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Monday, August 26, 2019

Songs for My Father or 37 Views, Via Shirlyrics, of Sev'ral Good Ships

The Shirlyric is a new poetic form consisting of quatrains with lines of 7 + 9 + 4 + 10 syllables, with the lines rhyming AABB. The first line of each quatrain is always a unique mutation of the opening line of the iconic Temple lyric "On the good ship Lollipop."

On the good ship Ali, Pop,
watch Muhammad: he's a spinning top.
Young Cassius Clay...
dances rope-a-dope in corps de ballet.

On the good ship Bali, Pop,
fans of wayang at Denpasar stop,
hear gong kebyar…
then head home to pawn their twelve-string guitar.

On the good ship Bialy, Pop,
it's a fast trip to the bagel shoppe.
Some lox, a smear...
then next door for kosher bottles of beer.

On the good ship Brolly, Pop,
you hear “…drip…drip…” but you feel no drop:
your bumbershoot...
keeps the moisture off your seersucker suit.

On the good ship Cali, Pop,
The cartel’s hip: you’re a narco cop!
You’d best behave...
lest you wind up in a Cristo Rey grave.

On the good ship Cholly, Pop,
Count Cassini pens his gossip slop.
Society...
doesn’t mind he holds no doct'ral degree.

On the good ship Collie, Pop,
Captain Lassie serves up mutton chop.
No dog food here:
Captain Lassie makes that doggedly clear.

On the good ship Colly, Pop,
sailor/colliers, each with pail and mop,
scrub clean each deck...
When all shine, tars get their traveler's check.
  
On the good ship Dali, Pop,
Sal paints pictures with a riding crop.
This Catalan...
is Surrealism's renaissance man.

On the good ship Denali, Pop,
politicians standing near the top
can see from there...
a Eurasian (not a Kodiak) bear.

On the good ship Dolly, Pop…

On the good ship Folly, Pop…

On the good ship Frawley, Pop,
Fred and Ethel (subs for mom and pop)
play Lucy’s chums.
Meanwhile, Desi beats his Babalu drums.

On the good ship Golly, Pop…

On the good ship Holly, Pop,
Audrey breakfasts at a jew’lry shop.
Capote knew...
how to tell ‘em long before he turn’d Tru.

On the good ship Jolly, Pop,
David's fed up with the party's top 
priorities...
like adherence to the Donald Trump sleaze.

On the good ship Kali, Pop…

On the good ship Lalli, Pop.
Was he real...? Or Finnish agitprop...?
He swung his axe...
and a bishop slew. (No legend. Just facts.)

On the good ship Lollipop,
it’s a sweet trip to the candy shop
where bon-bons play…
on the sunny beach of peppermint bay.

On the good ship Mali, Pop... 

On the good ship Mollie, Pop... 

On the good ship Molly, Pop…

On the good ship Natale, Pop...

On the good ship Ollie, Pop…

On the good ship Polly, Pop,
Captain Byrd heads to The Critter Shoppe,
to parrots sell.
(In the hold he harbors budgies as well.)

On the good ship Quali, Pop…

On the good ship Raleigh, Pop,
addicts harvest Big Tobacco’s crop.
Thick blacken’d tongues...
bloat as cancer eats through tummies and lungs.

On the good ship Roncalli, Papa...

On the good ship Solly, Pop…

On the good ship Squally, Pop... 

On the good ship Svengali, Pop,
feckless artists tend to come a-cropp-.
Headlong each falls,
and the depth he sinks to always appalls.

On the good ship Tamale, Pop…

On the good ship Thali, Pop…

On the good ship Trolley, Pop,
Judy whirls and twirls like a spinning top.
She sings a song...
about a cable car like nothing was wrong.

On the good ship Volley, Pop…

On the good ship Wall-E, Pop…

On the good ship Wally, Pop...

On the good ship “Y’all Leap!” Pop…

Fatalphabet

     Schubert's
"Death and the Maiden": Franz, long dead and gone, 
     spots the
Angel of Death dead ahead. (Franz ain’t wrong.) 
     John Donne's
"Death Be Not Proud" be no deadbeat dad's pick.
     Yet those
brain-dead dead-baby jokes do leave me sick.

     In Death
Comes for the Archbishop, Cather's dead center. 
     Still, 
death camps are creepy. If sent, just don’t enter. 
     George's*
Dawn of the Dead's been done damn near to death  
     while the
Dance -- death-defying -- of Death takes one's breath.

     * George A. Romero

     Dick
DeadEye’s not Schwenk's* DeadEye Dick. He’s from Vonn.**   
     Neither
beats Kids Dead End.*** (Rowling’s**** Death Eaters…? Yawn.)

     * W.(illiam) S.(chwenk) Gilbert 
     ** Kurt Vonnegut  
     ***  I.e., proved more successful than Sidney Kingsley's Dead End Kids. 
       **** J. K. Rowling 

     Flocks of
fellows named 'Phil'; beaucoup belles baptized 'Beth.' 
     Down the
years, in their oodles, they’ve faked their own death. 
     (Sev'ral
feign’d death from drowning; some OD'd on meth.) 

