brad:
weren't those jodhpurs he had?
And their braces and belts? All were plaid!

Cashmere, camel's hair, chintz,
cloth of gold (if mere hints).
Cloth which starts with C? Chiliads! Scads!
(Note: the PM of Chad 
(K. P. Deubet's the lad)
rules in compets and boubous -- all plaids!)

Damask, double-knits, duck,
with some denim (what luck!)
thusly dress'd, I'd resemble De Sade.
Then I thought of me Dad,
deadbeat dryad gone mad.
(Dad died dancing in dirndls of plaid.)

Each electronic textile,
in plain-, stripe- or check-style,
which to moi ensemble I'd add
called for stringent proscription
of cotton (Egyptian).
Egad! No more plaid? 'Tis too sad.

For sale: five five-Farad
capacitors. Where had
I found them to wear? In an ad.
Who'd foment such a fad?
Flavor Flav, who's a cad?
Nope! That fellow, by far, prefers plaid.

Give me gingham, then Gore-Tex.
A gauze pinafore next.
Then gabardine gowns of your dad's.
He'd the gonads to don 'em --
with quatrefoils on 'em.
Still, I'd be most glad to get plaids. 

Hand me hair shirts in herringbone,
hopsacks (to which I'm prone).
Harris Tweed widow's weeds? Rad!
(Did I spy, on your helipad,
once ev'ry hebdomad,
CONELRAD op'rants in plaid?)

I've loved fine Irish linen
and cotton that's Indi'n.
My feelings for these? Ironclad!
Till a book -- 'twas an Iliad
bought in Islamabad --
introduced Islamic plaid.

Jeremiads (my own)
flow in triads: I moan,
"Jerseys, jutes, Jacquard suits? Those I've had."
Now jihadists enlist
in Jamdani. I'm pissed:
they join up, jup'd and jodhpur'd, in plaid.

Kanye's kid brother styled --
to look kooky and wild --
all my kaftans and kurtas. Good lad!
But, like most city slickers,
he bypassed my knickers,
my kilts and my kicks. None are plaid!

Linsey-woolsey? A trace.
Leather briefs I embrace.
I've more linens than Vlad Lenin had,
who, in lush lingerie
done in lambs-wool lame,
long held sway. (Why's his loincloth not plaid?)

"Why's there something, then, rather than nothing...?" Suite (of) Nothings: An ABC About Aught

Why's there something, then, rather than nothing?
Are there answers heard, sounded by priests,
by philosophers or by the science guys?
Is it time timely inquiry ceased?

Hold your horse! Take a gander at Google!
Type in "N...O...T...H...I...N...G"!
Then add, one at a time, ev'ry alphabet letter,
It's nothing but nothings you'll see.

There's "nothing At (all)." There's "nothing But (net)."
There's "nothing Compares (2 U)" -- lest you forget.
"Nothing Doing," (warns Duke, "till you hear it from me").
There's Metallica's "nothing Else (matters)" -- in E. 

"Nothing Fancy" -- that's free. "Nothing Gold (stays)" -- that's Frost.
"Nothing's Holding (me back)" -- that's a ringtone, as well.
"It's (a show about) nothing," insists George Costanza.
There's "Nothing (Janne Teller's tome)": how'd that book sell?

There's "nothing Kumpares" -- once again, that's Sinead.
There's "nothing Lasts (longer than...)" -- add your own pun.
Whazzup? "Nothing Much." "Nothing Matters (as such)."
And there's "nothing New (under the sun)."

There's "(she's got) nothing On (but the radio)."
There's the film "Nothing Personal," too.
Ebert notes, "(There is) nothing Quite (like it)." Thumbs up!
"Nothing runs (like a Deere)," either...nu?

"Nothing Suits (like a suit)" sings young Neil Patrick Harris.
"(We've) nothing To (fear)," Franklin feigns.
And can mere verse reveal whether "nothing's Unreal"?
"Nothing Ventured"? Then, what be the gains?

There's "(comes easily) nothing Worth (having)."
There's "(the) nothing (for) Xmas (you're getting)."
There's "(the) nothing You (tell but the truth)" in a courtroom.
There's "Nothing: Zac (Brown's band)," I'm betting.

Nothings all. But exist they instead of the somethings?
And who shall put that to a test?
And yet, why is there something, not nothing?
Is that something we all should have guessed?