'Bruno' Sans Sylvie: A Relentless Nonsense Carrollian Shenanagram in Eight (8) Double Distichs and a Single (1) Double-Distich Coda

     ('Bruno'…?)
Lewis Carroll’s Sylvie, Fairy 
Princess, brags 'bout brother. 
     ('O’Burn'…?)
Sev'ral names in Gaelic open
"O'-." O’Burn’s another.
 
     ('UnBro'…?)
Know what makes a brother...? Cop the 
opposite o' that. 
     ('‘U’ Born'…?)
'I' Born, 'Me' Rais'd, 'We' Wed, 'Us' Dead.
No third-person chat.
 
     ('Bourn’'…?)
Back again be Jason. He’s the 
universal spy.
     ('No Rub'…?)
Shake the can three times. Then spray it 
on and let it dry.
 
     ('Run, Bo!'...?)
Outta here, Ms. Derek! We sus-
pect your cover’s blown.
     ('…Or Bun'…?)
Comes in pastry – muffin, cruller,
sweet roll, doughnut, scone…
 
     ('Orb Nu'…?)
Thracians sought this thirteenth sphere, a 
sort of Üsküp Tao.
     ('Bou, RN'…?)
 Nurse she be -- one register'd -- and 
something of a cow.

     ('Buron'...?)
Element in chemistry, though 
missing from the table.
     ('"O, Urn..." (B)'...?)
Poem to a vase. Read version 
two, a Keatsian fable.

     ('Our BN'...?)
'Tis the nation's library. 'Tis 
ours, for we're from France.
     ('B U Ron'...?)
Be you Ronald...? Be you Donald...?
Be you Fartypants...?

     ('On, Bru'!'...?)
“Take Five,” Mr. Brubeck, won't you...?
Hit it! One…two…three… 
     ('Norbu'…?)
Diff'rent kind of kombu. (I crave 
kelp: eats from the sea.)

     Coda
     ('R U B 'n' O?'...?)
F U R, U B D oldest 
railroad in the land.
     ('Urb'n O'...?)
Ring road 'round the regnum...? Right! Though, 
on the other hand...

Where's Walrus...? T & S

The Walrus and the Tamarin

Advance to Marvin Gardens.

"Mein Herr," touts Tam, "I bear fruit jam.

Enjoy some, 'fore it hardens."

"Unless it's plum," responds her chum,

"I'll leg it, begging pardons."

The Walrus and the Scorpion,

Two guests at Mobile's Ball,

Sit, by some chance (strange circumstance),

like flowers 'long a wall

When blurts the bug, "Let's cut a rug...

'Less y'all prong'd palps appall."

The Ocelot: An Anagranimal in Five Quats and a Coda

To Cole…? Mr. Porter, this verse is pour vous.

Let Coo…? You are hereby allow’d to bill, too.

El Toco…? A matador famed for his grit.

C’e’t Loo…? “’Tis a bog” – one half Frog, one half Brit.

 

T. E. Cool…? One more Lawrence clone -- this one’s a rapper…

Et Loco…? …and crazy, too – albeit dapper.

Oleo Ct…? The amount of faux butter.

Ol’ Cote…? Ancient ke-keep for bi-birds. (I stutter.)

 

Oct. Leo…? The Lion in Fall, not in Summer.*

“Celt…? Oo-…”…? This stuff’s Gaelic, a wa-a-ay diff’rent drummer.

Toe Loc…? Your pinkie’s location (in brief).

'Lo et Co…? J.Lo’s new corporation’s motif.

     * Leo's dates are 7/23 to 8/22, smack dab in the middle of 

Summer. An October Leo occurs sometime in the Fall. (Nor, of 

course, is he The Lion in Winter.)

 

Col. Eto...? The Japanese Charge D'affaire.

Co-'otel...? A twin inn nextdoor. Aren't they a pair...? 

Le Coot...? Some old bird boasting feathers...or not.

To Cleo...? Hey, Nile Queen! Look what all I've wrought!

CEO Lot…? Bible’s first chief exec.

