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Thursday, May 8, 2025

Snarkstitutes! A Bigly Bestiary

"For the snark was a boojum you see."
                                      -- Lewis Carroll

Live precious few who, pressured to 
recall their fav'rite lark, 
would favor us with answer thus:
"Mine's hunting of the snark." 
Instead, these days, knights errant trace
grotesques of diff'rent race:
  

 
Acephalus 
 
Mythical acephali, headless, display their
facial features  across their torsos. (N.B.: having no head does not imply having no hair.)

What fool'd forget each pain, each fret, 
each almost-fatal sally
he sweated besting, then arresting,
awful acephali...?
(Remember'd, too...? Each sharp review
of Grampa's Rand McNally.) 
 
 




Bishop-fish 

Sycophants kowtowing to legendary bishop-fish are urged to purchase Bibles, autographed by these creatures, at a small discount. 

Who'd not confess each strain, each stress 
(though kvetching's not their wish)...? 
Their wont...? Explore the ocean floor
for beastly bishop-fish --
which, serv'd with chips on pirate ships,
most mates pronounce, "Delish!")
 






Chromandi 

Sharp-fanged monkey-like men who, insists  Pliny the Elder, roam urban jungles, are covered in blond hair and, tho' claiming "the best words," routinely resort to screams.

No reb'd mislay his trebuchet.* 
Such weaponry proves handy
when, marching forth, one dead-heads north
to capture cru'l chromandi, 
whose practiced art's to grab gals' parts --
their modus operandi

*In the US, read "...forget his trebuchet."
 


  


Djinn 

Supernatural beings encountered in medieval Arab traditions, these devilish spirits are shapeshifters, often held captive in bottles of many kinds and, released, wreak global havoc.

A young'un (three -- too gung ho...? Oui!),
I took it on the chin:
the Kids' Krusade! (Mistakes were made 
when disembow'ling djinn.) 










Echidna 

Living alone in a gated temple and worship'd by people of the nearby land, the half-snake Echidna bears numerous monstrous offspring.

Though now she's dead, I've often read 
of one (d'ya think I'd kid ya...?) 
who grabs her truncheon after lunch 'n'
slays ten men: Echidna!
(To best avoid this mongoloid,
each man of wit stays hid, huh...?)
 
 




(continued elsewhere)

My Big Green Box

On most moist, moonlit mornings 
post the vernal equinox, 
I wake to dual warnings 
from a pair of Plymouth Rocks,
their cock-a-doodlings not unlike 
twin arias of Bach's.
(Both cocks and I reside in my 
calliope-green box.)

My neighbors won't (or, so far, don't) 
berate me 'bout my birds. 
"An egg from you (just one would do) 
could smooth things, nu...?" (Their words.)  
Do pay we heed to neighbors' need...? 
The populorum vox...? 
We do, we three -- my cocks 'n' me 
and my goatee-green box. 

"This house of yours, its closet doors, 
its hardwood floors: why green...? 
We hues of blue could list for you -- 
three hundred seventeen,"
my neighbors fuss. I answer thus: 
"Good friends, if sev'ral blocks
around one treks, there's none erects 
a like Tex-Mex-green box."
 
Perhaps you've seen me on TV -- 
on "Wide, Wide World of Warts."
I spew some news and view "Who's Who"s 
in esoteric sports.
All this I do on Channel Two. 
(I'm e'er eschewing Fox.)
I, up at 3:00, down caffeined tea 
then flee my sea-green box.   

     (More verses, plus images, to come; a work in progress)

Aeneid Anagram Mania

I sing of arms and the man... ...not his farm and gas mine...  (This is a tale of heroes in war, not agribusiness and the energy sector.)