"Foreign Wendy, black op, hurts: so soul-sick, she..." Faux Words March: Nonsense Abecedarial Pictures at an Exhibition in Rhyme

The art exhibition's portable audio 
guide said: "...A is Four And Twenty 
Blanc Birds..." but the near-sighted, 
hard-of-hearing art critic Ms. Orgski 
heard and saw: "...A's Foreign Wendy, 
Black Op, Hurts..." Thus Ms. Orgski’s 
verse review ran as follows:

Foreign Wendy, black op, hurts: 

so soul-sick, she! 

Her divorce from The Force...? 
Fully fait accompli.
Wendy's sublet a bed-sit 
near Southend-on-Sea.
Wend sees well-wishers Wend's Days  
from "t'wendy" past three.

The audio guide said: "...B is Forbidden 
Fruit..." but Ms Orgski heard and saw: 
"...B is for Bitten Fruit..." Thus, her 
review:

Inch-thick skin of once-bitten fruit 

(rough to the touch...?

Tough!), when tapp'd for its sap, 
lacks all savor as such.
Four'll score mileage as silage 
for shoats -- in a clutch.
(As a rule, though, shoats drool...
but don't fancy it much.)

The guide said: "...C is Forceps 
Anterior..." but Ms. Orgski heard: 
"...C is for Cepp's Sand Terrier..." 
Thus, her review:

Prince Çepp's Sand Terrier, 
like his Skye,

(unless vets 
oversimplify)
stands long of calf 
(though short of thigh)
and, folks say, 
favors Zhou En-lai.

The guide said: "...D is Ford Madox 
Ford..." but Orgski heard: "...D is 
for D'Mååd Dücs Fjørd..." Thus, 
her review:

Fåmed Viking Ørn shøüts, 
"All's åbøård!"

then chårts a cøürse 
thrøügh D'Mååd Dücs Fjørd.
"We're wårr'n'," wårns Ørn, 
"før Dånegeld høård.
Meåntime, thøügh, 
try dås smörgåsbørd!"

The guide said: "...E is Forensic 
Chemistry..." but Orgski heard: 
"...E is for 'End Sikkim' Mystery..." 
Thus, her review:

Asks the 'End Sikkim' Mystery: 
"Who might there be

who'd turn cartwheels 
if Sikkim slipp'd into the sea...?
Is't the Nepalese Nuisance, 
the Bad Bhutanee
or the Sour Pakistani...?" 
(Could be it's all three.)

The guide: "...F is Forfeits Your 
Deposit..." Orgski heard: "...F is for 
Fitz/Geordie Bus Hit...” Her review:

Twee Geordie and Fitz, Scots -- 
last seen

aboard a bus 
from Aberdeen --
are dead. (One contract 
on the 'tween'
slew two: three Grendels 
through each spleen.)

The guide: "...G is Forget-Me-Not..." 
Orgski heard: "...G is for 'Get Mean!' 
Knot..." Her review:

The Rooskie 'knout' 
(pronounc'd like 'k'noot')…? 

S'for floggin' folk 
of foul repute.
Abus'd 
in 19th-cent'ry Butte,
'twas term'd 
"The 'Get Mean!' Knot," to boot!

Guide: "...H is Four-H Club..." 
Orgski: "...H is for Haitch/Cull Hub..." 
Review:

The road from Cull, 
near Achnasheen,

skirts Haitch Heights 
(olim Gretna Green).
The Haitch/Cull Hub, 
lies nigh its mean,
and links all life forms 
in between.

Guide: "...I is Foreign Legionnaire..." 
Orgski: "...I is for 'In-Lesion' Hair..." 
Review:

I'm supine as Herr Zorro 
"zip-zip-zip"s my chest,

so Z's 'Z' proves more 'N'-like, 
I'd proffer (if press'd).
Where it scabs, a coarse thatch thrives, 
a narrowish nest.
How's my "in-lesion" hair...? 
Very -- ouch! -- barb'd, at best!

"...J is Forging Ahead..." 
"...J is for Jinga Head..."

Enjoyin' one's Jinga Ale 
starts with the pour.
As to heads, here's one rule 
no beer geek dare ignore:
always think, "Just one pinky of foam...
but no more!"
(Proper Jinga heads bode
"mucho gusto," Señor.)

"...K is Fork In The Road..." 
"...K is for King Thor Ode..."

In Paris, B.N. Lat. 2121 
(a palimpsest)

was found, preserved upon a flyleaf, 
in a minuscule, from Brest,
four lines of verse -- a runic charm 
by Saxon choir monks finess'd:
The King Thor Ode is sung once more, 
tho' through twelve centuries repress'd.

"...L is Forlorn Hope..." 
"...L is for "Lorne...?" "Nope!"..."

Bonanza's cast 
casts votes today. 

With Pa's cheek hair 
they'd do away.
Pernell 'n' Dan, with Mike, 
vote, "Yea!" 
But Lorne's "Nope!" trumps: 
those sideburns stay!

