Stuff & Nonsense (Olim Fake News)

     Is it true that
the young North Korean
recently filmed defecting to the South
was named Ho Li Cao…?
 
     Is it true that
“Elvis Lives!” = Permanent Presley…?
 
     Is it true that
a sign recently appeared
above a basket of free bread outside 

a Bombay bakery which read:

“Have a loaf! It’s better than naan”…?
 
     Is it true that 

who takes to her bed
with some ST disease
so’s to not help me bang out
my new vocalise
is my Muse, while I cry,
“I’d so hoped, if ‘twould please,
you’d have sung me new tunes
using only black keys”...?
 
     Is it true that 

translation etcet'ra sets tasks Herculean --
e.g., "raison 'wet're" ain’t "reason for peein'"...?  
 
     Finally: 

Which conjunction does
grammeteorologic favor more…? 
Is it an 'and' or is it an 'and/or'…?
(Or is it only 'or'…?)

'Matters' Matters: A Rhyme

Black lives matter...? 'Deed they do!

Jack knives matter. (Bread knives, too.)

Green chives matter, as do blue.

Clean rives matter: pass right through.

Tight shives matter, should one brew.

Night drives matter, would one woo.

Endives matter. (That you knew.) 

Ten fives matter. (Bad luck due...?)

Charles Ives matters, listen'd to. 

Arles chives matter. (Misted, nu...?)
Ogives matter. (Move your pew!) 

“No Jive!” matters. True Blue (who....?)

Deep dives matter: name your crew.  

(Bleep!) swives matter. Shame on you!
Pull’d skives matter: ones off ewe. 

Full hives matter: honey's dew.

Alewives matter. Odor...? Whew! 

All lives matter! Deja vu.)

     * Verses can be personified by 

replacing 'Lou' with any of a range of 

other one-syllable given names, e.g., 

Drew, Sue, Fu, Pru, Stu and so forth.

Mr. POTUS Departs: A Timely Repost

Trump glowers. And glowers.
For hours and hours. And hours.
Fasces foul Trump scours.
(This lad ain’t Adenauer’s.)
Trump then (and how!) and now errs
in plying POTUS powers.
 
Trump shouts, “Trump never cowers!”
But, fin’lly, Trump’s Tao sours.
The People cry, “Enowers!
That Hun’s no son of ours.”
Trump splits. Trump hits the showers.
The GOP sends flowers.
 
And Trump no longer towers.

May The Monster...? Six Wishes For The Future Made Partially In The Form Of An Eye Rhyme

May the Monster Ball Tour’s Lady Gaga
mime Macbeth, Act II: “Is this a dagga…?”!
May Mick (Rolling Stone) Jagger, a jogga,

water cacti, some barr'l-shaped Bisnaga!
 
May Husseini (the Khan we call Agha)
grow organic’lly (Groan!) rutabaga!

May no frat boys spill Heineken Laga
at no Nu Pi fraternity kegga!
 
May an Abhogi Kanada raga
be sitar'd during rallies named MAGA!
May this hagiographical saga
magnify Aloysius Gonzaga!

Sestina Destiny: Uly's To'n'frolaly On 'What Next...?'

     A wolaly is a Poe-own'd poetic device, one deploying the elements of a word ladder in numerical order as final words in the lines of a stanza in numerical order. A to'n'frolaly is a longer version of the same form, one which deploys those elements first in forward order then in reverse order. In a to'n'frolaly, the last word of the first line is identical to the last word of the final line. It's a "there and back again" sorta deal.

"What's real...? Compared to what...?
(D'you think we need to chat...?
Says I, 'Good luck with that!
Our tête-à-tête's no teat.
Let's sip our spirits neat
while wondering, "What's next...?"')"

I penn'd one six-line text
while furbishing my tent.
When finish'd, 'twill be sent
back home to take its seat
near 'toons where sour souls spat,
nigh toilets where they shat.

