Resistance Protest Signs: Number 17 in a Series

 

Hope; or, Like All Foul Gas, This Too Shall Pass (A Repost)

Drumpf glowers. And glowers. 

For hours and hours. And hours.

Der Fuhrer's fasc Drumpf scours.

(This lad ain’t Adenauer’s.) 

Unlike the Eisenhowers, 

Drumpf stacks of Macs* devours, 

and now, as then (and how!), errs

in plying POTUS powers.

Erecting new Trump Towers, 

Drumpf cries, “Trump never cowers!”

But, fin’lly, Drumpf's Tao sours

The People cry, “Enowers!**

That Hun’s no son of ours. 

Drumpf splits and hits the showers.

The GOP sends flowers.

And Drumpf no longer towers. 

     * Big Macs with lots of extra cheese.

     **A poetic term -- a portmanteau pairing the Rubaiyat's 'enow,' meaning  'enough,' with the suffix '-ers' from the British slang which turns 'pregnant' to 'preggers' -- the combination meaning "E-freakin-nough, already!"

Chant for Chas.

(With a tip of the Uly Poe turban to Mr Dickens.) 

Note gestes by festive mimes 

whose crest shows zest of limes, 

undress'd -- in jest, it's  guess'd -- 

thrice bless'd (id est: three times!), 

express'd as "Test of Bimes: 

a Spooner'd Nest of Rhymes" 

abreast the vestry chimes 

whilst Heston, vested, climbs 

a chest in quest of dimes.

Out west, twin pests betimes 

(both slimes) confess'd their crimes. 

[The rest's just mess'd-up primes.] 

MAGAlligators All Around

(With a tip o' the toque to Mr Sendak.)

I smelt swamp stench. 

I sens'd strange sound.
I search'd about. 

'Twas then I found

our ship of state 

had run aground. 

The captain, mates 'n' crew...? 

All drown'd:

MAGAlligators 

all around. 

Their eyelids...? Shadow'd. 

Noses...? Brown'd. 

Intentions...? 

Evil, I'll be bound. 

A failed poseur

we thought just clown'd...? 

That narcissist 

their king they crown'd. 

In golden robes 

this thing they gown'd. 

More MAGA'gators 

gather'd 'round. 

They immigrants 

harass 'n' hound. 

They kids 

illegally impound. 

Our Constitution 

they've unwound. 

MAGAlligators 

ALL around!

Imagined Medievals

Alcuin of York 

used talons from a stork 

to help him chew 

his bar-be-cue: 

"'Tis helpful eating pork." 

Venerable Bede, 
a bookman built for speed, 
penn'd tomes in reams -- 
though now it seems
this Briton couldn't read. 

Carolus the Bald 

was hairless falsely call'd. 

Who'd on him pin

"King Head-'o-Skin" 

would see Carolus gall'd.

"A Pint o' Pease, Please!"; or, Pick Your Porridge! Pease Porridge Variants

Pease porridge hot. 

Pease porridge cold. 

Pease porridge covered in 

Peronospora mold. 

Some like it hot. 

Some like it cold. 

No one likes it covered in 

Peronospora mold. 

Pease porridge cold.
Pease porridge hot. 
Pease porridge top fermented
in Ma's copper pot. 
Many like it cold. 
Fewer like it hot. 
You'd like sev'ral growlers
whereas I'd like just a spot.

 

Pease porridge warm. 

Pease porridge cool. 

Pease porridge tepid, 

served with Papa's past'fazool. 

Few like it warm. 

Many like it cool. 

You can't seem to get enough

while too much makes me drool. 

Pease porridge cool. 

Pease porridge warm. 

Pease porridge regist'ring 

a diff'rent thermal form. 

Some like it cool. 

Some like it warm. 

No one likes it anywhere 

where lukewarm is the norm. 

Pease porridge grey. 

Pease porridge green. 

Pease porridge made in Grandma's 

platinum tureen. 

You like it grey. 

I like it green. 

No one likes it midnight blue: 

they don't know where it's been. 

Pease porridge green. 

Pease porridge grey. 

Pease porridge partner'd 

with a Caesar salad, say. 

I like it green. 

You like it grey. 

We both like it tomorrow, 

not today or yesterday.

Pease porridge sweet. 

Pease porridge dry.

Pease porridge complements 

a  huckleberry pie. 

I like it sweet. 

You like it dry. 

Grampa likes it not at all 

but will not tell me why. 

Pease porridge dry. 

Pease porridge sweet. 

Pease porridge -- served in saucers,

over ice or neat.

Pease porridge dry. 

Pease porridge sweet.

Pease porridge -- do as follows: 

pour, sniff, drink, repeat. 

Pease porridge nuked.

Pease porridge chill'dI

Pease porridge in a growler...

Careful lest it's spill'd. 

None like it nuked.

All like it chill'd.

So: may I have the same again, please...? 

I'm not nearly fill'd."

Pease porridge chill'd. 

Pease porridge nuked. 

Pease porridge I'll reorder 

lest I stand rebuked. 

All like it chill'd. 

None like it nuked. 

Late last night I chugged two mugfuls...

...whereupon I puked.

Vladimir Nabokov's Lolita Anagramaniacal Opening Lines

Lolita, light of my life... 

...might fail to yell "Foil!"... 

...or opt to yell "Epee!" --
she's just that unpredictable...

Fyodor Dostoevsky's Crime and Punishment Anagramaniacal Openin Lines

On an exceptionally hot evening...

...having no expectation, none yell...

...such triple-digit temps can leave  even the most gung-ho Russian peasant unmotivated...