O’Tolce…? Irish fam’ly -- not Chechen, not Czech.  

Cot Olé…? Cheer for bullfighter, bray’d from your bed.

Ocelot…? Careful! That cat’s not been fed.

     Coda 

This postscript I add as a brief afterthought:

My bolt, anagram-wise, on 'ocelot''s shot! 

Where's Walrus...? V & U

The Walrus and the Valdosaur

Travers’d the Isle of Wight.

Said Valdo, “Gramps hung out near here --

I think I’ve got that right.”

(What Valdo guess’d was manifest

In bones spread ‘round the site.)

The Walrus and the U-spot Wrasse

galumph'd where none before

had dare galumph -- though Barron Drumpf

let slip, "When I was four,

you'd spot us there: a tot (me, Bar-

ron) and his Albacore." 

Where's Walrus...? X & W

The Walrus and the Xanthochroid,

Caught milling ‘bout the Mall,

Explain’d, “Black guys with sky-blue eyes

Are not allow’d to loll.”

(“Indeed, such lads,” the Walrus adds,

“Are thought Neanderthal.”)

The Walrus and the Whip-poor-will

Stroll’d Sarasota's streets.

The Walrus wore his Wellies;

The poor Whip-poor-will wore cleats.

“On lengthy routes,” said she, “no boots:

My instep overheats.”

Where's Walrus:...? Z & Y

The Walrus and the Zebrafish

Removed to Bangladesh

Where they devised, then subsidized,

A small non-profit creche.

“The waifs we house we’ll skin, delouse

And salt, to keep ‘em fresh.”

The Walrus and the Yodeler

Sashay’d the Appenzell.

This Yodeler, though kin to

Alexander Graham Bell,

Refused to own a telephone.

"I yell," said she. “I yell.”

Emily's Lament

"Death the Surveyor Viewing 
the Country Surrounding Amherst"
chemical marker on copy paper
by Ulysses Poe

"Because I could not shop for Death,

He bought Himself a shroud.

Because I could not mop for Death,

He gamer chars allow’d."

"Because I could not bop for Death,

He blew in cooler style.

‘Cuz I could not 'chop-chop' for Death,

He whisper'd, 'Sit awhile.'"

"I could not agitprop for Death,

so He said, 'Stick to facts!'

I could not play the fop for Death,

so stall'd till second acts."

"‘Cuz I’m no Zinken Hopp for Death,

He let her channel me.

One can’t do shit in Amherst, Mass,

alas," pouts Emily.

Numbers of "The...Snark" or For Dodgson: A Deferential Differential Dezett in Doggerel

"Lewis Carol Channing"
from the graphic series
"AmalgaMates"
graphite pencil
on illustration board
by Ulysses Poe

One is the ship, 

one the ting-a-ling bell,

one the map lacking latitude lines:

'tis a sea-chart from hell, 

lacking tropics as well.

"Tried 'n' true," ev'ry crewman opines.

Two are the policies 

bought by the Baker

to augment his dagger-proof coat:

number one's against fire; 

number two's against hail damage.

Boom! Each a Doom Antidote.

Three totes the number 

of times he (the Bellman)

recites some slick saw to the crew:

"What I tell you three times..."  

(what he tells 'em three times -- 

note the rhymes) "...told three times...? 'Tis true."

Four notes the number 

of tongues by the Bellman

employ'd to the Baker chastise:

"I, in Hebrew, Dutch, German

and Greek, have berated you.

Must I throw dust in your eyes...?"

Five tallies marks

of all genuine Snarks:

their ambition, their lateness in rising,

their affection for bathing machines,

their reluctance to jest... 

and a taste quite surprising.

Six pegs the number

of times the refrain

which commences "They sought it with thimbles..."

gets express'd. Each repeat

prompts ambiguous images,

smoke signals, figures and symbols.

Seven's the total

of coats he (the Baker) 

had on as he stepp'd 'board the boat.

At least that's what Dodgson

(the amateur shutterbug Carroll) 

insists that he wrote.

