The Mad Florchitect's Songs (Past)

The Taj Mahalmond 

Which celebrated sepulcher 

might please the legume connoisseur
your mum's become...? Just muster Mom und 

tote 'er to the Taj Mahalmond!

Machu Peaches 

Who sports a Jones 

for fruits, with stones, 

from far-flung distant reaches

no worse can do 

than tour Peru:

Pick Incan Machu Peaches!

 

Grapesland 

(Must be sung to the tune of 

Chuck Berry's "Memphis, Tennessee," 
ideally accompanied by Johnny 
Rivers's '57 Stratocaster.)

Help me, InfoMaven, to en-
roll each Pinot gris...

each Shiraz, Merlot, each noir Pinot -- 

plus each Verdot (Petit)...! 

     'Cuz, when I'm through, we'll (me 'n' you) 

enjoy a vintage spree...

through El "Vin" Aros'* Grapesland, 

down in Memphis, Tennessee.

     * A Spoonerism for "Elvis Aron"'s.

The Lingon Memorial  

Last seen, years past, 

in The North Hjo Pictorial:

red, round, respected...

and so-o-o-o gastronorial.
     Yipe! Now he's ripe. Let's all 
pipe verse sensorial:
♪ "Two for dessert at the 
Lingon Memorial." ♫

The Sydney Hop'ra House

Who’s daft for draft

and Johann Strauss

(composer of

Die Fledermaus)

must make a point to, 

with his spouse,

drop by 

the Sydney Hop'ra House.

Maiza Verde

Who'd yearn fer corn

must earn her corn, 

nor turn forlorn

'n' scaredy.

     If spook'd by heights, 

tour sunken sites: 

steer clear 

of Maiza Verde!

Magnolia Plantaintion

I confess to cessation 

of holidays Haitian,
of furloughs Croatian, 
sabbaticals Thracian.
     Ba-na-na-

na-nation...? Nah! 

Now no vacationin'...

'ceptin' in Charleston's 
Magnolia Plantaintion.

The Eiffel Taro

I got son'thin' ta say, mio caro,

tho' methinks this verse stinks -- like stale gar roe...
and this rhyme can't vamp time 'til tomorrow.
     List' away, lest your day end in sorrow!
Who knows nil climbs a Kilimanjaro.

Don't tempt fate! Best to wait in the far row.

     Why'd shy guys have you rise up so far...? Oh,
cry not "Why not...?"! Sigh "Bye, Eiffel Taro."

The Pearamids at Giza 

Scorchees searchin' sere Saharas 

for desserts design'd to please a-

ficionados of the phara'hs

plump for Pearamids at Giza.

Sacré-Cœurgettes

Forget about Iceberg 'n' 

Cranberry Beans; 

skip Endive, Romaine 'n'

Arugula Lett-

uce, Radicchio, Kale 'n' Chry-

santhemum Greens:
try visitin' Montmartre's 
Sacré-Cœurgettes!

The Drumpf Wheat House

Comes word you've ne'er heard 

of the house built of wheat.

Pols and pundits who have 

even call it The Wheat House.
     Its tenant's a liar, 

a psycho, a cheat,

a molester of women --

in short, a complete louse.

He herds his "good words" 

into long-winded tweet-
storms he Twitters most morns 

from the bowels of The Wheat House.
     Thrice wedded, he's pull'd 

an espousal "threepeat,"
though each bride Blondel beds 

proves but one more effete spouse.

Yet sleepers awake! 

Patr'ots take to the street
to protest this tycoon -- nay: ty-

rant -- of The Wheat House.

     Him (guilty as sin) they'll soon 

rightly unseat --
less a man [plus his kin!] 

than a now-obsolete mouse.

Let's do it! 

(A Weatherman's victory sweet.)
Ah-h-h-h...but how...? Must we now 

this wimp's fam'ly with 
"sheet" dowse...?
     Or hang the whole gang -- 

cronies, kids -- by their feet...
and display 'em across 

the South Lawn of the Wheat House...?