Incorrections or "What I Used to Call 'Em": Mister Ian Kerr-Mudge Boogies Down On His Euphemism Treadmill

"Material Girl: Olive Voile"
from the graphic series
"Men (and Women) of the Cloth:
Profiles in Textiles"
by Ulysses Poe
chemical markers
on prepared cotton fabric 
attached to mounted canvas
16" by 20"

     'N' word, schmen word! What about 
'C' words and 'O' words...not to mention
the additional baker's dozen initialed
cultural IEDs planted below?

I used to call 'em 'slaves,'
singin,' "Boom-a-lack-a-lack...!"
I used to call 'em slaves
which I took as short for 'black.'
Then Brother West purr'd 'twould be best
if I'd right quick fall back.

I used to call ‘em 'cripples,'

singin' “La-dee-do-dum-day.”

I used to call ‘em 'cripples'

‘cuz they tripp'd 'n' flipp'd that way.

Today they’re call’d 'disabled persons.'

(So: what did I say...?)

I used to call 'em 'old folks' homes.'
Sing "Tur-a-lur-a-lur..."!
I used to call 'em 'old folks homes.'
Their inmates...? Plu-mature!
'Assisted living domiciles'
where nurses "has-beens" cure.

I used to call 'em 'orientals.'
Sing "Carroo-carray"!
I call'd 'em 'orientals' 'cuz they 
hail'd from out that way.
But now I call 'em 'Asians.'
(They're still almond-eyed, okay...?)

I used to call ‘em 'coloreds,'

singin' “Wop-a-lop-bam-boom”!

I used to call ‘em 'coloreds'

‘cuz they brighten’d up the gloom.

(Who still must write of 'coloreds'

ought best use a nom-de-plume.)

I used to wish 'em 'Merry Christmas.'
Sing "Hip-hip-hurray!"s! 
But now it's 'Season's Greetings' --
that or 'Happy Holidays.'
(I'll skip that mess and just finesse
my Ebenezer phase.)

I used to call all women 'girls.'

Sing “Chitty-chitty-bang”!

I used to call ‘em 'girls,' which stirr'd 
such sturm. What's more, such drang.

('Tis best to call ‘em 'women' now,

to dodge your girl's harangue.)

I used to call 'em 'homos,'
singin' "Day-o, me-say-day."
I call'd 'em 'homosexuals,'
but now I call 'em 'gay.'
L...! G, B...! T, Q...! I, A...! P, K...!
Be that as it may...

I used to call it 'Frisco,'
singin' "Citee by the ba-a-ay."
I figur'd 'Frisco''d be the lingo
San Franciscans say.
But now I dodge that whole hodge-podge
and visit Monterey.

I used to call 'em 'niggardly.'
Sing "Ja-da-ja-da-jing"!
I call'd 'em 'niggardly' when they 
proved stingy with the bling.
But most misunderstood,
so now I don't say anything.

I used to call 'em 'Indians.'
Sing "Ob-bla-de, bla-da"!
I used to call 'em 'Indians' --
each brave, papoose 'n' squaw.
They're now 'indigenous personas.'
(Cf. Murphy's Law.)

'Retarded''s what I used to call 'em.
Sing "A-lack-a-boom"!
'Retarded' -- as they'd sit sedated
in their rubber room.
Still, better that than layin' flat,
encoffin'd in their tomb.

I used to call ‘em 'mongoloids.'

Sing “Ro-ma-roh-ma-ma”!

I used to call ‘em 'mongoloids.'

Now that's against the law.

They simply live with Down syndrome.

(Drum that -drome down your craw!)

Thought on the evening of 5/30/2020

     Turn your video on.

Harrumph! Scott-Heron 
wrote it wrong. 
Tonight I realized
that, after all, 
the revolution 
will be televised.

"Hogmalion USA"
by Ulysses Poe
chemical marker
and colored pencil
on copy paper
5" by 7"

Sleuths and Their Sidekicks

"If You Were Here
You'd Be Holmes Now"
Ulysses Poe
chemical marker on
copy paper
8 1/2' by 11"

     Today's guest posting comes 
mostly from Erudite in Evanston. 

Dupin et moi,

Dupin et moi:

one ratiociner,

one je ne sais quoi.

Mr. Keene, Mike,

Mr. Keene, Mike:

one tracer of persons,

one stage-Irish tyke. 

Brown ’n’ Flambeau,
Brown ’n’ Flambeau:
one nondescript cleric,
one thief cum chateau.

Joe and/or Frank,
Joe and/or Frank:
one total cipher,
one complete blank. 