Eight counts the fits

in this Agony. There appear

eight portmanteaus, too, alright...?:

'jubjub,' 'frumious,' 'mimsiest,' 

'uffish,' 'galumphing,' 'out-

grabe,' 'beamish,' 'bandersnatch.' (Quite!)

Nine...(count 'em: nine)...quatrains

fill Fit the Eighth (call'd 

"The Vanishing" by Rev'rend Carroll).

Therein fades the Baker --

post waving his hands --

after wagging his head...at his peril.

Ten are the crew

(each initial'd with B)

who elect on this hunt to embark.

(It remains to point out:

I was never in doubt

that two Snarks did not board Noah's Ark.)

Runcibl'd Spooner: If Hooks Could Kill...

"Amazing Grace," Obama sings. 
His eulogy proves apropos.
A grazing mace: my battle-axe 
delivers Drumpf a glancing blow.

     Moral:
A fitter POTUS shall antidote us.

Uly* Does Jane** Does Lewis***: Last (Probably) in a Series of Alternate Poetastical Takes on Various Poets' Possible, However Improbable, Poetical Takes on "The Hunting of the Snark"

      * Ulysses Poe, author of "What A's Not For" and other books of nonsense

      ** Jane Taylor, English poet and composer of "The Star"

      *** Lewis Carroll, creator of "The...Snark"

Tingle, tingle, 

Bellman's bell.

You of Snarks turn'd 

Boojums tell.

Toll'd three times, what's 

told c'est vrai.

Fie!: the Baker 

dies away.

(Tingle, tingle, 

Bellman's bell.

Blare you "Cats Do 

Carroll"'s knell...?)

Antic Anagranimals: The Elephant

     Friend of the blog GFH kick-started this series, 

but as James Durante famously exasperated, 

"Everybody wants to get into the act!"

‘Leeph ant’ is the Urdu term

for insects who eat plants.

Planet He…? An asteroid

whose denizens wear pants.

     Ph: Ten Ale…? Hydrogen

now carbonates your beer.

T. E. Phalen…? Lawrence of Arabia’s 

late peer.

     “Leap, then!”…? What negotiators cry 

when jumpers bug ‘em.

Neat help…? Sibs agree to clean your room…

or else you’ll slug ‘em.

     The telePhan’s a telephone

in Saigon, Vietnam.

The elephant's an animal

with infinite aplomb.

Uly* Does William**Does Lewis***

     * Ulysses Poe. author of What A's Not For and other books of nonsense 

     ** William Blake, creator of "The Tyger"

     *** Lewis Carroll, composer of "The...Snark"

Boojum...? Boojum was a Snark…?

Snark’s now Boojum…{question mark}

Parts aortal gone awry…?

(Baker’ll find out by and by.)

 

Bellman navs with vacant maps.

(Is that Bellman mad…? Perhaps.)

What does ‘Boojum’ even mean…?

Who might fathom where it's been…?

 

“Sought with thimbles, sought with care.

Threaten’d with a railway-share.

Hunted down with forks and hope.

Charm’d, as well, with smiles and soap.”

 

What does Rev’rend Carroll think…?

Does the Rev’rend take to drink…?

Does to swine Lew cast these pearls…?

Has Lew quit on Liddle girls…?

 

Bellmen, Brokers, Barristers,

Bonnet makers (hims, not hers),

Brokers, Bankers, Boots…plus three.

(Snark does not begin with B.)

 

Boojum...? Boojum was a Snark…?

Snark’s now Boojum…{question mark}

Parts aortal gone astray…?

Hark! The Baker fades away…

Ulysses Does Frank* Does Lewis**: Yes! More...

      * Frank Loesser, composer of " Luck Be a Lady"

     ** Lewis Carroll, creator of "The Hunting of the Snark"

     Verse/refrain 

Snark! You’re a Boojum…? Wham-bam!

No one's more shock’d than I am.

I hunted you with forks and hope,

with smiles and soap and thimbles.

Snark! You’re a Boojum…? Hot damn!

