"Saul Bass and others..." Five Poissons of Interest (Illustrated Images)

SAUL BASS

MYRNA L'OYSTER

CAPTAIN HADDOCK

YOGI BERRACUDA

HUMPHREY TURBOTGART

"The world is so full of a number of things..." RLS Amplified: A Constrained Nonsense

  

The world is so full of a number of things...

of old cedar's and cypress’s annual rings;
of the roads to Morocco with Dots, Bobs and Bings;
of your governing folkmoots, your Icelandic Tings...

of those jubilant feelings each holiday brings;
of most Klingons -- detach'd -- and the Klingon who clings;
Francis Albert Sinatra’s “A-ring-ding-a-ding-ding!”s;
of Flash Gordons and Zarkovs, of Merciless Mings...

of the Irishmen’s ceilis, the Scots’ Highland Flings;
of your Brandy Manhattans, your Singapore Slings;
of brass cymbals with sizzles, gourd zithers with “zings”;
of your southern fried chickens, your barbecued wings...

of spondoolicks, of wampum, of cash that “ka-ching!”s;
Feinman's O-rings, your key rings and other odd blings;
of the Stones and the Beatles, the Elton's and Stings;
of black thespians – Sidneys, Tayes, Denzels and Vings...

of the Japanese Yukis, the Chinese Beijings;
of taut tom turkeys’ necks your great-grandmother wrings…
of I Chings with no strings, of Hong Kongs and Pekings;
of Premier Deng Xiaoping and the songs that Deng sings... 


I am sure we should all be as happy as kings.

"What's what follows all about? Herein's a hint: think 'Kilgore Trout'..." Fish Folk or Poissons of Interest: A Constrained Nonsense

What sounds like ‘fish’ but's spelt like ‘ghoti’? 
“Take the ‘f’ sound heard in ‘rough.’
The ‘i’ sound heard in ‘women,’” wrote he, *
“follows on. Then, sure enough,
the ‘sh’ sound heard in ‘nation’ ends it.” 

     * Ollier’s the ‘he’ who wrote it.
G. B. Shaw? He’s who defends it. 
(Spelling teachers love to quote it.)

What’s what follows all about? 

Herein’s a hint: think ‘Kilgore Trout,’

Kurt Vonnegut filet'd friend ‘Sturgeon’ – 

since when, new fish been emergin,’

fish folk finned and fish folk scaled 

(between swim fish folk swishy tailed:

a halibut, a crappie, a 

piranha, a tilapia).

From fish folk gilled through fish folk grilled, 

your fish-folk fancy’s here fulfilled

with fish folk gals and fish folk guys. 

(My wish? My fish you’ll recognize.)

Meet the maven of the mod: 

well-bread, world-wise wit Noel Cod.

Theda Barramundi’s error? 

Overdoing her mascara.

Mary Lamprey’s brother Charles: 

he helped her untie Shakespeare’s snarls.

Corbina Bernsen’s fatal flaw? 

His cry (“Fish Fry!”) on L.A. Law.

The Scotsman Edmund Halleybut? 

He claimed, “I comets tally, but…”

(CaNova, Judy? Fish folk? Sure, 

though most might now cut bait per her.)

     ("The More the Merrier") 

Joel McCrayfish plays the lead. 

Of DC lodging he has need.

Jean Garthur’s flat he would sublet. 

Alas! A tete-a-tete-a tete

ensues when Charles Cohoburn’s prying 

leads to “Bill”’s* arrest for spying.

“Moray the Merrier”’s a kick – 

though not a Prestiss Sturgeon flic.

     * Cohoburn’s character continually misidentifies 

McCrayfish’s character, regularly calling him Bill.

     ("Guys and Dolls") 

Detroit’s Miss Adelewife laments, 

“A poisson can develop cods.”

Her words are heard in “Gals and Gents” 

aka “Females, Fries and Scrods.”

And Damon Grunion’s uptown marks? 

But chum for Grunion’s downtown sharks.