     Of the 
great Grateful Dead's grim death grips and death grimaces,
     which are
dead giveaways…? Jerry! Let him assess!

     It’s
me, in a dead heat (with Owsley,* of course) 
     for the
title "Miss Dead-" (not to beat a dead horse) 
     "-head, Death
Valley" is fated to play a dead hand. 
     (First prize…?
Death's-head tiaras -- plus gigs with the band.

     * Owsley Stanley

     Papa's* 
Death In the Afternoon's dead in the water: 
     Ernest 
bugg’d poor Baroja, opining he** oughter 
     have 
landed that Lit Prize*** instead of ol' Ern. 
     Then when
Pio agreed? Well, the shite hit the fern. 
     Singing 
"do, dare dedi...," take care not to "give" 
     ('til you're
dead sure your giftee has not long to live).

     * Ernest “Papa” Hemingway  
     ** Pio Baroja y Nessi  
     *** The '54 Nobel for Literature

     As with
everything 'death,' being snatch’d from its jaws
     tends to 
sharpen one's focus and give one due pause.
     A
kiss of death puckers. A death knell strikes five. 
     In the
end, more dead Kennedys. (Who's left alive…?)

     Dead
Letter Departments, as deadlines draw near, 
     find them-
selves in a heat for "Dead Beat of the Year" 
     with The
One Deadly Sin Club. Such deadlocks can’t last. 
     Even
should they, the winner would finish dead last. 

     In this
death match -- a death march with twelve dead men walking  
     as
each is already dead meat, goons stand gawking. 
     (The
kind of crude contest such ghouls prefer best 
     is when
all dance upon a -- Yo! Ho! -- dead man's chest.)

     "Let's
schlep to the shtetl," announced Great Aunt Gretel. 
     "We'll
show folks our mettle: 'tis there we shall settle. 
     Sol,
fill up that kettle. I'll brew some dead nettle. 
     (Do
bees love its petal…? By Yahweh, you bet(tle)!)

Dead on arrival (or should be, I say) 
     is de-
dovshchina. It’s the old Soviet way
     elders
disciplin’d kids wearing milit’ry dress.
     (It is
still dead of winter in Russia, I guess.)

(More fatalities to come: a work in progress)


poets    presidents    pool    pan

quiet    queen

reckoning    to rights    ringer

Sea scrolls     space    silence

Toenail tree    to rights

Unicorn     deaducation

Death Valley

Weight    wrong

FedEX    DeadX

Deddy Mizwar

zone

Crambos in '-ambo's 'n' '-ar's

Twinkle, twinkle, Mother Crambo!
Sing through wrinkles, crambo’d star!
Regale me tales with tails in '-ambo' --
Mary had a little lambo --
naming names containing ‘-ar.’

Rales deliver’d from your ambo.
Alcazar and Roseanne Barr.
Sing bamboo (but term it ‘bambo’).
Bring it, briskly – bam, bam, bambo!
Vicki Carr, the DAR.

Chowders – fish and corn and clambo.
Escobar, Felicia Farr.
Dawdle – no one gives a damnbo.
(Skip they shall your next exambo.)
Terri Garr…-dee-hardee-har-r-r-r…

Light the night with waxen’d flambeau.
Pew the Blind, John Silver (“Har-r-r-r…”).
Puns once spun by Gramp ‘n’ Grambo:
songs of spiral-slicéd hambo,
Izh (the car), Abdul Jabbar.

Make measures dactyl and iambo:
kilobar and lobular.
Let’s get down: a cuttin' jambo.
Not a gram: a kilogrambo!
Mallomar and nebular.

Don’t dare take it on the lambo.
Ottokar the First, Jack Paar.
It takes two to do the mambo;
more to clobber Viet Nambo,
Quigley’s Bar. “Au reservoir!”*

Shun ocarina, oud and oboe.
Streetcars name. Tsar’s underw’ar.
Lull me sleepwards in my prambo:
Blam…? No: quiet. (Thank you, ma’ambo.)
Vinegar…? No. wunderbar!

Sing in rhymes the climes of Rambo,
XAR and Babi Yar.
Songs of PC’d Little Sambo…?
I don’t give a tinker’s damnbo.
Do your worst, O crambo’d star.

Wrap yourself in Uncle Sambo,
Babi Yar and Zonular.
Gently – no hydraulic rambo.
Should you mention Viet Nambo,
I’ll not wonder what you are.

Twinkle, twinkle, Mother Crambo!
You’re for sure my crambo’d star!
Nailing tales with tails in -ambo --
marinara’d leg of lambo --
naming names containing ‘-ar.’

     * "Au revoir," as mockingly 
mispronounced by Lucia and Georgie 
in Benson's Mapp and Lucia novels. 

Christmas Day: A Mare Egg...

     "A Mare Egg, Her Wrist, "Miss Two 'U'"