Carrados ’n’ Louis,
Carrados ’n’ Louis:
one stone cold blind,
one brief; then...blooey!

Spade ’n’ Archer,

Spade ’n’ Archer,

one gets the dingus,

one takes departure.

     
     With a pair of variants 
(one present tense, one past)
from PlaysWell's editor:

Archer ‘n’ Spade,

Archer ‘n’ Spade:

one draws the dingus,

one death, I’m afraid.

Archer ‘n’ Spade,

Archer ‘n’ Spade:

one bagg'd a birdie,

one Brigid waylay’d.

Wolalay for Sall(a)y on LONG > TALL

"Sally Long 'n' Tall"
by Ulysses Poe
graphite pencil on copy paper
digitally enhanced
8 1/2" by 11" 

        Sal goes 
                (as wide receivers do) LONG.
         Spurts of 
    growth but augment Richard's SONG.
         Like that 
           "Wop-bop-a-loo" song he SANG,
     it per-
suades us, "These Negro's aren't SANE."
       (What some 
               dudes will not do for a SALE!)
       Sal could 
            tell (if she would) y'all a TALE --
       one o-
          blique, though not totally TALL.
     But, as 
Porky might drawl, "Tha-that's all!"

P.I. Pairs Per Paltry Poesy

"Dick Tracy Ullman"
(from "AmalgaMates")
Ulysses Poe
graphite pencil on copy paper
digitally enhanced
8 1/2" by 11"

Nora 'n' Nick, 
Nora 'n' Nick:
one pluperfect hostess, 
one ex-private dick.

     Sherlock 'n' John, 
Sherlock 'n' John:
one ex-army doctor, 
one snoop paragon.

     Archie 'n' Nero, 
Archie 'n' Nero:
one ace raconteur, 
one fully sung hero.

     Lewis 'n' Morse, 
Lewis 'n' Morse:
one clearly a Geordie, 
one not one, of course.

Runcibl'd Spooner: Into the Woods/Into the Weeds

"Teggnology"
Ulysses Poe
chemical marker 
on copy paper
digitally modified
5" by 5"

 Name me that tale in which 
  legumes wax tall while John 
  schools one mean giant (his 

  pupil).
  Jack and the Beanstalk.
       And where might an everyday
  pathogen fit in one's 
  lecture on helixes
  duple...?
  Bac in the Genes Talk.

       Moral:
  Which bro's grim...? Him...? Nope! Him!

A Truncated Wolalay on "...and yet..." (aka Getting to Yet)

     The wolalay or word ladder lyric is a 
poetic form of the author's own invention. 
It uses the series of words in a given word 
ladder as ends to successive lines of 
nonsense verse. 
     The item appearing below is a so-called 
truncated wolalay. Its form interrupts each 
successive line with a rhymed line. This item 
further differs from the standard wolalay in 
that the pair of words generating the initial 
ladder are incorporated as a kind of refrain 
following each rhyming pair. Wola...olé!

Who loathes each 'or' and loves each 'and'
should flourish as Our Founders plann'd
                                                 ...and yet...
     before we forward forge, I'd add
how oft with good drops anchor bad
                                                 ...and yet...
     withal thou rate these verses odd,
I pray, "Retire thy firing squad"
                                                 ...and yet...
     whilst some consult the OED,
hordes more withdraw to take a wee
                                                 ...and yet...
     as 'wee'ers would my verses wed
to witch'ry weird, they'd wish me dead
                                                 ...and yet...
     the few construe 'em "not all wet" --
well worthy of an alphabet
     or some such nonsense lit       ...and yet...

"Ann O'Paard, Regina Peartree"
Ulysses Poe
graphite pencil on copy paper
digitally modified
11" by 8 1/2"

Runcibl'd Spooner: May 25, 2020

     Based on a suggestion from "Erudite in Evanston."
It’s Memorial Day. 

For our dead, let us pray! 

Bless their souls!

Sursum corda!

In the meanwhile, 

may Drumpf double bogie 

his next eighteen holes.

Curse ‘im! (Sorta.)

     Moral:

He who'd live an ill-spent life

a-wall'win' in the gutter

should die by a disgruntl'd

Secret Service agent’s putter.

"The Silly Unmask'd Chili
 Will Wind Up Piccalilli."
Ulysses Poe
chemical markers
on copy paper
digitally modified
4" by 8"

Runcibl'd Spooner: BYOR*

      * Bring Your Own Religiosity
"In hoc signo vinces," 
whispers God to Constantine:
the sign of the cross.
One tears, one fears, without one's beers.
One weeps without one's wine:
the cryin' off the sauce.