Robin of Lox? The rich call it stealth. 

He gives to the poor. (Redistributed wealth?)

Celiakanth Cruz, Salsa Mater, 

sang before fish left the water.

Pesce, Joe? In Italy, 

he’s ‘Fish, Giuseppe,’ let’rally.

Abortion rights, as schooled fish know, 

were won by fish. (See “Wade v Roe.”)

(Your roe boasts fangs? Then I suppose he 

must be called Beluga Ghosi.)

“The girl…” -- I mean, “the fish next door” -- 

refers to Moray Tyler Moore.

McCalamari (first name? David): 

for a squid, quite well-behavéd.

Ringo Starrfish banged his drums 

in Liverpool’s aquariums.

“Among all porcine fish, he’s big.” 

(Discourse, of course, re Porgie Pig.)

He’s MVP come closeout games: 

who else but LeBronzino James!

She’s blonde of coif and blond of face 

and blonde of brain: meet Doris Dace.

In pools and pool halls, so state stats, 

he’s tops. He's Minnesota Sprats.

His ‘Sole’iness (that’s Francis, Pope): 

he’ll keep the oceans cool, we’ll hope.

Humphrey’s love was Bett Bacoral. 

All thought Bett “a pretty goral.”

Humph himself? He played the rogue: art-

houses shout, “Don’t miss TurBotgart!”

One filet be wa-a-a-a-ay too lean: 

it’s Mrs. Shrimpton’s daughter Jean.

Fish folk en France swim a la carte: 

(Napoleon Bonitoparte?)

To choc’lates, boxed, which we eat up, he 

likens life -- does Forrest Guppy.

“She’ll be apples! “ (Things are fine.) 

That’s Russell Croaker, spoutin’ Strine.

“…a doctor, not a saveloy,” 

shouts Star Trek medic “Bones” McKoi.

And what's BronZeno’s Paradox? 

A race between a pair of jocks.

Ira Gershfin’s coup de grace? 

To pen some words to Porgie and Bass.

If any fish can marry dark an’ 

light, Pierre Teilhard de Shark can.

Who’s seen swimming down the stream 

whilst lutenizing? Julian Bream.

You crave beluga caviar? 

You’ll slaver over Terry Gar.

D’ya dig this broadcast host’s aplomb? De-

clare, “I’m there for Coho Nnamdi.”

Fish turned philanthropic cove, he: 

Rock ‘n’ Rolldom’s Jon B’Anchovy.

“Booze won’t hurt. In fact, ‘twill hearten. 

Where’s the bar?” snorts Sardine Martin.

     ("Tom Sawyer" and Huckleberry Finn")

Twain’s a piscine catalogue: 

Tom Sawfish loves Aunt Pollywog.

One finds a Dolphin and a Duke. 

That Watson’s Jim survive’s a “fluke.”

Another Twain nomadic laddie: 

Huckleberry Finn ‘n’ Haddie.

As for Mark Twain’s alter egos: 

Samu’l Clamens goes where he goes.

Meet the Modern Jazz QuarTetra, 

playing Hal’but Hall etcet’ra.

“One might starve, were one to lack krill,” 

blurts a burly Bernie Mack’rel.

“Alewives eat their young.” Pure bollocks? 

Nope: a slur of Sidney Pollock’s.

Poster child fur Volk who’re vile? 

“Sieg Heil!” – Adolphin-Hitler-style.

Mein Fuhrerfish? Long dead and gone, 

as is his mistress, Eva Prawn.

One school of eels – including Seel, 

Greg van der Weel, Gibran, Khaleel,

and Paster Norman Vincent Peel – 

when jellied, makes a tasty meal.

Another school boasts Howard Keel, 

Sharque’eel O’Neel and Bradley Beel,

Patricia Neel and Brian Freel -- 

“suffish” for any angler’s creel.

(Though Eelvis Presley is an eel, 

to throw him back is no big deal.)

