Charles Ollier's boy Bill, for his sins,
insists ‘fish’ with 'laugh''s ‘g-h’ begins.
Its 'i'...? ‘O’ -- as in ‘women.’
('Sh'...? 'Potion' I’m skimmin’.)
En ghin, tiall such ghotigholk tied ghons…? *
* Or, en fin, shall such fishfolk shed fins...?
Poet Poe pens nonsense verse. "Plus...phun," puns Uly, "I disburse." Its gamut runs from spam to worse. The po'sy posted...? Poe's diverse -- most, postcards from his universe, replies to grudges he must nurse. My summary...? Let me be terse: a mitzva, mostly. (Not a curse.)
Wednesday, December 11, 2019
Tuesday, December 3, 2019
The Twenty Six Outré'd <-AY>s of Xmas: a Doggerel Advent Calendar in Meter & Rhyme
A is Adeste: "O come all ye
fai-…"
B’s magus Balthazar, one of a trey.
* The great Mel Tormé co-wrote and
sang the best rendition of "The Christmas
Song" -- pacé Nat Cole.
O is O Tannenbaum, tree aka.
P…? P is Presents, folks' Xmas mainstay.
Christmas Day!
B’s magus Balthazar, one of a trey.
C…? C is Comet. He pulls Santa’s
sleigh.
D’s Donder, getting in (lots!) Comet’s
way.
E’s “Ev’ry mother’s child,” trill’d by
Tormé.*
F’s shneyman Frosty: “I’m
melting...? Oy vay!”* The great Mel Tormé co-wrote and
sang the best rendition of "The Christmas
Song" -- pacé Nat Cole.
G’s Santa’s Goodies. Check out that array!
H…? Hallelujah: archangels’ ‘hooray.’
I…? I is Icicles – outside! (No tray.)
J’s those bells, Jingle
bells…all the damn way!
K is Kris Kringle, a Claus soubriquet
L is “Lulay” – “bye-bye, lulee Lulay.”
M’s Merry gentle Men no things dismay.
N is Noël. “Bon Noël,” Français
say.O is O Tannenbaum, tree aka.
P…? P is Presents, folks' Xmas mainstay.
Q’s Quick, a part of the elf’s** resumé.
R…? R is Rudolph. His nose...? Tres outré.
** The so-called "jolly old elf so lively
and quick" appears in Mr. Clement Moore's
"A Visit from St. Nicholas."
and quick" appears in Mr. Clement Moore's
"A Visit from St. Nicholas."
S is St. Nicholas, dude o' the day.
T is the Tinsel o’er branches we lay.
U’s Up the chimney. (It’s just
Kringle’s way.)
V…? V is Vixen. (Do reindeer vote “Neigh”…?)
W’s Wenceslaus. (Miracle play…?)
X…? X is ‘Xmas’ -- a summary way.
Y is the Yule log – the Mock in UK.
Z-z-z-z-zs…? Dreams on Xmas Eve. Then...Christmas Day!
Tuesday, November 26, 2019
Z Doesn't Always Go Straight Home: Another Spree For Agee
Imagine each of the nonsense verses appearing below
paired with a complementary image, and the full set --
thirty text/image pairs -- arrayed on the multiple leaves
of an accordion-fold booklet (or perhaps a series of
booklets), the edges of any three adjacent pages of
which resemble nothing more nor less than the very
letter -- Z -- which the entire doggerel ensemble is
busy relentlessly celebrating.
Z goes along. "'Tis its
'get-along' must. A tried
goin' against the grain
once: 'twas a bust.” Now, as
Z goes about, must A
opt to adjust...?)
Z goes all in. "BT-
X-A I’ll buy. If one'd
live like an ampersand,
must one not try...?” (A's so-o-o-o
hopin' Z’s efforts do
not go awry.)
Z's goin' ape, or so
W claims: "All texts
Z sinks its hooks into
go up in flames. Unless
Z goes away..." (But e-
nough with word games.)
Z goes behind B's con-
servat'ry shed. “If B's
gard'ners catch sight of me,
I’m good as dead.” (“'Tis well
known Z goes both ways,” some
straight letter said.)
