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Saturday, September 30, 2023

Anagrampage: Dribs 'n' Drabs, Bards 'n' Birds

"In dribs and drabs do raindrops fall
to oceans far-flung swell." (Fine words.)
Ad-libs of bards in strains enthrall.
(They're swell when sung as well by birds.) 



Anagrampage: Ocean Canoe

Who'd cruise the ocean blue (would you...?)
could use a crew...and a BIG canoe.
  


Wednesday, September 27, 2023

More Locales Loca

Fifi LeFleur, known as "Vertigo Faye"
     (step-
daughter by marriage to Ferde Grofé),
     de-
spite the affliction that prompted her name,
     notes 
life atop pillars will garner her fame:
     "So: 
Sim'on Stylites, for thirty-odd years, 
     made a 
pedestal home -- to the cheers of his peers.
     More sty-
lites would follow; all welcom'd the test.
     Thus the 
'polesters' I'll meet...? 10s! (The best never rest!)" 

*   *   *   *   *

     "Just sup-
pose I were chosen Commander-in-chief
     of the 
shed at the head of this barrier reef,"
     fancies 
Perry de Paul, adding, "If so install'd,
     I'll be 
more than fired up; I'll be wholly enthrall'd..."
     "...yes, and 
soak'd to the foreskin, brined up to the eyes,"
     inter-
jects Perry's kin, "as all seven seas rise."
     "Fret ye 
not!" notes de Paul. "My appointment's no whim.
     Plus, each 
atoll inhabitant knows how to swim."

Monday, September 25, 2023

World Egg Tree

     Countless 
kalpas ago, before endless beginnings,
     be-
fore Zou Yan pioneer'd yangings 'n' yinings, 
     be-
fore antique Adams engaged early Eves,
     a great 
tree stood, festoon'd with gajillions of leaves.
     A tree-
mendous tree -- tall, tippee-top to taproot --
     ev'ry 
Fall Eggdrasil bore unusual fruit.

     Its 
trunk would sprout limbs while each limb would sprout branches.
     Each 
branch would sprout twigs in a burst of carte' blanches.
     Each 
twig would sprout leaves, whence was spott'd to drop,
     as each 
season roll'd 'round, a phenomenal crop:
     extra-
ordin'ry kernals encased in white shells.
     (What e-
merges when shells crack...? My doggerel tells.)

     What's this 
tree's hautest harvest...? Which fruitage had legs...?
     None more
primo than cream o' the crop Malcolm Eggs.
     Eggs would
teach; Eggs would preach; Eggs would boldly beseech.
     Eggs -- by
any means necess'ry -- freedom would reach.

     (a work in progress) 

Saturday, September 23, 2023

Little Amal (For OCB)

Little Amal, Little Amal.
She's plainly a person; 
she's more than a doll,
and tho' her world and my world 
seem'd oceans apart,
I have since touch'd her hand 
and she's since touch'd my heart. 

Friday, September 22, 2023

Locale Loca; or, Different Spheres For Different Peers

Goody Goose spiels, "It proved balm for my soul
     once I 
took to my heels to keep house in a hole." 
     "Still," in-
sists her twin sister, "that's no place to dwell.
     Mineshafts, 
mostly, are mouldy...and hollows are hell."
     "Oh, the 
nonsense you natter!" states Goody to Sis.
     "Do I 
ever shun tunnels or give mines a miss...?
     This here  
well where I dwell is humidity free,
     plus, the  
people who live here are nice as can be." 

*   *   *   *   *

Nicholas Knopf has determin'd that he
     will be 
fa-a-a-a-ar better off now he lives in a tree.
     Nicky's 
playfellow Jules gives fair warning to him:
     "You shall 
ne'er replace moi when you're stuck on some limb."
     "Au con-
trairemon young frère," Nick replies to his friend.
     "D'you sup-
pose I'll wax lonesome here...? Heaven forfend!
     This, my 
tree, don't you see, fills the span of the sky.
    With the 
legions herein I'll make friends by 'n' by."*

     *Here are a few of the friends, tree people all,
       who Nicholas anticipates making friends with:

St. David the Dendrite; 

eco-activist Julia Butterfly Hill; 

Kenya’s Njuguna Ng’ang’a;

purple-hair'd granny Shawnee Chasser;  

Collin Fenwick et al from Capote’s The Grass Harp;  

Cosimo di Rondo from Calvino’s The Baron in the Trees: 

Buile Shuibhne from Seamus Heaney’s take on the

medieval Irish tale he calls Sweeney Astray; 

the Galadrim people from Tolkein’s The Lord of the Rings

and Jose Arcadio in Gabriel Garcia Marquez’s

One Hundred Years of Solitude...not to mention

Jack of beanstalk fame.  