 

     Verse/refrain 

Snark! You’re a Boojum....? Who knew?!

I’ve heard it thrice, so it’s true.

I threaten’d you with railway-shares.

With care – such care! – I sought you.

Snark! You’re a Boojum…? So: nu...?

 

     Bridge 

A Boojum’s taste is crisp and hollow.

It’s late. It’s slow. And (yes! I know)

a Boojum shows a fondness for bathing-machines.

It’s frumious! (Voila! Portmanteau!)

 

     Verse/refrain 

Snark! You’re a Boojum...? How swell!

Bellman! Start tinkling that bell!

I laugh'd with glee when first I heard you.

Then –alas! – I saw you.

"Snark! You’re a Booj…" (Bloody hell!)

Uly Does Theodor* Does Lewis**: More Poetical "Snark" Takes

     * Theodor Geisel aka Dr. Seuss, creator of "Green Eggs and Ham"

     ** Lewis Carroll, composer of "The Hunting of the Snark"

     Fit the Third: The Baker’s Tale

The ordinary Snark I like.

I like it when it's open mic.

I like it when it sings its song.

I like it when it sings it wrong.

 

The Snark turn’d Boojum I dislike.

(I much prefer the northern pike.)

No Boojum’d Snarks book'd 'board the Ark.

I do not like that Boojum’d Snark.

 

The customary Snark I like.

I like it like I once liked Ike.

I like its back. I like its front.

I like it ‘cuz it’s fun to hunt.

 

The Snark cum Boojum I can’t stand.

You'll spot few Snarks in Wonderland.

Snark’s claws will clutch, as well Snark's jaw’ll.

I Boojum’d Snarks don't like...at all.

Uly* Does Allan** Does Lewis***: Another Poetical Take on "Snark"

      * Ulysses Poe, author of Radon and/or Drano and other books of nonsense 

     ** Allan Odell, great-grandson of the founder of Burma Shave

     *** Lewis Carroll, composer of "The Hunting of the Snark"

Musician! Grab,

     Before it’s dark,

          Your tuba, for*

               To clock the Snark!

                    * Your two-by-four

 

                In Myanmar,

          Rohingyas rave,

     “Don’t lather me

With Burma Shave!”

 

Transsexuals

     Who’d sheckles save

          From barbers beg

               “A perm! A shave!”

 

               All Boojum’d Snarks

          Must misbehave.

     Thus fade all Bakers.

(Burma Shave!)

Uly Does Elizabeth* Does Lewis**: Another...

      * Elizabeth Barrett Browning, influential Victorian poet 

      ** Lewis Carroll, composer of "Snark" 

Whose hope's to hunt thee…? Liste'! I list their trades:

A Bellman with his tinkling bell, his map

whereon where islands (yours!) should sit...? A gap.

A Butcher, one adept with boner’s blades.

A Billiard marker of gynormous skill.

A Broker...and a Barrister to boot.

A Banker and a Beaver follow suit.

A Hood and Bonnet maker ends my bill.

But, wait! A Boots and Baker sail as well.

Required to hunt thee…? Ten plus two, ‘twould seem.

Yea! Five plus five supply an ideal team –

All prompted by that Bellman’s bloody bell.

They’d hunt you, Snark. Your wildwood could run rouge –

Until they'd heard the Baker's fading “...Boo-ooj…”

Uly Does e e* Does Lewis**: Another in a Series...

     * e e cummings, modernist free-form poet

     ** Lewis Carroll, composer of "The Hunting of the Snark"

 tell the bellman 

           who? tinkling his 

                             whatever? bell

{wherefore? beavers at

     tracting (how? butchers as weeee

                                                          ll)}

    matinsmorningnoon (after) dusk 

smorgas nigh(t) dark

                             b-initial'd 10

           when? join'd why?

hunt -- thus -- (a)n...

                                                     ...arC!

Uly Does Emily* Does Lewis**: Another in a Series of Alternate Poetical Takes on "The Hunting of the Snark"

     * Emily Dickinson, the Bard of Amherst 

     ** Lewis Carroll, composer of "The Hunting of the Snark" 

Because the Snark  -- a Boojum -- proves,

Don't Bakers fade away?

