Search This Blog

Saturday, July 19, 2025

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 Restive 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 mere mess'd-up primes.] 

Friday, July 18, 2025

MAGA'Gators 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.
T'were MAGA'gators 
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. 
Fuck! MAGA'gators 
ALL around!

Thursday, July 17, 2025

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.

Monday, July 14, 2025

"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.

Tuesday, July 1, 2025

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...

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,...