Or, grab your Old Bay and a fork! A 

fillet of Garcia l’Orca

hits the pan. (What’s on the grill? 

A bit of blackened Blenny Hill.)

Great logos don’t arrive en masse; 

they need design. (They need Saul Bass.)

Among Jurassic fish float four: 

there’s Watts-, Wood-, Keith- and Mickthy’saur.

(En arriere as “Mickth” blows harp? 

Terpsichorean Twyla Carp.)

“TV’s a wasteland!” Rin-tin-tin? No! 

Just a quote from Newton Minnow.

Ceta source which never fails? 

That’s Wiki-wizard Jimmy Whales.

[Failing to find puns for ‘perch,’ 

nor wishing to this verse besmirch,

I’d discontinued further search. 

Then took my bait did Thora Pirch.

Next, a fair, if falling, star: 

here’s Sonny’s chum cum child bride, Char.

Which fat fish swims the Rio Grande? O-

bese be fins of Marlin Brando.

Six-foot-six – one huge kahuna. 

Who but hoofer Tommy Tuna?

Dr. Seuss’s “One Fish Two Fish” 

pales near Jake and Elwood Bluefish.

Roles in “Cabaret” need nailing. 

“Emcee”’s one, so cast Joel Grayling!

Into tech, who took the plunge? 

One big one’s Eelon Muskellunge.

Which bro’s the BF Tintin had? Ach! 

Few as true as Captain Haddock.

(Schools of fish folk, by the way, 

team Aldo, Man and Martha Ray.)

Asked to i.d. baseball’s buddha, 

Yanks yell, “Yogi Berracuda!”

Myrna l’Oyster? Shucks! Long gone – 

though swimmin’ still be Walleye Shawn.

Through criminality’s “Who’s Who” 

floats Chinese villain Fumet Chu.

Who’d Gary Grouper teach to swim? 

(“Flash Gordon”’s Buster Crab taught him.)

Give, last, the Jesus fish a nod, 

aka “Ikthus/Son of Cod,”

which fish cries, “End thy pisces piece. 

My gospel’s “Catch, nor ne’er release.”

[I’d failed to further fish folk find 

when Salmon Rushdie rushed to mind.]

FIN

"'Tis far from few, requested to relate their fav'rite lark..." 26 Surrogate Snarks: A Constrained Nonsense Alphabet in Rhyme

‘Tis far from few, requested to
relate their fav’rite lark,

who’d favor us with answer thus: 
“Mine’s hunting of the snark.”

Which fool forgets the pains, the frets, 
the nearly fatal sally
he sweated besting, then arresting 
awful acephali? 

Who’d not profess what strain and stress 
(though 'fessing’s not his wish)
he’d spent exploring trenches for 
the beastly bishop-fish...

…and then forget the trebuchet – 
such weapons proving handy
when men march'd forth, a-heading north 
to catch the cru’l chromandi?

As young'un (three) -- too gung ho? Oui! -- 
I took it on the chin:
The Kids’ Krusade! (Mistakes were made 
when driving down the djinn.)

I’ve heard it said (or have I read) 
how famed the name of him who
with truncheon, skipped his luncheon, 
eagle eye peeled for edimmoux. 

Halt! Half a mo! Don’t laugh: I’ll show 
you trophies I take glory in:
I grabbed this thing while following 
the foul-mouthed fierce fomorian.

And, yes! It’s true: a jumping to 
conclusions flatly foregone
must ne’er be done if ever one 
goes gunning for the gorgon. 

The equine/lion/eagle scion: 
why should I care if
he’s ever found. (One hates to hound 
the harmless hippogriff.)

Nor shall I hide the imp inside 
(in fact, I lack the knack) --
for I’d so hate to immolate 
my inner ishigaq.

In odd Julys, I’d deputize 
nine gals and guys who’d gird
their rumps and tails, then dump in jails 
the joyless jubjub bird.

At ten and three, I went to sea, 
a Sinbad in the makin.’
A lad, a whelp, I planned, with help, 
to kill the kelp-clad kraken. 