Z goes for broke, bettin'
all of its dough. “I’ve just
gotta go big. 'Tis the
"Clang" goes the toll, causin'
Z to go crazy, its
neurons a-spin and its
vision a haze. ("Z goes
home," scribbles Jon. "Let not
C limn him lazy.")
Z goes down (Moe says) where
no glyph's yet been. (Z's not
down by the riverside --
Z hand-in-hand goes, with
"Mademoiselle," although
rarely straight home, as some
storybooks tell. (Keep this
up, Z, and H might pen
Z Goes to Hell.)
Sure, Z goes in for the
wag's repertoire. E,g.,
here's one Z tells: "Seems that
one day an R, with a
priest and a rabbi, goes
into a bar..."
Z goes to jail, goes di-
rectly to jail -- no "pass
Go," no "twin Benjamins."
Ditto no bail. J goes,
too, just for fun. (Neither
letter's for sale.)
Z goes kaput. A pre-
limin'ry heat ends with
Z concuss'd -- crush'd in his
GoKart's front seat. Z'll go
kickin' 'n' screamin' to...
(Where's the next meet...?)
Z goes a-knockin,' though
not to Z's told. Cautions
K: "Do not enter here."
(K's so-o-o-o the scold.) If Z
goes for the kill, K will
never g(r)o(w) old.
Hearin' the quarterback's
"Hut one...hut two...", Z goes
long, like A-team wide re-
ceivers should do. (Z goes
limp once Z's sack'd, as Z
always is, nu...?)
"Goin' my way...?" asks The
Wanderin' Q as that
letter goes marchin' to
drums only you and Q
hear. "Z's gone missin'...? Oy!:
What can I do...?"
Z's goin' nuts. "Goin'
nuclear," U desig-
nates it. Who seconds that...?
L. Likewise Q. "Like the
nest of the cuckoo which
over U flew."
Z's goin' off like some
fireworks display. 'Tis a
Fourth of July frenzy
Z goes on, eh...? To the
dark side Z's gone over,
to M's dismay.
Z's goin' public: "I
know where the bodies be
buried, those plots where they're
plopp'd 'neath the sod -- P's, N's...
O's chassis, too." Yet Z
trills "-dee-dah, lah-dee-"s.
Z's goin' paperless.
"I'll go so green: U'll see
pea, pear, pistachio,
aquamarine..." (When Z
goes, Z goes pro -- as in
'Wien'...'preen'...'baleen'...)
Z's goin' postal. Z's
fete (accompli) gives a
whole 'nother meaning to
'dead letter.' T is the
c(h)ap which relates "I go
Pogo"...not Z.
Quietly Z goes, on
lower-case feet. All dis-
turbing Z's hush S shall
shush: "Ple-e-e-ease: 'Discrete' be the
watchword. Don't make me (don't
make me) repeat!"
Z's goin' rogue, a move
Palin might push. Says she,
"Pull a McCain, Mister,
not a George Bush." (T's so
hoping Z won't end up
flat on its tush.)
Go Set a Watchman Z
goes at with zest. "Watchman's
good -- tho' that Mockingbird
one's still her best. It would
go down a treat if the
pair coalesced."
"Go tell it, 'top o' that
mountain: 'Behold: Z shall
not go to sleep till Aunt
Rhody be told.'" (Z's gone
soft. Has been since he turn'd
sev-...'ral years old.)
Z's goin' under, not
smilin' but frownin.' Says
Z, "Just like Stevie*: not
wavin' but drownin.'" (Z's
"go"in's on show Z likes
'verb'in' o'er 'noun'in.')
* Poet Stevie Smith famously
ended a poem with something
resembling this line.
"Z's goin' viral," says
Phi Gamma Pi. "Gamma's
"Go with the flow''s been Z's
rallying cry." (When Greek
geeks speak of flow, Z's the
flower, not I.)
"Go ___(X)___, young man"'s like Y's
"Go your own way -- that or
"Go Z! (Fan tutte)!" So
says Wolfgang A. (Z will,
fin'lly, go home, only
just not today.)
paired with a complementary image, and the full set --
thirty text/image pairs -- arrayed on the multiple leaves
of an accordion-fold booklet (or perhaps a series of
booklets), the edges of any three adjacent pages of
which resemble nothing more nor less than the very
letter -- Z -- which the entire doggerel ensemble is
busy relentlessly celebrating.