     Moral:
Ain't no "...hoc..."
without no hock.*

     * Cf. "Hoc est enim calix 
sanguinis mei" and all that.

"The Laughing Caviar"
Ulysses Poe
chemical marker on
copy paper
digitally modified
5" by 5"

From the Lighthouse (fragments)

     These brief passages -- several little more than 
shards -- occur in various paragraphs late in the episode 
in which Babetina and Second Mate Quipple commandeer 
the smaller of the Monocle's two dinghies, lower away 
beneath a moonless sky and, after swaddling a pair  
of oarlocks with their bandanas so as to avoid rousing 
the dozing watch, row hard through choppy seas 
for the jetty...and freedom.

…-ster Chips, The Secret Sharer…

                ...Secheyaye, De Saussure...

                              …South Seas shells wash’d ashore…

                       …chivalrous...? That's for sure…

         …tres enchanté, mon cher-…

…she's elsewhere in the shire…

              …some sheets far short of sheer…

                       …for splashing, no one’s shyer…

                                 …silk shrouds...? How "Norma Shearer"…

"Turbotgart"
(from "Poissons of Interest")
Ulysses Poe
graphite pencil on copy paper
digitally modified
10" by 8"

Speaker Pelosi Channels the Mad Gardener or Meanwhile, Back on Planet Sanity...

"Mar-a-L'Eggo"
Ulysses Poe
Pentel on copy paper
5" by 5"

She thought she heard Uns' Fuehrer's knell,
"I take hydroxychloroquine."
What did Herr yell...? "I shake like hell 
the White House Hydrox cookie tin
to gobble all what tumbles out.
'Tis why I'm (morbidly) so thin."
     She thought she heard Herr's further peal,
"I'm also dosing tabs of zinc."
What did Herr spiel...? "My base's zeal...?
The greatest ever's what I think."
Thinks she, "You know what's really real...?
Mein Herr's Le Duc de Doublethink."

Runcibl'd Ray or Kipling's Kaboodle

"Huck Finn's 
Fellow Traveler Negger Jim" 
Ulysses Poe
chemical marker on copy paper
digitally modified
5" by 5"

In re the ruddier races, Rud’s*
vocif'rent: "White Man’s Burden."

Chow down on Unconcern'd But Not
Indiff'rent: Bite Man’s** wordin’!

      Moral:

He’ll fancy seconds,
even thirds,

whoever's order'd, 
"Eat those words!"

     * I.e., Rudyard Kipling’s 
controversial poem.

     ** I.e., Man Ray's 

beautiful art book.

Flight

White butterflies...? All butterflown.
White fleas as well: well-fled.
The firefly, too, who scaled our flue...?
Callay! Callooh! Laid tread!
     More flies -- a flock (not fake, not mock) --
who flaying forme'ly fear'd,
now face a fit from veils of FLIT.
Pale insect flight's (like) weird.
     Each milky moth seems "at a loth."
Chalk crickets chirp, "We're skeer'd!"
Bleach'd ladybirds...? I lack the words.
In short, all've disappear'd.

"The Home Alone Ranger"
Ulysses Poe
graphite pencil on
copy paper
digitally modified
5" by 7"

Runcibl'd Spooner: Star Wars Stars

"A is for A____: S"
Ulysses Poe
chemical markers on copy paper
digitally modified
10" by 8"

The Child to Disney sales is key.

(I wish I held the copyright.)

Baby Yoda.

Which wineskin – “A” or “B” or “C” –

contains the Albariño white…?

Yay! “B” bota!

     Moral:

Whose kids are Mandalorians

shall prove poor Montessorians.

Long Stories' Shorts or It's Punnertime in the Days of Covid

Once upon a time…

…one’s soup on a dime…

...Juan's soup, Hannah: thyme...

…one Sioux pawin’ at Dym-…

…one zoo panda…? I’m…

...Juan's Sue, Pannah: tie 'em...

...Wan's soup pan hit Hyam... 

…One’s who pawn’d a “Time”…

…Juan’s up, hon, at "hime"…

…once upon a time.

"Annual Rings"
Ulysses Poe
technical pen and ink
on copy paper
digitally modified
5" by 5 "

Runcibl'd Spooner: One Sioux Pawn Hat o' Thyme...

A roof o'erhead, a spot to sleep,
three squares a day:
I welcome trinal challenges.
Three dares...? Ask 'way!

     Moral:
In olden days, when longues were chaise,
d'Auray were pays and felts were baize,
weren't Drumpf call'd Rutherford B. Hayes...?

"Fourth Grade 1920"
Jude Higgins
acrylic on canvas
40" by 17"

Runcibl'd Spooner: Roger 'n' Out!

