Any Donald But You-know-who (More Drumpf Doggerel)

  
I'll support an assortment of Dons – just not Drumpf. 
Defunct actor Ameche? Why not!
Donald Byrd, trumpet preacher? Donn, "comber de beach"? Sure!
I'll dig any Donald you’ve got!
     * Restauranteur Donn Beach, known as 'Don the Beachcomber.'

Don Cheadle the humanitarian? Great!
Ditto Crisp and DeLillo and Duck! 
I'm for Drysdale (yeah, really!), for Fagen the Steely
and Draper -- I don't give a fuck!

I’m for Ho the Hawaiian and Henley the Eagle.
(Mysogynist Imus? I'm torn!)
But Don Knotts and Don King and Don Mattingly? Regal!
I'm glad to blow any Don's horn. 

I refuse to support Father Donald McGuire*
around whom no one's children are safe.
I say "No!" to all priests caught despoiling the choir --
"Yes!" to Dondi the comic strip waif.
     * Now-jailed pederast Jesuit supported by Mother Theresa. 

Don Pardo, Don Pleasance! O'Connor, McLean!
Even Rickles and Rumsfeld I'll buy.
As I say, I'll support any Donald but Drumpf.
(Nor, indeed, do you need to ask why.)

With Sterling the racist one needs to take pause:
he airs neither honor nor umph.
But I'd Shula endorse. Donald Sutherland? 'Course!
I'm for ANY damn Donald but Drumpf.

Anyone For Go? (A Nonsense Rhyme_

Go ahead, scum: make my day! 

The Gobi, dry as dust...? No way!
Why Beckett’s Go-carts rarely go...?
They’re tired of waiting for Godot
to yodel “Go Down Moses”…no...?

No mangoes. No papayas, too...?

Then go for broke: try honeydew!
To Go-gos goes our dancing Jim,
like Gog and Magog ante him.
Go, Jimbo! Go hard to that rim!

“Go in and out the window”...? Yep!

Chicago jazz buffs scat that step.
They’ve raced – Goku and Superman –
in Golan and in Kazakhstan.
(Golightly...? Holly also ran.)

If Gomer Pyle’s a baritone, 

perhaps his gonads aren’t his own.
Let’s all go o’er the fiscal bluff
like Pogo Possum – in the buff,
or Gopher Pyle, who plies, “Enough!”

Go quietly...? Give up the ghost...?

Not Edward Gorey: he’d riposte.
Give up the ghost...? Not Edward G.,
our go-to guy for drollery.
(That man’s got milk – goat’s milk has he.)

“Go ugly late,” Govinda ‘llows.

“Works fine when eyin’ eine’s fraus.”
So says the lama under vows,
the actor (“Well played: take your bows!”),
or else the god who herds the cows.*

     * Lama Govinda (1898-1985), actor 
Govinda Ahuja (1963-   ) or Krishna’s young 
cowherding avatar Govinda.

Go west, Herr Doctor! Drive that ox!

(Like Seuss, I choose to box my Gox
while shabbous goyim shed their clothes.
How shall you know 'em...? Note their...hose.
(I guess Go’zilla’s one of those.)

Annus Terribilis or His First Year in Office

  
Spawn'd down some dank janitorial drain,

embolden'd by bogeymen febrile and dumpy,

besmirch'd by the marking of murderous Cain, 

Drumpf howls to who'll hear: "Apres moi, heirloom Trumpy." 

Fowl fluids -- muck, mayonnaise -- flow from twinn'd heads.

To Darwinian laws of the jungle Drumpf hews

as opponents Drumpf juliennes, minces and shreds:

Drumpf's ascendency augurs a world of fake news.

It’s severe civil sepsis I'm worried about.

Still, should dirges in octaves be suffer'd to swell?

Wa-a-a-a-ay too late for novenas; our time's running out.

Ple-e-e-ease! Abort this indecent descent into hell. 

"Dawns the Year of the Rat..." A Duodecennial Calendar

Dawns the Year of the Rat –

time to knot one’s cravat,
don equestrian hat 
and suede socks,
grab one’s fat fungo bat
and, departing one’s flat,
nail naff neighbors – ker-splat! -- 
with pop rocks.
Dear oh dear: here’s the Year of the Ox.

Dawns the Year of the Ox.
First, reset all the clocks.
Doing thus should outfox 
Rodney Steiger,
whose homage to Guy Fawkes
closes Pandora’s box:
Just hope Herr Muller talks 
to Herr Geiger!
But look here: here’s the Year of the Tiger.

Dawns the Year of the Tiger.
A white cub haunts my gar-
age; full-grown cats cry, “Gr-r-r-r…” 
(Bad habit.)
and when habitat’s nigh gar-
ment districts, feed dry gar-
lic toasts to it, via 
Dad's sabot.
Give a cheer! Here’s the Year of the Rabbit.