Z goes along. "'Tis its
'get-along' must. A tried
goin' against the grain
once: 'twas a bust.” Now, as
Z goes about, must A
opt to adjust...?)
Z goes all in. "BT-
X-A I’ll buy. If one'd
live like an ampersand,
must one not try...?” (A's so-o-o-o
hopin' Z’s efforts do
not go awry.)
Z's goin' ape, or so
W claims: "All texts
Z sinks its hooks into
go up in flames. Unless
Z goes away..." (But e-
nough with word games.)
Z goes behind B's con-
servat'ry shed. “If B's
gard'ners catch sight of me,
I’m good as dead.” (“'Tis well
known Z goes both ways,” some
straight letter said.)
Z goes for broke, bettin'
all of its dough. “I’ve just
gotta go big. 'Tis the
sole way to go.” (B’d ba-
nanas go, if big bucks
Z'd bleedin' blow.)
Z goes berserk -- nor it's
not a nice sight. (Goin'
Bodmin or bonkers is
never alright...although
B claims, "Tis better than
bein' uptight.")
nanas go, if big bucks
Z'd bleedin' blow.)
Z goes berserk -- nor it's
not a nice sight. (Goin'
Bodmin or bonkers is
never alright...although
B claims, "Tis better than
bein' uptight.")
"Clang" goes the toll, causin'
Z to go crazy, its
neurons a-spin and its
vision a haze. ("Z goes
home," scribbles Jon. "Let not
C limn him lazy.")
Z goes down (Moe says) where
no glyph's yet been. (Z's not
down by the riverside --
Yangtze or Seine: Z'd soon
drown.) Z goes down for the
count...eight...nine...ten!
Early, and often, Z
goes in the draft, as it
seems like E's teams are a
drown.) Z goes down for the
count...eight...nine...ten!
Early, and often, Z
goes in the draft, as it
seems like E's teams are a
tad understaff'd. And that
extra mile Z goes...? Both
D and E laugh'd.
Goin' for gold, Z goes
further than most. Z's seen
goin' Full Monty by
extra mile Z goes...? Both
D and E laugh'd.
Goin' for gold, Z goes
further than most. Z's seen
goin' Full Monty by
F. (Z's reposte…?) Z goes
fishin' instead of a-
wishin'...almost.
Z's goin' grey, or, as
G terms it, 'fawn.' Z goes
gunnin' for all who would
mock. (Would you, Jon...?) Z's re-
tainin' the law firm of
Goe, Wynn & Gonne.
fishin' instead of a-
wishin'...almost.
Z's goin' grey, or, as
G terms it, 'fawn.' Z goes
gunnin' for all who would
mock. (Would you, Jon...?) Z's re-
tainin' the law firm of
Goe, Wynn & Gonne.
Z hand-in-hand goes, with
"Mademoiselle," although
rarely straight home, as some
storybooks tell. (Keep this
up, Z, and H might pen
Z Goes to Hell.)
Sure, Z goes in for the
wag's repertoire. E,g.,
here's one Z tells: "Seems that
one day an R, with a
priest and a rabbi, goes
into a bar..."
Z goes to jail, goes di-
rectly to jail -- no "pass
Go," no "twin Benjamins."
Ditto no bail. J goes,
too, just for fun. (Neither
letter's for sale.)
Z goes kaput. A pre-
limin'ry heat ends with
Z concuss'd -- crush'd in his
GoKart's front seat. Z'll go
kickin' 'n' screamin' to...
(Where's the next meet...?)
Z goes a-knockin,' though
not to Z's told. Cautions
K: "Do not enter here."
(K's so-o-o-o the scold.) If Z
goes for the kill, K will
never g(r)o(w) old.
Hearin' the quarterback's
"Hut one...hut two...", Z goes
long, like A-team wide re-
ceivers should do. (Z goes
limp once Z's sack'd, as Z
always is, nu...?)