"To Beer or Not to Beer: Hamlet 3/1"
Ulysses Poe
Original artwork in chemical marker
 and colored pencils imprinted on
circular paperboard beer mat
 94mm in diameter

Portray’d Lairds, portray’d Candys, 

play’d Gravediggers. Even play’d Rice.*

Roger Livesey.
    Our old boarder’s a jazzman. 

Plays saxophone -- tenor -- real nice.

Lodger. Riffs, he.

     Moral:

The piper unpaid, poorly play'd,

will, portray'd so, be made a poor trade. 

     * In the films I Know Where I'm
Going, The Life and Death of Colonel
Blimp, Hamlet and The Entertainer
respectively.

Study in Contexts: a Quiz

"Who was that mask'd man...? I wanted ta thank 'im." 
Lone Ranger episode...? New York-Presbyterian Hospital ER...? 

You decide!

The Minotaur and Other -taurs: a metrical mini-tour

"Myrna L'Oyster"
(from"Poissons 
of Interest")
Ulysses Poe
colored chemical 
marker on copy paper
digitally modified
5" by 5"

     "Oh, boy: here goes PapaJim again, 
sayin' somethin' dumb."
                        - Anon from Baltimore
Whilst lab'rin' in the Labyrinth, 
I eyed a lad (his head...? A bull’s; 
he bore a bull's behind to boot) 
whom Ovid "labull'd" Minotaur. 
     
I ask'd, "O Ove, d'yall know at all

some cousins of that Minotaur --

same heads up top, same tails, same tush, 
but one inch tall: the minitaurs…?”

I fail’d to grill that Roman sage

if he'd heard tales of other -taurs --

same tops, same toes, but featherbrain’d

and foolish -- namely, ninnytaurs.

Or if he’d run across rude -taurs

who liv'd to drop below their tails

their bully drawers, exposin' butts

for prudes to view: crude moonotaurs.

Of -taurs I've long read -- lore in logs

from old sea dogs 'n' fisherfolk

of -taurs who swim with five-fold fins.

These minimals...? The minnowtaurs.

(Some relatives of minnowtaurs

who navigate the labyrinthine

waters of the FCC…?

the well-known Newton Minowtaurs.)

Who sucks on candy-coated bulls
must needs spit out the bullish horns
nor let the tail hairs 'tween her teeth
get stuck: beware the Mentotaur!

Its horns are heavy hydrogen,
while oxygen pervades it hooves. 
Its tail...? A carbon-nitrogen
amalgam: meet aminotaur!

Half-bull, half man, half autocrat,
impaling subjects on his horns
and flailin' 'em with tails...and worse:      
the mean Idi Aminotaur.

There was a man-of-bull, one Moon,
who claim'd he was the son of God. 
He bullocks wed to wide-eyed cows
and call'd his pairin's Moonietaurs.

Part bull, part Zola, part Juarez, 
part M. Pasteur, part "Scarface," part 
Wang Lung, this -taur took part in many
parts: the famed Paul Munitaur.

Imagine a part-man-part-bull-part-
passerine in Asia loose!
What mimic'd sounds, what mirror'd songs
re"-taur"ted from this mynataur...?  

No manbulls fought at Hampton Roads.
None clad in hides; none sportin' horns.
The ships which fought there...? Ironclad.
(The Union's ship's the Monitor.)

Triform'd beasts -- part bull, part man, part
golden-pelted mustang. Centaurs...? 
Tritaurs...? Broncotaurs...? Guytaurs...? Nope!
Hi-yo! Palominotaurs!

What you call partly manbull, part Vi-
etnamesian Commie stooge (one
also known as Uncle Ho)
I call the Ho Chi Minhotaur.

From Hellas far España sits,
where bides a beast who battles bulls.
He boasts no tails but those he's shaved
from victims' bums: the matador.

So: won't you be my protege...?
Become a -taurist -- that 'n' more...?
Yes, you shall be my protege.
And I...? I'll be your -taur mentor.

Spuncibl'd Rooner Meets Gad Mardiner

"Doors in Mirrors"
Jude Higgins
acrylic on canvas digitally modified
18" by 24"

     Set aside your Mr. Spock ears and 

don your dog ears. That is, ignoring 
any meanings, listen only to the sound. 
Then, on your second reading...
         
He sought to thaw 
the Krozen phone 
he’d lick'd to brick 
at punch. 

“Hold course, cold horse! 

You’re bag 'n' roan. 
I beer I’m fared...
a scunch.” 

(The rag he know’d -- 

call’d Mal: La Ode 
drop'd dead,
or hose my sunch.)