"Sing me stories of O..." Arcanagrammatic Invocation to the Muse of Poetry -- on P O E T R Y: A Nonsense in Meter & Rhyme

(Regular readers have probably already noted that what follows is not a pure arcanagram. This is because, although the last word of each line is spelt using only the letters P O E T R Y, the last line does not end in the word ‘poetry,’ which it should were this a strict arcanagram.)

Sing me stories of O. Mingle Gorey with Poe.
Let a hollow horse (oy!) tell me tales set in Troy.
Chants of Klansmen and rope, hymns of faith and lost ‘ope.
Sell me sagas of yore, epics empt’ing each pore.

Tales of climbing High Tor, “49”ing gold ore.
Fonts of poetry ope: sev’ral stanzas, a trope.
In a shout-out re ‘toy,’ shout ‘bout Siegfried re Roy.
Serve up catfishes’ roe. Swerve from treetop to toe.

Sing me Sidon and Tyre. Fan that funeral pyre.
Rap of San Luis Rey: do a deuce; do a trey.
Who’ll object if you pry? You’ll not know till you try.
Drink deep draughts. Pour your pote. (I’ll hear nothing by rote.)

Say not ‘sed,’ only ‘et.’ (Be I bed-raed? Not yet.)
Never ‘con-,’ always ‘pro-,’ nor of nothing de trop.
Tack your tales hard to port, each poetical ort.
On my artiness prey: it’s well known you’re o’tre.

Should your rap need a rep, who will volunteer? Yep!
Sing ye! Rage till ye rot! Po’ms are better than pot.
Something dolorous? Nope: songs to sing skipping rope 
sung like Gorey and Poe. (Skip those stories of O.)

"Pins and needles..." Calendar Caliente; or, Chili Doggerel Featuring an ABAB BCBC Rhyme Scheme in Every Two-part Octave: A Nonsense in Meter & Rhyme

Pins and needles! Eyes and hooks!
Chill January's hues? Slick slates,
a grey display in sleet. She looks
a climate prime for skis and skates.

One chili pepper celebrates

by donning earmuffs, scarf and gloves
to undertake not guff he hates
but thin-ice skating -- stuff he loves.

Pins and needles! Hooks and eyes!
Fleet February's twenty eight, 
in falling three days shy, supplies
less time to venerate a mate.

One chili pepper's running late

delivering his valentine.
He must (and soon!) accelerate:
"Get goin'!" That's his bottom line.

Hooks and eyes and nuts and bolts!
Mid-March's Ides can’t hide Spring's flowers.
Lads towards love cavort like colts,
big blossoms copped from blooming bowers.

Thefts like these take sev'ral hours,

maybe less. (No more than two.) 
One chili's savoir faire ne'er sours:
just hear him blurt, "These buds? For you!"

Hooks and eyes and bolts and nuts!
Escape an April's Easter eggs?
Nope! Basket filled, one chili struts,
sashaying on his own two pegs.

"May I make mucho more?" he begs. 

"The ankle biters love 'em so,
nor's FDA releasing regs
suppressing eggs. Say I, ‘Let's go!’"

Bolts and nuts and forks and spoons! 
Which gifting day in May's the worst?
De Mayo Cinco France impugns;
preferring May Day -- that's the first.

"The best," rants William Randolph Hearst, 

"is World Press Freedom Day -- the third." 
(One chili, Mother's gifts dispersed,
orates. He prates, "They're all absurd!")

Bolts and nuts and spoons and forks!

In June, platoons of grads and dads
(though tagged by family dweebs and dorks) 
get gifts: designer ties, all plaids.

One chili'd rather troll for shads.

With six-packs in his tackle box,
he trawls among the lily pads.
(This catch roes cache with proto-lox.) 

Spoons and forks and Spocks and Kirks!
Jejune July's supremacists
malign, ‘midst flags and fireworks,
more recent settlers in their midsts.

One chili simply coexists.

Like Pete and Woody belts out he
(in dissing these recidivists),
"...this land was made for you 'n' mee-e-e-e!"

Spoons and forks and Kirks and Spocks!

The puns of August beam their rays
on circus clowns in pleated frocks
who juggle balls come circus days.

But do not think these chilis gays --

their frocks and fright wigs notwithstanding:
also, they play cabarets:
there, juggling stuff is most demanding.

Kirks and Spocks and things and wings!
September signals: “Back to school!”
One chili in his backpack brings
an Apple XR iPhone. (Cool!)

But there be jealous chilis who’ll
report this to his home-room teacher.
She’ll impound that phone (the ghoul!).
'Tis worse than pointless to beseech her.

Kirks and Spocks and wings and things!
Is this a chili or a spook?
October Hallow'd weenies brings,
but watch out! Milk Duds make you puke.
This chili lost his plum peruke
(he'd plann'd to trick-or-treat as Dame
E. Everage). 'Twas just a fluke,
his hairpiece loss. No one's to blame.

Wings and things and needles and pins!

Wings and things and pins and needles!