So: here's the gist: my peers insist 
a posse be convened,
with one large rub: they look to club 
the luckless lubber fiend.

I bleat. I bray: “Flee, feet of clay! 
I’m not for playing god.
Still, sling’s the thing for mastering 
the murd’rous monopod.”

Your job, my liege? To lay the siege – 
an act oblige noblesse-y –
which spreads a toxin ‘neath these lochs, an-
noying noxious Nessie.

Egyptian priests disuss such beasts; 
Greek Plato joins their chorus.
Old Norse do, too (as we do…nu?). 
Let’s out the Ouroboros!

Fierce beasts I’ve bled – from none I’ve fled – 
down days since bread’s been sliced.
But, ‘pon my soul! My plumm’est role? 
Pursuit of poltergeist.

That God is great I’ll not negate; 
my dogmal slate is clean.
And still my quest’s to quash, sans rest, 
the Qabalah’s qareen.

Dad hunted gnu. Us kids did, too – 
like chips off olden blocks.
Those days are gone. Fresh crises spawn 
our raids upon the rocs.

I don’t know when, but soon I’ll pen, 
“I grabbed ten shen, then shook ‘em.”
Meantime, I’ll love a proxy of 
above: “I’m stalkin' skookum.”

I’ve punted foals. I’ve bunted dholes. 
I’ve junted moles down holes.
My latest role’s to set new goals – 
(say) tracking truant trolls.

I’m ever urgin’ ev’ry virgin: 
“Virtue must be earned.
Procure the horns off unicorns, 
nor leave no roans unturned.”

An opera done (a top-notch one) 
last season at La Scala
explored in song what all goes wrong 
when vanquishing vetala.

My friend Marat would bell a chat. 
He’ll wind up in the morgue:
I hear him raging, “Who’s for waging 
war upon the warg?”

I must now show restraint, although 
I fear I’ll go bananas
unless I shoot (read: ‘execute’) 
some xindhis or some xanas.

Alarms demand that arms be banned – 
brass knucks, nunchucks, machetes –
with which I’d deign to yank the chain 
of all remaining yetis.

Some beast you’d drub? Just grab a club 
(a niblick, spoon or mashie)
and zero in (to zap its chin) 
on zashiki-warashi.

As can be seen, there’s beasts – umpteen! – 
which prove as keen as snarks. 
As we disperse, let me be terse: 
Their bites? Worse than their barks!

"His aim? to appall, folks. He's building a wall, folks..." Thaneeah...Thaneeah...That's All, Folks! or (Un)quiet F(o)l(l)ows the Don(ald): A Constrained Crambo

His aim? To appall, folks.
He’s framing a wall, folks.
His tweets? Folderol, folks.
His bleat, "I don't fall, folks,
don't stumble, don't sprawl, folks."
His hands are so-o-o-o-o-o small, folks.
So: how many justices might he install, folks?

His gazes ooze gall, folks.
His phrases? Banal, folks.
He answers folks’ call, folks.
His folks tend to brawl, folks.
And drawl with a “y’all,” folks.
And think he's King Saul, folks.
So: which third-world dictators does he enthrall, folks?

An indifferent pol, folks,
he claims wherewithal, folks.
His hair doesn't loll, folks
He combs with a maul, folks.
His brand makes a haul, folks.
He’s having a ball, folks.
So: when will his “telling it like it is” pall, folks?

His moll is a doll, folks.
His kids own the mall, folks.
His Hancock's a scrawl, folks.
His tales are all tall, folks.
“He’s nuts!” some folks bawl, folks.
Thus folks mustn't stall, folks.
So: what must folks do to make Drumpf cry, “Thaneeah...thaneeah...thaneeah...thaneeah...that's all, folks!"?

"In utt'ring the A word, I move my mates Mayward..." The A Word & Other Off-Limits Language or Verboten Verbiage: A Constrained Alphabet

(The 'April' and the 'buck')

In utt'ring the A word, 

I move my mates Mayward.