"Goin' my way...?" asks The
Wanderin' Q as that
letter goes marchin' to
drums only you and Q
hear. "Z's gone missin'...? Oy!:
What can I do...?"
Z's goin' nuts. "Goin'
nuclear," U desig-
nates it. Who seconds that...?
L. Likewise Q. "Like the
nest of the cuckoo which
over U flew."
Z's goin' off like some
fireworks display. 'Tis a
Fourth of July frenzy
Z goes on, eh...? To the
dark side Z's gone over,
to M's dismay.
Z's goin' public: "I
know where the bodies be
buried, those plots where they're
plopp'd 'neath the sod -- P's, N's...
O's chassis, too." Yet Z
trills "-dee-dah, lah-dee-"s.
Z's goin' paperless.
"I'll go so green: U'll see
pea, pear, pistachio,
aquamarine..." (When Z
goes, Z goes pro -- as in
'Wien'...'preen'...'baleen'...)
Z's goin' postal. Z's
fete (accompli) gives a
whole 'nother meaning to
'dead letter.' T is the
c(h)ap which relates "I go
Pogo"...not Z.
Quietly Z goes, on
lower-case feet. All dis-
turbing Z's hush S shall
shush: "Ple-e-e-ease: 'Discrete' be the
watchword. Don't make me (don't
make me) repeat!"
Z's goin' rogue, a move
Palin might push. Says she,
"Pull a McCain, Mister,
not a George Bush." (T's so
hoping Z won't end up
flat on its tush.)
Go Set a Watchman Z
goes at with zest. "Watchman's
good -- tho' that Mockingbird
one's still her best. It would
go down a treat if the
pair coalesced."
"Go tell it, 'top o' that
mountain: 'Behold: Z shall
not go to sleep till Aunt
Rhody be told.'" (Z's gone
soft. Has been since he turn'd
sev-...'ral years old.)
Z's goin' under, not
smilin' but frownin.' Says
Z, "Just like Stevie*: not
wavin' but drownin.'" (Z's
"go"in's on show Z likes
'verb'in' o'er 'noun'in.')
* Poet Stevie Smith famously
ended a poem with something
resembling this line.
"Z's goin' viral," says
Phi Gamma Pi. "Gamma's
"Go with the flow''s been Z's
rallying cry." (When Greek
geeks speak of flow, Z's the
flower, not I.)
"Go ___(X)___, young man"'s like Y's
"Go your own way -- that or
"Go Z! (Fan tutte)!" So
says Wolfgang A. (Z will,
fin'lly, go home, only
just not today.)
Monday, November 25, 2019
Adrian's Arsenal & Additional 'Ardware Applesauce
Tan-ta-
rum...
tan-ta-
tum-
tan-ta-
ta-a-a-ah!
Tan-ta-
tum...
tan-ta-
rum...
tan-ta-
ra-a-a-ah!
Dig: we're
stick
figgers
(sic)
Pentel’d
plain.
Do but
scroll!
You'll butt
whole
worlds of
pain.
guerre
avec
sword!
His fell
move
may well
prove
unto-
ward.
boom-
erangs
might…
take their
best
shots from
nests
out of
sight.
sling-
shotted
stone…
may as-
sail.
(David’s
tale
is well
known.)
‘droid
with the
wand!
Run! Go
now!
(None know
how
to re-
spond.)
bows.
(Where’s his
br’er…?)
Skip their
barrows:
tipp’d
arrows!
Take
care!
thigh
rests a
knife.
Who’s not
bettin’
he’ll
threaten
your
life…?
cursin’
wield
axes…?
Not at
all!
Swat that
gall
‘fore it
waxes.
schmuck
with a
crossbow.
‘Nuf’s e-
nuf!
None need
suf-
fer such
loss. Go!
chaff
from the
wheat.
Clue the
gent:
“You! Git
bent!”
[Hit DE-
LETE!]
poke
with his
spear
your left
side,
what’s left…?
Hide!
Disap-
pear!
Badde!
Fear my
pata!”
Joke’s on
him:
folks him
limn
bad”
with his
whips…
get to
snag
that lit
fag
‘twixt your
lips…?
scythe
you at-
tack ‘em.