*   *   *   *   *

Fifi LeFleur, known as "Vertigo Faye"
     (who's a 
daughter by marriage to Ferde Grofé
     and de-
spite the affliction that prompted her name),
     feels a 
life atop pillars will garner her fame:
     "Did not 
Sim'on Stylites, for thirty-odd years, 
     made a 
pedestal home -- to the cheers of his peers...?
     More sty-
lites soon followed -- all welcomed the test.
     Thus the 
'polesters' I'll meet...? 10s! (The best never rest!)" 

*   *   *   *   *

     "Sup-
pose I were chosen Commander-in-chief
     of the 
shed at the head of this barrier reef,"
     fancies 
Perry de Paul, adding, "If so install'd,
     I'd be 
more than fired up; I'd be tot'lly enthrall'd..."
     "You'll be 
soak'd to the foreskin, brined up to the eyes,"
     inter-
jects's Perry's kin, "as all seven seas rise."
     "Fret ye 
not!" notes de Paul. "My appointment's no whim.
     Plus, each 
atoll inhabitant knows how to swim." 

*   *   *   *   *

     What re-
moval might prove a preeminent boon...?
     Well, the 
Finklemans think 'twould be life on the Moon.
     All their 
earthbound associates put 'em on guard:
     "A de 
lune relocation...? Humongously hard!"
     Oi! But 
Shmuel 'n' Sadie have made up their minds
     since a 
prominent Moon-housing researcher finds
     that "a 
minimal gravity helps one lose weight,
     plus the 
people who people the Moon are first-rate." 

Wednesday, September 20, 2023

Haven't You Read...? Daddy Is Dead! or, Anticipatory R.I.P. II: another excerpt from "The Posthumous Papers of the Wigg'd Pig Club:

     CNN 9/20/23: Drumpf Jr.'s X account hacked. 
Bogus "Jr." reports father's death and his ("Jr's") 
plann'd presidential run in '24.

Daddy is dead! (Kraits* in Dad's bed...? 
     Shots to Dad's head...? Fatally bled...?)   
          *Venomous snakes
Daddy is dead. (Fiercely force-fed...? 
     Poison'd with lead...? Fox hasn't said.)
Daddy is dead. (Cadet* in Dad's bread...? 
     Snuff'd by the Fed...? Hung in the shed...?)   
          *Deadly herbicide

Dad's indeed dead! (Rent to a shred...? 
     Garrotted instead...? AIDS...? (Still it's widespread.))
Daddy is dead. (Clubb'd at Club Med 
     by hit men named Ned who, eventu'lly, fled...?) 
Daddy is dead. (Skipp'd his Phys Ed...? 
     Middle-age spread to Dad's suicide led...?)

It's said, Daddy's dead! (Books in the red...? 
     Plea deals Dad pled still hung by a thread...?)
Daddy is dead. (Did evils Dad bred -- 
     from alpha to zed -- bode prison ahead...?
Nope! Daddy is dead 'cuz Dad ran out o' cred. 
     That being said, now it's me you need dread.)

Tuesday, September 19, 2023

Days of Citrus

     One 
wonder if anyone living remembers the day
     that the 
Sons of September spent giving pink lemons away.
     'Midst a 
rumbling of voices, they sit, ur-obsess'd with dull knives.
     Though a 
rum thing, some boys may recall this the rest of their lives.
     What is 
more, live there any who haven't forgotten those times
     when the 
Daughters of August disposed of core-rotten Key limes...?
     Since their 
day, the demand for potassium citrate has dropp'd.
     (As for 
pink lemonade...? Drinking that has, effectively, stopp'd.)

Sunday, September 17, 2023

Skate Free, Freight-Free; or, '45 in 24: another excerpt from "The Posthumous Papers of the Wigg'd Pig Club"

     Sung (and it's best rendered when sung) 
     to the tune of "My Daddy Lies -- Over and Over." 

"I'm running to stay out of prison. 
I'm running to steer clear of jail.
More evidence, recently risen, 
I hope to convict me will fail.

"I'm running to side-step the slammer. 
I'm running to ward off the nick.
I'm no way the nail; I'm the hammer! 
(At worst, I'll get pardon'd, like Dick.)

"Skate free, freight-free: 
Won't somebody help me skate free, freight-free...?
Skate free, freight-
free: 
Send C-notes to help me skate free.

"I'm running to limit my lockup. 
I'm running to by-pass the brig.
This whole rigmarole's been a cockup: 
I never had need of this gig.

"I'm running to hold off the hoosegow. 
I'm running to fend off the joint.
Is the DJ's Smith wielding a noose now...? 
I'm guilty...but that's not the point.

"Skate free... (etc. as above)

"I'm running to outwit conviction. 
(Once POTUS, I'll pardon myself.)
I'm running to counter the fiction 
that my wealth comes from ill-gotten pelf.