"...M is Formaldehydes..." 
"...M is for Mal De Ides..."

Rome's Senate's 
plottin' Caesarcides: 

the lord who'd live 
be'd he who hides --
unless he's bonkers...
or abides
a deadly dose 
of Mal De Ides!

"...N is Fornicator..." 
"...N is for Nick/Kate Tour..."

No lie, Katy Hepburn: 
you're fronting a band...?

Playin' rhythm guitar, 
though unable to stand...?
Upright bassist Nick Cage 
needs to lend you a hand...? 
Nineteen Nick/Kate Tour tees 
can be mine for a grand...?

"...O is Four O'Clock Rock!..." 
"...O is for Oake Loch Roc..."

Great Scotland's lochs 

boast beasts galore:

Loch Ness...? 
Its bashful brontosaur.
Loch Lomond 
masks a manticore.
(Green Scots call Oake Loch's Roc 
'Al Gore.')

"...P is For Purple Mountains' Majesty..." 
"...P is Porp! Pull him out an' match 
his tee..."

Our porpoise 
wears this tee shirt, see...? 

Shall all our fish 
dress sim'larly...? 
They shall 
if we supply shirts free:
Porp! Pull him out 
an' match his tee!*

     * Clearly there appears to be no
correspondence between the image 
Ms. Orgski imagined and her verse 
review, nor can this lack be readily 
explained. 

"...Q is Fork It Over!..." 
"...Q is for Quito Fur..."

Chic Ecuadoran 
doñas wear

sombreros -- hats! -- 
to hide their hair,
hats lined with Quito fur. 
They're (like) 
ubique-...ubick-... 
They're everywhere!

"...R is Forest Of Arden..." 
"...R is for Rasta, Fartin!..."

Haute Rastafarian 
cookin' art

blen' goat kabob 
wit' mango tart.
So, when meal done 
'n' Rast' depart,
dat Rasta man 
fart fragrant fart!

"...S is Forsyte Saga..." 
"...S is for '...Sites Aga!'..."

The Trib, 
with trenchant lexicon,

reads, "Neo-Cons 
Sight Aga Khan!"
"That turkey's toast!" 
notes Paula Zahn.
"'T'will surely prove
'ArMÁgeddon'!"

"...T is Fortissimo!..." 
"...T is for Tease 'Em, Mo!..."

Three Shanghai Stooges 
steal the show --

not Larry, Shemp 
'n' Curly Joe,
but Quanzhou, Chou 
'n' Zangjikou.
Still, who steps up to "tease" 'em...? 
Mo!

"...U is Forum Romanum..." 
"...U is for 'Ummer! Oim Ah' Numb!'..."

Our unarmor'd Humvee 
draws fire: "Rat-tat-tat!"s. 

"Cor! Oim 'it!" cries our Irish embedee, 
Colm Katz.
"Frickin' 'Ummer! Oim ah' numb...
plus, look: we've four flats:
unless sprung afore sundown, 
we're News Hour stats!"

"...V is Four Virtuous Maidens..." 
"...V is for Veered: Jewish Mavens..."

In Isaac Israeli 
'n' Jeshua Ben Judah,

in Saadia Ben Joseph 
'n' Ibn Pakuda
you've three sapient sharks 
'n' one bright baracuda,
yet -- Vey! -- all four've veer'd 
from "vi' trita, vi' tuta." * 

     * Translation: The beaten path 
is the safe way. 

"...W is 'Forward...March!'..." 
"...W is for 'We're Dim, Arch!'..."

"We scarf,” says Arch, 
Miss V’s hors-d'oeuvres,

pork out on Betty's 
plum preserves,
yet 'Dank!' 'em not 
for 'stuffs each serves.
Why...?” "We're dim, Arch!" 
Jughead observes.

"...X is Forks And Knives..." 
"...X is for Xan Knives..."

To mallets 
swiped from gamelan,
shrewd smiths affix'd, 
in ancient Xan,
keen blades 
for fighting man-to-man:
what Uzzis can't do, 
Xan knives can!

"...Y is Fourteen Years In Solitary..." 
"...Y is for Ten Years Since Sol Ate Harry..."

Dawns the fourth 
of February!

Ten long years 
since Sol ate Harry.
Still, those clean 
kohanim query,
"What of Hal was meat, 
what dairy...?"

The exhibition's portable audio track 
said: "...Z is Forza Del Destino..." What 
Ms Orgski heard and saw: "... Z is for 
Zed-Delta's Teen 'Ho'..."Thus, her 
verse review:

Zealous Zeta-Delt lads 
launch'd their Latin casino,

installing roulette, craps 
and video Keno.
One hooker they book'd 
turn'd their metier El-Mean. Yo!
My cousin Carmina, 
said Zed-Delta's teen 'ho'.

Ladies and gentlemen; the exhibition is closed.