Dawns the Year of the Rabbit.
Bud (“Who’s on first...?”) Abbott
gets strip'd of his jabot 
for braggin,’
while Costello’s so drab, it
seems Lou ought to nab it.
Without it, his habit's 
seen saggin.’
Nothing queer: here’s the Year of the Dragon.

Dawns the Year of the Dragon,
When thirsts, off the wagon,
take more than one flagon 
to slake.
And, although I loathe raggin,’
green grog gets me gaggin.’
I s’ppose I’ll be baggin’ 
this take.
Nowt to fear: here’s the Year of the Snake.

Dawns the year of the Snake,
When each roue and rake
channels Samuel (“Jake”) 
F. B. Morse
and dons thaub of a sheik,
boils his Sal’sbury steak
and throws up, for Pete’s sake. 
(My! How coarse!)
(Hold your sneer: here’s the Year of the Horse.)

Dawns the Year of the Horse.
Must each child of divorce
to the island of Cors-
ica float...?
Yes, she must! (If she’s Norse,
sugar daddies, of course,
shall supply a sound source 
for her boat.)
Now we’re nearing the Year of the Goat.

Dawns the Year of the Goat.
Ev’ry grandee of note
Must remark (and I quote): 
“I’m a junkie!”
Whereupon each must troat
us his suicide note.
It’s as if each one wrote 
“Death: how funky!”
Dry that tear: here’s the Year of the Monkey.

Dawns the Year of the Monkey,
when girls who wax spunky –
like Elsa or Punky 
nee Brewster –
sleep with boys who look hunky,
whose pecs appear chunky.
Not one proves a flunky 
like Wooster.)
Let’s be clear: here’s the Year of the Rooster.

“Dawns the Year of the Rooster,"
sings Simon to Schuster.
“Tis time, sir, that you stir 
the grog.
All it needs is a booster,
the way good stuff us’d ter.”
Thereon, Carly loos'd her 
pet frog.
Let us veer towards the Year of the Dog.

Dawns the Year of the Dog,
when small shifts in typog-
raphy made on one’s blog 
show up big.
Yet, although I would flog
neither dead horse or hog,
the result is but smog. 
Do you dig...?
It appears here’s the Year of the Pig.

Dawns the Year of the Pig,
when folks claim how this gig
must fall flat and renege 
on its promise:
there’s the Joe who’s a prig,
those who don’t give a fig,
and one mean Mr. Big: 
Doubtful Thomas.
(Sorry: no years devoted to llamas.)

Measures for -(m)ay, Modified

A's an arch admiral: "Anchors aweigh!" 
B's Blue-foot Boobies b'yond Botany Bay.
C's the cute cove calling China 'Cathay.' 
D's a dress dummy dubb’d Daphne deLaye 
E edits Edna St. Vincent Millay. 
F's the fluke fat filling flounder filet.
G's Gorey's goatee gone gunmetal grey. 
H heralds Hallowmas hauntings. (Hearsay.)
I...? Is it Ireland's interr’d IRA...? 
J's just some junta: jerks 'jacking José.
K is a kaffir kid: KKK prey.
L is a love lyric. Last line...? "Lullay."
M is "Mid-morning..." by Manet Monet. 
N is a nickel. (Nets nada…? No way!) 
O's an odd ointment call’d "Oil of Ole!" 
P' is the piper poor peons must pay. 
Q is Quixote's inquisitive way.
R...? R is Roentgen. (Who re-named his ray…?) 
S is the Sphinx. (Speaks with Caesars, Shaw'd say.) 
T is a teapot: there’s two on Tante’s tray. 
U is the undead. (They're us. USA!) 
V...? V is‘void.' (For ‘avoid,’ add an ‘a.’ 
W’s Wizards. Will Wall walk away...? 
X...? X is'xebec.' (One 'x' but no 'k.') 
Y is a yacht. (Call’d a yawl yesterday.) 
Z is a zorse. (Zebu…? Zebra…? Zak...? May-...) 

Hommage a Ang: a Nonsense Crambo

Here lies the Taiwanese cineaste Ang Lee.

Here lies the cap – beaded, baubled and bangl’y –
which cradled the crown of the cineaste Ang Lee.

Here lies the flak jacket – chic and new-fangl’y –
mismatched with the cap – beaded, baubled and bangl’y –
which cradled the crown of the cineaste Ang Lee.

Here lie the high tops whose bells made ‘em jangl’y,
which, joined with the flak jacket – chic and new-fangl’y –
mismatched with the cap – beaded, baubled and bangl’y –
which cradled the crown of the cineaste Ang Lee.