"I run to short-circuit the big house. 
I run to stay out of the clink.
And until I'm as dead as a dormouse, 
I'll not be the first bloke to blink.

"Skate free..." (etc. as above)

Anticipatory R.I.P.: an excerpt from "The Posthumous Papers of the Wigg'd Pig Club"

     Note the stanzaic scheme, where the first numeral indicates the number of stresses in a line and the second the number of syllables, which number varies depending on the presence of upbeats and masculine or feminine endings; the letters, of course, represent discreet rhymes:

     3/5-6 A   3/6-7 B   3/5-6 A   4/7-8 C   4/7-8 C   3/6-7 B


Donald Drumpf's dropp'd dead!
(I love alliteration!)
Donald made his bed;
grand jurors made him lie in it.
He's through -- that losin,' lyin' shit.
Begin our celebration!

Donald Drumpf's deceased!
We've "renaissance"'d our nation.
Don's coif three Cor-Bons creased,
restyling Donald's swiney puss.
Sieg heil, you wasted, whiney wuss.
All cured's our constipation.

Donald's bit the dust!
(And finalized frustration.)
Mourn him if you must;
keen his soul (as if he'd got one).
Billionaire...? Seems Don was not one.
Curb your titillation!

Donald's kick'd the bucket!
What halted hesitation...?
Perhaps his "WTF! It
appears I'll not steer clear of jail
nor wife nor kids won't go my bail...
What's left...? Annihilation!"

Thursday, September 14, 2023

Penn Cop Photo Op: a Questionnaire

Where's the need to snap a pic 
once coppers that escapee nick...?
Why not mount the guy atop 
your squad car for that photo op...?
Or hang the fellow by the knees, 
strung up like marlins in the Keys...?
When don't they show, each way they can, 
man's inhumanity to man...? 

Wednesday, September 13, 2023

Two Dozen Roes By Other Names

Explorer Vasco da Gamete (per GFH) 
British-American actress Samantha Egger 

Rock singer Joe Cockerel 
Assyrian king Ashurbanipullet 

Vaudeville star Souffle Tucker 
The funny papers' Alley Oeuf (per GFH)

New Jersey hair-transplant surgeon Al Bewmen 
Moliere's hypocritical Tartoeuf 

Shakespeare's melancholy Dane Homelette 
US Congressman Roe Khanna 

Crusader nemesis Egg Saladin (per GFH)
China's Chairman Mayo 

Paper magnate Art Boyle 
Gary Cooper's Sergeant Yolk (per GFH)

Wyatt Earp sidekick Doc Hollandaise (per GFH) 
Illegitimate son of Emperor Frederick II Embryo of Sardinia

TV hostess Ovum Winfrey
Ohio Senator Shirred Brown 

Tennis legend Andre Eggassi 
Mexican artist Friedegg Kahlo

Failed US general George Armstrong Custard
Jazz pianist Quiche Jarrett

Pop singer Egglebert Humptydumpt
Civil rights activist Malcolm Eggs

Monday, September 11, 2023

What Is History...? Quiz The Supporting Cast!


History...? It's bunk alright.
(It's likewise caca, crap and shite.)"
                  -- Daphne Moon 

"It fails to repeat itself, 
nor does it rhyme.
Lately, in fact, 
it can barely keep time."
                  -- Ethel Mertz 

"Lots of in toto agreed-upon lies
limn'd by those 'toto'litarian guys."
                  -- Cosmo Kramer

"It's like an onion. Why...?
Design'd to make me cry.
(Rife skins beneath each skin
I take no interest in.)"
                  -- Maynard Krebs 

Sunday, September 10, 2023

Comic/Novel: A Worladdo* in Sixteen Rundles

          *Word Ladder Doggerel

     Rundle the First 

Who kvells o'er best-sellers deem'd humorous...? 
Who's fond of a novelty comic...?
(Not plays on words, lately so numerous,
nor volumes Islamic or psalmic.)


     Rundle the Second 

To friends I'm commending this verse
flaunting twain -- spheres urbane and bucolic.
'Tis ironic: laconic yet terse...
a frolic which kindles no colic.


     Rundle the Third 

Do they lure, stanzas lurid, acidic -- 
hydrochloric, sulfuric or folic...? 
Or's your palate for po'sy bromidic...?
Better stick with the soapy and olic.


     Rundle the Fourth 

If, however, you're fond of the Don*
and the verse gracing Shakespeare's First Folio,
here's, at last, lines to cast eyes upon
as you channel your anti-Malvolio.
     *Quixote not Drumpf


     Rundle the Fifth 

Did, in '21, Franklin catch polio
as he trumpeted lim'ricks by Lear...?
Nonsense! Franklin engaged in el coleo
in the streets of Caracas that year.