Kept real...? Compared to what...?

DodecaDons or Index Of Cads, Set One

The SmiloDon

The KarlMalDon

The MastaDon

The PoseiDon

The LarDon
aka The HeDon

The TenDon
aka The ConDon

The MyrmiDon
aka The PhillipOfMaceDon

The BoustropheDon

The CorDon

The BombarDon

The ArmagedDon 

The LonDon
aka The WimbleDon 

     Dons awaiting illustration: 

  

The AveDon 

The RaDon 

The AbingDon 

The TweedleDon

The IguanoDon 

The WTFHaveYouDon 

The RobinEarlOfHuntingDon 

The PteranoDon 

The GungaDon 

The MyWorkHereIsDon 

The MelancholyDon 

The FlashGorDon 

The Franz Joseph HayDon

The IreneDon

The OdilonReDon 

The RiverJorDon

The Tyre&SiDon 

The AbbaDon

The RigauDon 

The BaDon-BaDon

The Seduced&AbanDon

The SelfParDon 

The AndQuietFlowsTheDon

Ozzo or Revenge Of The Pool Noodles

Nyx Nixes Nox

One Friday in Sept., 

Mr. Poe went to bed in his clothes.
But this soul rarely slept, 

making do with one haphazard doze.
He'd forgotten, no doubt, 

to slip out of his semi-brogue shoes.
(Had he done so, at worst 

he'd hav'd managed to, fitfully, snooze.)

"I'm too drain'd to disrobe, 

to drop trou, to get fully undress'd --

to but take off this button-down shirt. 

Yet I do need my rest.

If perhaps I start slowly -- 

say, doffing my milit'ry cap -- 

then might Itzpapalotl* 

kowtow -- and allow me a nap...?"

     * Aztec goddess of the stars

One Friday in Sept.,

Uly Poe went to bed in his clothes.

Next morning he wept

as he rued the decision he chose.

"Elsewhere, I might dare 

to get shut of those earmuffs I got

in my stocking last Christmas.

But here in Cape Fear...? I fear not."

(One advantage of earmuffs:

they Saturday morn's ruckus muffle.

Neighbors running young Russells,

the garbage men's recycling scuffle,

all fail to arouse, 

notwithstanding one lies fully dress'd.

Which bodes well -- as, unrested,

one's gestes might just lead to arrest.

On Friday in Sept.,

if a poet's in bed in his clothes...

(More to come: a work in progress)

Black Lives Patres: A Call For Activists, Masculine-Type, With A Nod To Their Respective Raven Regalia

Fannie Lou. Parks (Rosa), too.

We lack not Black Lives Matres.

So: where be bros...? We need, Lord knows,

some active Black Live Patres...? 

To save poor Hutu, Bishop Tutu
wields a Black Lives Mitre
to poke the pates of folk he hates
while crying, "Take that, blighter!"

The actor Sidney Poitier 

employs a Black Lives Meter

to trace the rates at which his mates

fund Afrocentric the'ter.

Chef Grant (Jerome when he's at home)

employs a Black Lives Mortar

to grind each herb in his superb

stuff'd trout. (I'm a supporter.)

Track-and-field star Jesse Owens

was a Black Lives Mudder.

'Twas not his bane to trot in rain.

(Imagine mud: you'll shudder.)

To oft enthrall us, Bubba Wallace

drives a Black Lives Motor.

No stars 'n' bars grace Bubba's cars:

Bubb ain't no Drumpf promotor.

Police destroy'd George Perry Floyd. 

Another Black Lives Martyr.

What's to be done...? Can anyone

spell 'Justice,' for a starter...?

Make trouble good, John Lewis would.

Was John a Black Lives "Merde!"er...?

I'm thinking not. John's people taught

him well: "John didn't dare ter."

Are Walmart greeters Black Lives Meeters...?

Difficult to tell.

