What's in a Name: Dynel J(e) Trompe

More Piegs Posey

     Howl "Hi-

yo(lk)!" towards the cowpoke 

who's bill'd Black Hills Bill. 
     Jake's pop's  

shtick's makin' pics 

with a Mother Goose quill. 

     Such fine 

art's hard to start  

if one knows not the drill.

     Stroke o'

luck: this bloke does!  

Black Hills Bill. 

     Now say 

"Howgh!" to the cowgirl 

Sioux've tagg'd Turning Bull. 

     Ev'ry 

sketch is more fetching -- 

when push comes to pull. 

     Turning's 

emptied her tote; 

her portfolio's full. 

     We're in 

awe of the squaw 

Turning Bull. 

     Turning 

Bull; Black Hills Bill: 

as a pair, the two share 

    our es-

team. As a team, 

     their col-

lab'tative fare...

  

     (a work in progress) 

A Partial List... (cont'd)

      #22 

"Don! Sing with Us Tars!" 

In this tale told in rhyming couplets, 

an octet of jolly sailors, several of 

whom are named Jack, plead with 

POTUS to join them in a chorus of 

"99 Bottles of Coke on the Wall." 

     The verses end on a sad note 

with the president appearing to 

forget most of the words. 

A Partial List of Children's Literature Titles Overlooked by Newbery Medal Award Committee Judges

This tale takes place during the 

caliphate of Harun al-Rashid and 

relates the adventures of a young 

apprentice genie, svelte and 

statuesque, who one day, while 

attempting to assume the shape 

of a roc, instead inexplicably takes 

the form, and begins murmuring 

the sounds, of a mourning dove.

     #17 

 
"D'Litt: Tall, Lean Djinn That Coo'd"

Next! (The Altar Stones)

     The Altar Stones 

Enfrock'd in aqua doctors' robes, 
the Alts ply lyres astride pied globes, 
then prance past oscillating strobes 
to lays of Leopold's. (Or Loeb's.) 
Each gig ends badly -- as did Job's -- 
once Fatha' Fats, first flute, disrobes. 
The EPA's conducting probes: 
affront, do Alts, fans' frontal lobes. 

    

This incomplete illustration of the   
band shows several pied globes, 
one with its saddle, astride which 
band members make their entrance 
playing their vintage Martin lyres. 
It also captures the moment in the 
band's  performance when Jimmie 
(Fatha' Fats") Nicklewicz, flutist and 
lead singer, begins his signature 
striptease. 

Next! or, Shadowing the Stones: an Alphabet (Prologue)

      Prologue 

Which bands, not now renown'd nor known, 
aspire to R&Rdom's throne...? 
Who's next...? Which Keith 'n' Jagger clones 

shall supersede the Rolling Stones...? 

     (to be continued)

An Early Holiday Greeting

Blue Djinns; or, Blue, Blue, Blue Is the Hue of Maya Truelove's Do & Other Nonsense

     Drei Dry Djinn

     Ein 

One kin's a djinn demonic, 

a Finn whose sins be chronic. 

This thane of earls 

his mane of curls 

in vain unfurls. Sardonic...? 

     Zwei 

Akin's a djinn (clan...? Yanik)

whose binge is gin and tonic. 

This bane of girls 

his rain of pearls 

insanely hurls. Moronic...? 

     Drei 

"En fin"...? A djinn Teutonic -- 

twinn-chinn'd: one's thin, one's conic. 

Mint skeins he purls. 

In pain he twirls, 

this swain of churls. Bubonic...? 

Wednesday Wave Protest Sign 10.29.25

 

Tom Eliot's Year

January's rulest month: 

old New Year's resolutions. 
   February...? Foolest month: 

droll sonnet distributions. 

March is the retoolest month, 

a season of renewal. 
   April's, now, the crew'lest month. 

(We've quite enough of cruel.) 

May's the crepusculest month; 

each dusk starts that much later.

   June's last-day-of-schoolest month. 

Sing "Later, alligator!" 

July's the dunking-stoolest month;

with ice, much more surprising. 

   August is the fuelest month. 

The price of gas keeps rising. 

September is the droolest month: 

the birthrate's up. (Don't ask.)

   October is the ghoulest month. 

You'd don a Donald mask...?

November is the coolest month. 

Eats...? Pumpkin pies. Drinks...?  Nogs.

   December is the yulest month:

King Wenceslaus thinks, "Logs!"

Dithyrambs in D with Denouement on Drumpf of Down D'ere: Homage a Mildred Plew Meigs Brought to You by the Letter D

     Dithyrambs in D

     Here de-

buts (Doh!) Der DOTUS,*

Don Drumpf of Down D'ere,
     of whose 

op'randi modus 
Dems duly forswear.
     Yet one

dares not dismiss  

the despicable hair 
     of the 

dastardly Drumpf of Down 

D'ere. 

          * Destroyer Of The United States

     Dans Drumpf's 

soul (what remains of it's 

black as the night)

     Drumpf en-

lists the fascisti 
who haunt the far right
     as Drumpf 

rants about hand size,  

red ties, weight and height (!) --

     does the 

dim-witted Drumpf of Down 

D'here. 

     During 

Drumpf's premier term 

Drumpf perversions rehears'd. 

     Now Drumpf 

daily distributes 

Drumpf's worst o' the worst. 

     (But what 

motivates Drumpf's 

duodenum to burst...? 

     Double 

cheeseburgers -- dozens! -- down 

dere.)

     Don Drumpf 

claims "the best words" 

though deployin' 'em not. 

     Don Drumpf 

grabs women's p*****s.* 

(Drumpf's earlobe got shot.) 

     Don Drumpf 

lusts after even his daughter -- 

a lot! -- 

     does the 

derelict Drumpf of Down 

D'ere.

          *Puritans read 'privates.' 

     Don Drumpf 

takes to Our House 

his demolishing bat

     as Drumpf 

makes of the U.S. 

persona non grat'...

     ...yet Don 

dons his "Make-Ev'rything-

Great-Again" hat --

     does De-

stroyer Don Drumpf of Down 

D'ere. 

     Denouement 

     But of 

late, concerns great 

Drumpf's deciding to share -- 

     in faint 

hopes of ascending 

God's heavenly stair.*

     Still, Drumpf's 

duly -- though Drumpf will 

construe it "unfair" --

     doom'd to 

dwell, 'til dawns Doomsday, down 

d'ere."**

     *Drumpf imagines, of course, 

a heavenly escalator.* 

     **Hell aka The Inferno (and 

considering the present context, 

doubtless Dante's. Drumpf's 

character qualifies him for 

damnation to every ring.)