     Rundle the Sixth 

Salmonella in Delano's pollo
doubtless help'd provoke paralyzed legs.
(In the end, he luck'd out: else that boyo
might have dragg'd out his days on two pegs.)


     Rundle the Seventh 

Survey takers and like-minded souls
gath'ring market research for a living
bring to light the results of their polls:
most tragedies read unforgiving.


     Rundle the Eighth* 

Where you dwell may be villa or veldt
and your home pasture, parkland or polis;
this result's ever noted and felt:
tragic tomes leave us homeless and goalless!

      *Research has determined that this eighth 
        rundle, extraneous to the poem's form
        must be an insertion made by a hand or 
        hands differing from that or those which 
        composed the original worladdo.


     Rundle the Ninth 

Academics accessing the Arctic,
those who haunt one or both of the poles,
fin'lly find such a sojourn cathartic
if and when they steer clear of the holes.


     Rundle the Tenth 

Might your socks rate a darn using angora yarn...?
Might your boots require bolst'ring of soles...?
Yes, when cleansing a barn in Champigny-sur-Marne
or if hauling, to Newcastle, coals.


     Rundle the Eleventh

Trust me, Reader, for I am in sales.
I know all which, in reading, is best:
sailors' tales of substantial white whales
and how cowpokes 'n' -babes won the West.


     Rundle the Twelfth

Says God to whoe'er misbehaves,
"Amen, amen, eh...? Jesus saves!
And how! Be thou tycoons or slaves...
and He does so from cradles to graves."


     Rundle the Thirteenth

Try the Traveling Dzhokhar Tsamaeves
& Xiao Dan Bo Ming Tao Combined Shows!
Ev'ry critic save one's printing raves.
(Their new off'ring's a hit, d'you suppose...?)


     Rundle the Fourteenth
 
With lyrics by Comden and Green
and a prize-winning score by Ravel,
their new staging of "Bathing Machine"
is performing, wherever play'd, well.


     Rundle the Fifteenth 

Since view'd contemplating his navel,
poor William of Orange has died.
He's interr'd in the forest primaeval
in his zest-coated marmalade hide.
 
    
     Rundle the Last

Dost thou dwell in some down-county seat,
in a hole-in-the-wall or a hovel...?
I care not if you live on the street:
you can't not love a good comic novel!

Friday, September 8, 2023

Natal Nocturnes

Natal day; fatal day. 
View'd-towards-grave-from-cradle day.
Something common; something weird:
Occam's razor; Plato's beard.
Fatal day; natal day.
Runcibleized ladle day.
Ada's woodshed; Meinong's jungle.
E. St. Vincent Rumsey-Bungle.

Natal day; fatal day.
Hansel's sister Gretel day.
One thing only (two at most):
Farder'd sun and ol' Lee's ghost.
Fatal day; natal day.
Showers likely: grey, dull day.
Alf's MacGuffin; Charlie's Tramp.
Uncle Fritzie's Odes de Gamp.

Natal day; fatal day.
Level 7, grade L day.
All things equal, nothing's fair:
blasted castles in the air.
Fatal day; natal day.
Mortgaged heaven, paid hell day.
Homer's Hector; Joyce's Bloom.
(Joyce's Molly, if there's room.)

"Natal day; fatal day," 
Mame the chambermaid'll say.
"Nothing standard; nothing rare:
Lenin's scissors; Marx's hair."
Fatal day; natal day.
"Dreidle, dreidle, dreidle," eh...?
Shakespeare's Pistol; Chekhov's gun.
Done...though, while it's lasted, fun.

Thursday, September 7, 2023

The Seven-Tier Itch

The folk who suffer itchy eyes: 
with that whole lot I sympathize.
For ev'ry bloke with itchy nose 
my fellow feeling only grows.
     I know; I get it: itchy ears 
will always hinder how one hears,
nor is there nowt that fully calms 
the agony of itchy palms.
     Inform me: when's an itchy throat 
not altogether get my goat!
Moreover, as for itchy skin -- 
who there amongst us hasn't been...?
    Indeed, I'm itchy ev'rywhere, 
and it's so (blank'ty-blank) unfair.
(I shall herein pass over -- natch' -- 
that patch I'm not allow'd to scratch.)  

Monday, September 4, 2023

Generations

Born between eighteen 'n' seventy-one 
and eighteen 'n' eighty-plus-nine, 
your so-call'd New Worlders had minimal fun, 
although rarely were heard they to whine. 

Between eighteen 'n' ninety and nineteen aught-eight, 
your so-call'd Hard Timers were born. 
The years they grew up in proved even less great, 
leaving Timers bereft and forlorn. 

From the turn of the cent'ry through World War One.
your Lost Generation arrived. 
Oodles died in that war, tens of thousands and more, 
whereas some few survived -- indeed, thrived. 


     (More to come; a work in progress) 

Christmas Day: A Mare Egg...

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