But ev'ry Black Lives Murder trigger man

belongs in hell.

Look Who's Watching!

It once was call’d the USA.
Its polis…? All-American!
But that, ex-pat, was yesterday.
It's now call'd Upper Handustan.

The tyrant there’s a billionaire,
an autocratic gooberman
who swears allegiance to the Con-

stitution...NOT! (Because he can,

he swears allegiance to the ban-
derole of Upper Handustan.)

Ballade Of A Black Lives Mater or Pieces Of A Meme

She's to the Black Lives Matter born.
She's scaled the Black Lives Matterhorn.
This Black Lives Batting-Caged Bird sings,
and I know why: she's seen some things.

White physicists dark matter probe,

though such stuff foils one's frontal lobe.

Were they with Black Lives matter faced,

her civil rights she'd see erased.

Like Carroll's Mad (Lives) Hatter, she

(not Anul Chandra Chatterjee)

deploys some Black Lives patter. (Me...?

I feel her spiel's too chattery.)

But, fans: needs answering my bladder.

Yet I, too, cry "Black Lives Matter."

If you don't, I scorn "pro rata":

with ya'll whatsa (Black Lives) matta...?

Putting The Con Back In Congress

SCOTUS-stuffer Mitch McConnell 
will more damage do than Don'll,
jackin' Joe's agenda. Goniff
be the Senate's Mitch McConniff! 

                                            

Lone Star State congressman Louie B. Gohmert:

far dimmer than Fibber McGee with his "Oh...Myrt...?"
If only the Mafia's honor'd omertà
were practiced by congressman Louie Gohmertà. 

                                                               

 

Señor Sid O’Zinn’s Seventh Voyage ‘Round Archaedian Acres Retirement Village (Another Gashlycrumb Sequel)

A’s for Alexis. Lord knows what her sex is!
B is for Bryan. His budg'rigar's dyin.’
C is for Claude. Claude’s complexion is flaw’d.
D is for Don. Jogs with not a stitch on.
E’s for Edwina. (Don serv'd her subpoena.)

F is for Fritz. Keep your distance: Fritz spits.
G is for Gil. He's (quote): "Under the hill."
H is for Hugh. I'd steer clear, were I you.  
I is for Iris. Her skin’s like papyrus.
J is for Junior. There pants no prat punier.
K is for Kyle. His “How wah ya...?"…? “Sieg Heil!”
L is for Lou. Lou moons, "Mine lacks a view.”
M’s for Manchu. Moans, "More tiramisu!"
N is for Norm. Calls pornography ‘porm.’
O is for Ollie. Don’t seek to meet “Dolly.”
P is for Pearl. Spoke in tongues as a girl.
Q is for Quinlin out gatherin' "kindlin.’"  
R is for Rex. Mixes plaids, stripes 'n' checks.
S is for Sol. Never “you." Always “y’all.”
T is for Truman. ‘Bout Drumpf Tru’s still fumin.’
U is for Urban. His breath...? Most disturbin.'
V is for Vlad. False Dmitry's his dad.

W’s Walt: “It’s them Dumbocrats’ fault.”
X is for Xena. Her nose has grown leana.
Y’s for Yvonne. Bakes one wild garlic naan.
Z is for Zack. Twelve years passing for black.

...," He Said, Ernestly: 20+ Questin's (sic) or The First (Last...?) Annual 'Oscar Wilde' Nonsense Short Short Story Invitational: Potential (i.e., Oulipo-Urged) Shenanagram-Prompted Purple Prose Passages and Picture-Postcard-Painted Patois

     'Oscar Wilde': every 

anagram prompts a poetic 

plot. So...? Get on with it, 

you "potentielle" Queneaus!