Do Bellmen -- as the Beaver does --

Find Nothing left to say?

Indeed! The Baker fades away.

(The Butcher -- with the Boots,

The Banker -- and the Bonnet maker -- 

Chooses diff'ring roots.)

The Billiard marker, Broker --

And the Barrister -- as well --

Fall short of Snark-Hunt Heaven

Whilst dodging Boojum Hell.

My eye, as well, spies Snark-Hunt Heaven --

Even little me!

I'll Bide my Time -- and Slant my Rhyme.

And Snark -- Eternally! 

The Sudbury Anagrammatist* Does Lewis**: Another in a Series of Alternate Poetical Takes on "The Hunting of the Snark"

     *Oulipian poet E. S. LePoussy

     ** Lewis Carroll, author of "The Hunting of the Snark"    

(If the) hunks rant, 

(open) Han's trunk.

('Twill be) Kahn's turn 

(for a) snark hunt.

Gelett* Does Lewis**: Another in a Series of Alternate Poetical Takes on "The Hunting of the Snark"

     * Gelett Burgess, poet famous for penning "The Purple Cow." 

     ** Lewis Carroll, composer of "The Hunting of the Snark."

Though Baker’s never hunted Snarks,

With Snark hunts Ho’s* okay.

When Snarks one day prove Boojums, though,

That’s when Hi* fades away.

     * "Hi" and "Ho" are two of several names 

by which the Baker is known.

Edward* Does Lewis**: One in a Series of Alternate Poetical Takes on "The Hunting of the Snark"

     * Edward Lear, purveyor of the Limerick  

     ** Lewis Carroll, composer of "The Hunting of the Snark."

Said a Bellman from heaven knows where

To his crew (B-initial'd), "Let's dare

To go hunting for Snarks!"

What Carrollian larks

Had that Bellman from heaven knows where!

Ozzy's ABC: an Illuminated Alphabet by Friend of the Blog OCB

 

"Ozzy's ABC"
chemical marker on newsprint,
digitally modified, 18" by 24"
by OCB

Eggcentric Apple

Repost of a Newly Relevant Image

     NYT: Protests against the Thai government 

have gained momentum this summer.

    PlaysWell: Years ago, two friends of the blog

anticipated such goings on and preemptively 

reacted, each in his own way -- one paraphrasing

the American Declaration of Independence in a

Thai abugida (albeit with some unrequested 

redaction), the other electing to remain mum...

for the moment.

"Thai-Tongued...? Tongue-Tied...?"
chemical marker on copy paper
by Ulysses Poe

Four Variations on "Au Reservoir": a Reposting

"Four Variations on 'Au Reservoir':
'Hurray...Surf war!' 'Ol' Ray's sof'ware!'
'Oh! Razor wire!' and 'Haut Reyes Sere Fois'"
chemical marker on copy paper
by Ulysses Poe
 

A.A. Milne Meets E.C. Bentley or Passing the Torch: a Song

On Monday when the sun is hot
I wonder to myself a lot:
Now is it true or is it not
that times are ripe for cleriwhat…?
 
On Tuesday when it’s cooler, then
I find I feel the strangest yen
to take up quill or broad-nibb'd pen
and bang me out a cleriwhen.
 
On Wednesday when the weather’s fair,
I rise at dawn to take the air.
Then, later, in my Bardic chair,
I scribble down a cleriwhere
 
On Thursday when a cloud-chok'd sky
informs me winds and rains are nigh,
I hum an Erben lullaby --
or, maybe, draft a cleriwhy.
 
On Friday, skies are, once more, blue.
I down a pint – no more than two –
and think, my dearest dear, of you,
and write a nonsense cleriwho.
 
On Saturday (I see it now)
it’s time to take a final bow.
But just before I bid you “ciao!”
I craft a coda clerihow.
 
