"'Lady Justice is blind, so adjust her I must...'" SCOTUS: A View from the Left (from What A's Not For)

"Lady Justice is blind, so adjust her I must."
Thus whines Justice Neil Gorsuch, who's not to be trusted.
"She must be confined: I must truss her or bust."
Thus opines Clarence Thomas, who ought to be busted.

"Although she's disgusting, I'm lusting, nonplussed,"
stammers Samu'l Alito. (Such sang froid! Such crust!)
"And as ashes to fascists be, pus be to rust."
Dost John Roberts misquote The Good Book? Yea, John dost.

"When I's citin', I side wit' consuvatives fu'st."
Justice Anthony Kennedy's less than robust.
Now Scalia is dead, of course. (Isn't he just!
(Sonia? Ruth? Steve? Elena? They'll not be discussed.)

"'Great Grandpa: you're old,' the man's great grandson cried..." Pool Noodles: A Nonsensical Nod to Lewis Carroll's "Old Father William"

"Great grandpa: you're old," 
the man's great grandson cried.
"What's your century taught you of life...?
Has it taught, for example, 
what factors make pool noodles
so-o-o inexplicab'lly rife...?"

"You're so young, darling boy," 
his great grandfather sigh'd.
"If the truth be told, too young to know
how shrewd brood poodles serve 
to preserve poodle puppies.
Whence think you brand new poodles flow...?"

"Great grandpa: you're moldy," 
the youngster grew snide,
"and your left ear's so awf'lly impair'd
that you hear my 'pool noodles' 
as 'brood poodles' now.
Zut! Ton ouie, I am fearing, est merde!"

"You're so young, " 
the old gentleman blithely replied.
"I'm just pulling your leg, Mister Silly.
But attend! Let me tell you 
what nude strudels are.
They're those pastries 
which lack fruity jelly."

"Great grandpa: you're bold," 
the youth yet again tried,
"but your brain's turn'd berserk with bad beer.
Naked strudels are not 
what I'm talking about.
It's pool noodles 
we're dealing with here."

"You're so young, little one," 
the old man amplified.
"I've been drawing blue doodles for years.
There are days I use crayons 
and days I choose chalk.
Go tell that to your skeptical peers!"

Great grandpa: I'm sold," 
the young lad clarified.
"What I fear's both your ears 
are no good.
Just forget about doodles! 
I'm talking pool noodles.
Please open your ears as you should."

"You're so young, witless one," 
the old man turn'd aside,
"fusing 'doodles' with 'poodles' with 'strudels'...
not to mention 'caboodles.' 
And what about 'feudals'...?"
(Just look where they've led us: pool noodles!)

"Of tongue or pen the saddest word..." The Saddest Words

Of tongue or pen the saddest word:
"It might have been"? Don't be absurd.
Some say the saddest, without doubt,
are, "Sorry, son; thy time's run out."
Still sadder some see, writ or spoke:
"Hey! Whassa matta? Jus' a joke."
Who hears these phrases owns he's failed:
"She's split, yer bird. Yer ship? She's sailed."
"Abandons hope, who enters here!" 
The saddest? Nope! (Though mighty near.)
More sad by far these triste terms be:
"As thou art now, so once were we."
The Virgin to God's Son doth whine
in John, chap. II: "They have no wine."
Still, THE most sad of all, I fear?
The barkeep's call: "We're outta beer."

"Where now is young Stella..." The Stroh's of Yesteryear; or, Villon for the Vulgus: A Ballade on Dead Soldiers

Where now is young Stella who's christened Artois...?
And where dwells fair Glynnis nee Guinness the Dear...?
And where bide the Buds of May...? One now I'd draw.
O, where be the Stroh's of yester-year...? 

(Francois Villon (1431-1463) composed a poem entitled "Ballade of the Dead Ladies" wherein occurs the refrain "Where are the snows of yester-year?" -- one of the most famous lines of translated poetry in the English-speaking world. The dead soldiers mentioned in the title are empty beer bottles and cans.)