O, S, C, A, R, W, I, L, D, E

A, C, D, E, I, L, O, R, S, W

A, E, I, O, C, D, L, R, S, W

C, D, L, R, S, W, A, E, I, O

A solid crew  X 

A cowl dries  X 

A crow'd isle  X 

A deco swirl  X

Air'd "Le Scow"

Air'd Lew's CO  

Alice words

Alice's word  X 

Ali's Roc Dew

Ali's Roc Wed  X

Ali! We scor'd!  X

al'ows cider

a slow recid

A word slice

Alice sword

A wordsicle  X

A row, sliced

Cold Ears, WI  X 

Cilea Sword  X

Clas'...? "Widower."  X 

Cold, I swear!  X 

C.O.D. air slew

Cried Sal: "Wo'!"  X 

CA rides low.

Car's oil...? Dew!  X

(C): A Wild Rose  X

Cora is lewd.  X

"Cor!"...? Wel' said!  X

Coward lies.  X   

Coward's lie

Cows derail! 

Crowd aisle!

Cawdor Isle  X 

Cries, "A wold!"  X 

Crowe's Dali  X

Carol's wide.

DCI Al swore.  X

Driscol' awe

DA cries, "Owl!"  X 

Dear ol' Wics:  X

Dire Slaw Co. 

Doric Wales  X

DOW's a relic.  X

De laws o' Ric  X 

DWI! Leo's car...?  X

Do eclairs w____...?

Dice...? Or laws...?  X

 

E. coli wards  X 

"'e cwasi, Lord!" 

El Cid...or was. 

Eric...? S! Aldo...? W!

"...'eld i' ascrow." 

El Cid saw Ro-...

"...ears...lid...cow!"

Erica's wold

Eric's a wold. 

Eric was old.  X

Ilsa Wecord 

Ideal crows 

I draw Cole's  X

I'd wear clo's  X

I also crew'd.  X

I do Al's crew.

I draw close.

I raced...s  l  o  w  X

Is Lear cow'd...?

I slew Draco.  X

I saw ER Doc L.  X 

I -- cold! -- swear. 

I was colder.

I lose...? Ward C!  

I scared Owl.  X 

Lear is cow'd  X  

Law code, sir!  X

Lois Cardew

Low cars die.

Low C, raised  X 

A lower disc.  X 

Le Disco War   x 

Low sidecar

Lo! Icewards!

La Screw...? Dio!

Lew...? Cora...? Sid...?  X

Oil Ace Rd., S.W.  X 

Or slaw iced  X

Old Wis'acre  X 

Ol' Deric saw.

Or, dis a clew

O, scar'd wile!

Ow! d'Arc lies!  X

(O) Sliced raw

Ow'd eclairs  X 

Or El Cid was.  X

Or El Cid saw. 

Oscar Wilde

Owl Sidecar 

 

Raid Lew's CO  X 

"Rowli**cades"  X

re: a soil'd WC  X

Reads, "Wilco!"  X 

Scrod wi' ale

Scio 'wad'ler' 

So weird, Cal!  X 

Scowler Aid

Seward Coil 

Sie World, CA  X

Sacred owl...? I...?

Sac' o' rildew  X

Sid...? Lew...? Cora...?

Sired a...clow...?  X

"Soldier...?" "WAC!"  X

So, El Cid: war...? 

Sailor, WCed

Saw roc...? Lied.

S read: "Wilco."  X

"...," said Le Crow. 

Sri de la Cow

Slower acid

Soiled craw  X 

Wade, Cloris! 

Wid' col' ears 

Worse: Cali'd!  X 

Woc lids are  X 

W card...? I lose. 

Wid' escarol'  X

Walid's core

Waldo cries  X 

Wide ol' cars  X

Waldo's rice.

W: "La...si..." "C: "Re...do!"  X

Weird colas  X

"We's cordial!"

We...? Sic Roald...?     

We'd sic Arlo. 

We soil'd Arc. 

WC read soli.     

Wide corals

Wails, "Credo..."  X

Wace is Lord!  X 
We roal'd (sic).  X

Wed Lorca...? Si!  X