On Sunday, out has run my luck.
Re cler’whate’ers I fear I’m stuck.
Ta-dah! I hereby pass the buck:
YOU write a cleriWTF!

A Sextet of Cleriwhens

     Cleriwhens are much like clerihews but explicate periods 

rather than people, substituting chronology for biography.

As for cleriwhos, cleriwhats, cleriwheres and cleriwhys -- 

not to mention clerihows -- your guess is as good as ours. 

 

476:

Cor! Rome's in a fix:

Barbarians crash the gate. Bread and circuses pale.

(States fail: let's not pretend.)

A thousand-year empire -- the place wasn't built in a day -- 

fin'lly crawls to its end.

1066:

Harold would nix

the invasions of Tostig 

and Harald of Norway (“Hardrada’).

But William of Normandy whines, 

“To be King…? I’ve just gotta!”

1492:

Christopher cum crew

an ur-treacherous ocean, the icy Atlantic, 

with caravels triplex Chris cross’d,

where he found North America, 

this notwithstanding that no one’d reported it lost.

1776:

Militias of farmers and hicks

cry "Enough!" to the King of Great Britain 

and take on his troops.

Independence is won, though for white folks alone.

(Cf. DAR and sim'lar groups.) 

1984:

Eric Blair (George Or-

well) intro'd ' Big Brother,' 

'double-think' -- his novel help'd define

'em. (1984's the name: 

the book arrived in '49.)

2001: 

SF-ing fun

as apes learn from monoliths, 

HAL warbles "Daisy" and astronaut Kier

worries Earth from his translucent bubble. 

(Again, here, the name is a year.)

A Cleriwho's Who, the Religious Prophet Edition

"Oohlala Mandala"
chemical marker on copy paper,
digitally modified,
by Ulysses Poe

Siddhartha Gautama

leaves home, Pop and Mama.

Sid tries meditation, ascetic techniques,

then plops down ‘neath the Bodhi tree five or six weeks.

     Mary’s boy Jesus

keeps meat free from cheeses,

gets born in a barn (‘tweren’t no room at the inns),

and then's murder’d at Passover, lynch’d for your sins.

     Muhammad, a Meccan,

hears Gabriel beckon.

That angel says, “God’s Al-‘Ahad, Al-Wahid!”

thereby helping to jump-start Islam and its creed.

     Fred’s scion Don

works the art of the con,

claims, “I am The Chosen One.” Who made that choice…?

One political party who's “not very noice.”*

     * One mss, a late one, substitutes 

"A yahweheightless yahoo who's "not very noice."

A Spoonerful of Chuck

"C is for 'Computer,'
'Clinch,' 'Chuck' and
'Converge'"
chemical marker on
illustration board
by Ulysses Poe

Distance learning: Sign in, kids!

Your teacher's a computer screen.

List, tense Durning! Clinch your right fist!

Clinch your left! Now...lean, Chuck! Lean!

     Moral:

Tho' ev'rything that rises must converge,

some mornings, one just doesn't feel the urge.

The Trump/Biden Pre-Election Cognitive Test

      In the interests of a free and fair election, 

both candidates are referenced by name in the 

body of the text, Mr. Biden in the thirteenth 

line, Mr. Trump several lines thereafter, their

positions in the poem, their height or depth, 

reflective of their current positions, high or

low, in a cross section of polls.

Ring-ding-a-ding! So: if one would be King,

     of the

things one must do, what’s the very first thing…?

     To sing,

“Ab-ra-ca-dab! Badda bing, badda boom!

     Cu-cu-

ru-cu-cu-ru! Ding-dong-ding, ding-dong-doom!

     Eenie-

meen, eenie-mine! Fiddle-diddle-dee-dee!

     Ga-ga-

ga-ram ma-sa-la! Hee-haw! Ho! Haw-hee!

     In-a-

gadda-da-veed! Ja-da-Joe-ja-da-jing!

     Kan-kee-

kee! Kama-sutra! La-dah-doo-dah-ding!

     Ma-ma-

mi-a! Na-nu! Ob-la-di! Ob-la-Don!