Moral’s
clear:
more foil
fear
when they
pack ‘em.
mom
of this
fellow.
(“Show no
fear!”’s
what the
dear
dam should
bellow.)
toye (sic)
with
hammer…
must be
tarr’d.
(Trust you’ll
pard-
on my
grammar.)
shields
run the
risk…
of a
scrap
with a
chap
with a
disc…?
arm’d
with a
stick.
Answer…?
Charm.
Lance his
karm-
a with
schtick.
Goths in
old
Edda --
combat
blind –
though that
kind
should know
betta.
said,
“empty-
handed.
Sans one’s
gun,
man’s un-
done:
‘no-man’s
land’ed!”
(sic) --
knife…shield…
axe…
‘til new
Rugers*
mill
lugers
each
lacks.
manufacturer
rum...
tan-ta-
tum-
tan-ta-
ta-a-a-ah!
Tan-ta-
tum...
tan-ta-
rum...
tan-ta-
ra-a-a-ah!
Dig: we're
stick
figgers
(sic)
Pentel’d
plain.
Do but
scroll!
You'll butt
whole
worlds of
pain.
Chum: be-
ware
l’hommes de ware
guerre
avec
sword!
His fell
move
may well
prove
unto-
ward.
Let’s as-
sume
gents with sume
boom-
erangs
might…
take their
best
shots from
nests
out of
sight.
Even
kings
heavin' kings
sling-
shotted
stone…
may as-
sail.
(David’s
tale
is well
known.)
Do a-
void
you the void
‘droid
with the
wand!
Run! Go
now!
(None know
how
to re-
spond.)
Note twin
schmos
totin’ schmos
bows.
(Where’s his
br’er…?)
Skip their
barrows:
tipp’d
arrows!
Take
care!
Fear this
guy:
near his guy:
thigh
rests a
knife.
Who’s not
bettin’
he’ll
threaten
your
life…?
Ought a
person
caught person
cursin’
wield
axes…?
Not at
all!
Swat that
gall
‘fore it
waxes.
Queer’s the
luck:
here’s a luck:
schmuck
with a
crossbow.
‘Nuf’s e-
nuf!
None need
suf-
fer such
loss. Go!
Shit! This
staff
splits the staff
chaff
from the
wheat.
Clue the
gent:
“You! Git
bent!”
[Hit DE-
LETE!]
When a
bloke’s
yen’s to bloke’s
poke
with his
spear
your left
side,
what’s left…?
Hide!
Disap-
pear!
Chimes nex’
cad,
“I’m Rex cad,
Badde!
Fear my
pata!”
Joke’s on
him:
folks him
limn
“vir non
grata.”
grata.”
Ought a
lad
thought “not lad
bad”
with his
whips…
get to
snag
that lit
fag
‘twixt your
lips…?
Men may
writhe
when with writhe
scythe
you at-
tack ‘em.
Moral’s
clear:
more foil
fear
when they
pack ‘em.
“E-e-e-eek! A
bomb,”
squeaks the bomb,”
mom
of this
fellow.
(“Show no
fear!”’s
what the
dear
dam should
bellow.)
Ev’ry
boychik
who’d boychik
toye (sic)
with
hammer…
must be
tarr’d.
(Trust you’ll
pard-
on my
grammar.)
Might who
wields
bright new wields
shields
run the
risk…
of a
scrap
with a
chap
with a
disc…?
Sound the
'larm!
Bounder’s 'larm!
arm’d
with a
stick.
Answer…?
Charm.
Lance his
karm-
a with
schtick.
Tykes with
nothin’ –
like nothin’ –
Goths in
old
Edda --
combat
blind –
though that
kind
should know
betta.
“A soul’s
dead,”
we drolls dead,”
said,
“empty-
handed.
Sans one’s
gun,
man’s un-
done:
‘no-man’s
land’ed!”
Zany
stick
figyures stick
(sic) --
knife…shield…
axe…
‘til new
Rugers*
mill
lugers
each
lacks.
* As of 2015,
Ruger was
the US’s
largest
firearms manufacturer
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)