Its spirit? I fear it's 

enmoisten'd, post March,

while the B word Tru* hollers -- 

to guarantee dollars 

pols pass stop, at las,' 

at his desk -- shows tru' starch.

     * Not author Capote but former 

Buck-Backstop-in-Chief Harry S.

(The 'cuckold' and the 'drunkard')

C words go unmentioned 

by nerds ill-intentioned:

the wives of those guys 

toy with boys on the side.

As for D words? They're said 

when too much liquid bread

lets my bro into haut 

dipsomania slide.

(The 'enema' and the 'fart')

The E word shoots shivvers 

up colons, down livers,

'cuz rectal dysfunction's 

no man's mug o' tea.

And, though not what you think 'er, 

that F word's a stinker

once gas up one's ass 

proves one's fate (accompli).

(The 'green' and the 'halitosis')   

The G word, although it's 

the new blue to many,

is banned in all red states. 

(Do you vote in any?) 

The H word? Say they: he said 

she said I've got it.

(I say: Vescere bracis meis*…

or: sod it!)

     * Latin -- vulgar at that --

for "Eat my shorts!"

(The 'Injun' and the 'Jap')

Native American insult -- 

the I word.

Down under, it's 'abo' -- 

though such be not my word.

The J word, in Double U 

Double U Two,

seemed acceptable...then. 

(Oh! The evil men do!)

(The 'kike' and the 'lesbo')

'Round the last ring in hell 

one imagines Herr Ado'ph

pronouncin' the K word...

then laughin' his haid off.

Misogynist man-children 

whisper the L word...

then snort...then continue 

itiner'ries hellward.

(The 'more' and the 'nothing')

The M words gets mentioned 

by Oliver Twist

(all who do do get more...

and no slaps on the wrist),

while the N word,* to die-hard 

creationists? Weird!

They insist this world's made 

by some geez in a beard.

(The 'O-ring' and the 'panties')

It took Richard* to bring up 

the O word; he show'd

how, because rings were frozen, 

the Challenger blow'd.

And the P word: on Seinfeld 

this shorthand for 'scanties'

proves mentionable: 

Elaine mentions "the ______!"

     * Physicist Feinman

(The 'Quik' and the dead 'red')

Don't mention the Q word 

when visiting Hershey:*

they'll soak you in sauce 

till you're beggin' for mershey.

Suspected are you 

as the R word? McCarthy

will ruin your life -- 

till you're beggin' for “marthy.”

     * In Pennsylvania

(The 'shit' and the 'tit')

Swung the hammer 'n' missed. 

Hit the thumb 'n' got pissed.

Formed the agonized fist. 

Now the S word's heard hissed.

The T word means breast, 

like most mammary monikers:

'chesticles,' 'sweater meat,' 

'boobs'...happy 'hon(i)kers'?

(The 'ubu' and the 'vagina')

It's OK if one mentions 

the U word in Art.

Oh, if only we'd see it,* 

and take it to heart.

There were days when the V word 

was strictly forbidden.

Then enter'd Eve Ensler. 

Now, nothing's left hidden.

     * E.g., "Ubu Roi," the theatre- 

of-the-absurd drama by Jarry.

(The 'why' and the 'XXX')

The W word: 

that it's banned is half lie:

it's both outlawed and urged -- 

do (or don't) query, "Why?" --

while the X word's avoided 

when doubled and tripled

in ratings of cinema  

penis'd and nippl'd.

(The 'yoni' and the 'zoff')

The Y word? In Sanskrit, 

it's eas'ly avoided:

Max Wertheimer didn't, 

but Maslow and Freud did. 

Comes, lastly, the Z word. 

Suppressed? No! No! Uttered                    

by me,* well aware on which 

side my bread's buttered).

     * That's the main reason why 
the Z word gets mentioned a dozen 
times during the verse parody 
"Let's Call the Whole Thing 'Zoff'! -- 
a PWWL post from January of 2012)