     Pa-pa-

raz-zi! Quee-queg! Ra-ma-la-ma! Soup-çon!   

     Tra-la-

la! Ubu Roi! Va-va-va-va-va-voom!

     Whack-a-

mole! Xa-na-doo! Yip-pee! Zizz-zizz-i-zoom!”

     Having

sung the above, what’s the second-most thing…?

    One must

sing it all…backwards – IF one would be King.

Light Rhyme Late on a Last Day

     You learn your lines, you hit your mark, 

you say your lines. Tomorrow...? Dark!

Your measur'd words "of wine and roses"...? 

Bullshit! Life's a blot. 

You aren't. Then, for awhile, you are.

Then you're -- forever -- not.

     Your rhymes oblique, "when lilacs last"...? 

Baloney! You've one shot.

You aren't. Then, for awhile, you are.

The rest of time you're not.

     Your Golden Rule...? You're April's Fool!

Your mankind...? Not so hot.

You aren't. Then, for awhile, you are.

The rest is not worth squat.

     To death from birth: the lot's not worth

a tittle -- less a jot.

You aren't. Then, for awhile, you are.

So...? Shut up! Hit your spot!

Baby On BOR: a Cautionary Nonsense Verse Narrative in a Nonsense Election Year

     The poet elects not to include "Baby on Boire" or "Baby on Boyer"

in his petite suite. The editors applaud his circumspection.

My infant son, Uly Poe, Jr.,*

squats atop (An)Drew Ackerman’s head.**

(An occurrence of “Baby on Bore”...?

What's the hour...? Why’s the lad not in bed…?)

     * No relation to the Oulipo is herein suggested

or implied. 

     ** Drew Ackerman, reputedly the most boring

man in the world, hosts the podcast Sleep With Me.

My young man now's abandoning Drew,

le conducteur française his new mount.

(Sacre bleu! C'est une "Baby on Bour."*

His naif please take into account.)

     * French chef d'orchestre Justin Bour.

Zounds! He’s mounted a dead Afrikaner.*

He has clamber'd up Koos de la Rey.*

(An example of “Baby on Boer...?”

Careful, cher! Don’t get carried away!)

     * Famous South African military man.

Damn! That boy's left behind ol' man Koos

for the young Danish physicist Niels.

(What we have here is "Baby on Bohr."

I can only guess how Junior feels.)

 

What rough beast…? Junior’s boarded its back,

as his fingers bleed, clutching its ear.

(Can it be we see “Baby on Boar”...?

That he fails to stay on's my worst fear.)

 

Now dismounted, he's found a new nag,

sporting gold mane 'n' tangerine skin.

(Mush! He ushers in “Baby on Boor.”

Watch out, young 'un! Who knows where it’s been...?)

"B is for 'Broken'"
chemical marker on copy paper,
digitally modified,
by Ulysses Poe, Sr.

Resist! For Reni, Jack and Carl (RIP)

     J. Kerouac's "Pull my daisy..." appears to prefigure 

U. Poe's "...pant your piece...." Defend or disparage...or both.

To you whose spiel'd eclipse the sage...?

Come, post your paw print 'pon the page!

To you who’d preçis joy and grief...?

Come, limn your lines along the leaf!

To you who’d Cuisinart the crown...?

Come, grave your ground – here verb, there noun!

Like Jack insists in Enter Laughing,*

“Always – always! – write it down!”

 

To you who’d peace talk underpin...?

Come, score your scrawl upside a skin!

To you who’d ‘gainst the racists stand...?

Come, stamp your sign across the sand!

To you who’d mum a monster’s maw...?

At Potus pant your piece -- comme ça:

“It’s up to you to Ha-cha-cha..."

as Jack* to Ren* enjoy'd to jaw.

     * In Carl Reiner's semi-autobiographical 

novel Enter Laughing, Jack Gilford plays protagonist 

David Kolowitz's employer Mr. Forman. Delivery 

boy David is portrayed by the wonderful Reni Santoni,

who died earlier this week.