Here lies the strangler whose ascot – star-spangl’y –
he dropped near the high tops whose bells made ‘em jangl’y,
which, joined with the flak jacket – chic and new-fangl’y –
mismatched with the cap – beaded, baubled and bangl’y –
which cradled the crown of the cineaste Ang Lee.

Here lies the lug rend’ring foreign-borns mangl’y,
who licensed the strangler whose ascot – star-spangl’y –
he dropped near the high tops whose bells made ‘em jangl’y,
which, joined with the flak jacket – chic and new-fangl’y –
mismatched with the cap – beaded, baubled and bangl’y –
which cradled the crown of the cineaste Ang Lee.

How lie relations with Asians? Entangl’y,
because of the lug rend’ring foreign-borns mangl’y,
who licensed the strangler whose ascot – star-spangl’y –
he dropped near the high tops whose bells made ‘em jangl’y,
which, joined with the flak jacket – chic and new-fangl’y –
mismatched with the cap – beaded, baubled and bangl’y –
which cradled the crown of the cineaste Ang Lee.

Here lies the drone (at twelve stone, he looms gangl’y)
whose network's relations with Asians prove tangl'y,
who’s running the lug rend’ring foreign-borns mangl’y,
who licensed the strangler whose ascot – star-spangl’y –
he dropped near the high tops whose bells made ‘em jangl’y,
which, joined with the flak jacket – chic and new-fangl’y –
mismatched with the cap – beaded, baubled and bangl’y –
which cradled the crown of the cineaste Ang Lee.

Here lies the black op who lurks atop Langley
who weighs in at twelve stone and’s gruesome and gangl’y,
whose network’s relations with Asians prove tangl’y,
who’s running the lug rend’ring foreign-borns mangl’y,
who licensed the strangler whose ascot – star-spangl’y –
he dropped near the high tops whose bells made ‘em jangl’y,
which, joined with the flak jacket – chic and new-fangl’y –
mismatched with the cap – beaded, baubled and bangl’y –
which cradled the crown of the cineaste Ang Lee.

Here lies the nation whose policy’s angl’y,
which sponsors the black op who lurks atop Langley
who weighs in at twelve stone and’s gruesome and gangl’y,
whose network’s relations with Asians prove tangl’y,
who’s running the lug rend’ring foreign-borns mangl’y,
who licensed the strangler whose ascot – star-spangl’y –
he dropped near the high tops whose bells made ‘em jangl’y,
which, joined with the flak jacket – chic and new-fangl’y –
mismatched with the cap – beaded, baubled and bangl’y –
which cradled the crown of the cineaste Ang Lee.

Here lies the ruler whose soul’s turned meringuely,
who spearheads the nation whose polity’s angl’y,
which sponsors the black op who lurks atop Langley
who weighs in at twelve stone and’s gruesome and gangl’y,
whose network’s relations with Asians prove tangl’y,
who’s running the lug rend’ring foreign-borns mangl’y,
who licensed the strangler whose ascot – star-spangl’y –
he dropped near the high tops whose bells made ‘em jangl’y,
which, joined with the flak jacket – chic and new-fangl’y –
mismatched with the cap – beaded, baubled and bangl’y –
which cradled the crown of the cineaste Ang Lee. 

Here lies the tale, told in accents Da Nangly,
which rants of the ruler whose soul’s turned meringuely,
who spearheads the nation whose polity’s angl’y,
which sponsors the black op who lurks atop Langley
who weighs in at twelve stone and’s gruesome and gangl’y,
whose network’s relations with Asians prove tangl’y,
who’s running the lug rend’ring foreign-borns mangl’y,
who licensed the strangler whose ascot – star-spangl’y –
he dropped near the high tops whose bells made ‘em jangl’y,
which, joined with the flak jacket – chic and new-fangl’y –
mismatched with the cap – beaded, baubled and bangl’y –
which cradled the crown of the cineaste Ang Lee.

Here…? Lies!

Hommage a Arnold

The stang, in Oslo, measures stuff. 
At three-plus yards, it’s long enough.
The Gnats...? Just quiz the RAF: 
jet engine noise leaves flyboys deaf.
The Tangs are either “swigs in space” 
or kingdoms with a Chinese face.
The Tsang...? A province in Tibet 
where’s writ a Lhasan alphabet.
The gnats are tiny flying pests 
who put the bite on party guests.
'Beganst’'s abbreviated ‘‘ganst.’ 
(Don’t say thou say it can’t: thou canst.)
Your angst -- your deep, distressing dread -- 
won’t let you leave your Murphy bed.
A dead or dying spark’s a gnast. 
It's out...? They've snuff'd your flame at last.