"99 Jews air their views..." Half a Hundred Hebrews Haunt the Al-Buraq Wall But None Sneezes At It -- For It's Nothing to Sneeze At: A Constrained Abecedarial Drinking Song

99 Jews air their views at the Wall.
99 Jews airing views.
If one with El Youssef gets into a brawl,
there'll be 98 Jews airing views at the Wall.

98 Hebrews a-schmooze at the Wall.
98 Jews dishing schmooze.
If one Jew's unable to borrow a shawl, 
there'll be 90 plus 7 a-schmooze at the Wall.

90-plus-7 Jews choosing the Wall. 
90-plus-7 Jews choose.
If one Jew stops praying ("This kippah's too small")
there'll be 96 Jews left to choose at the Wall. 

96 Jews chugging booze at the Wall.
96 Jews chugging booze.
If one belts "Baruch!" in a West-Texas drawl,
there'll be 95 Jews chugging booze at the wall.

95 Jews queue in twos at the Wall.
95 Jews queue in twos.
If one Jew does stunts with a medicine ball,
there’ll be 94 queueing in twos at the Wall.

94 Jews sing the blues at the Wall.
94 Jews singing blues.
If one departs early for nosh at the mall,
there’ll be 93 Jews singing blues at the Wall.

93 Jews pay their dues at the Wall.
93 Jews paying dues.
If one supports “Two-State” – (“‘twere three parts in Gaul…”)
there’ll be 92 Jews paying dues at the Wall.

92 Jews light a fuse at the Wall.
92 Jews light a fuse.
If one sets his bomb off, thus giving his all,
there’ll be 91 Jews with a fuse at the Wall.

91 Jews doff their shoes at the Wall.
91 Jews doffing shoes.
If one, thinking twice, keeps his on after all,
there’ll be 90-some Jews doffing shoes at the Wall.

90-some Jews look for loos near the Wall.
90-some Jews look for loos.
If one leaves the quarter to “answer the call,”
there’ll be 89 Jews without loos at the Wall.

89 Jews search for clues at the Wall.
89 Jews search for clues.
If one finds a shekel, one minted by Saul,
there’ll be 88 Jews with no clues at the Wall.

88 Jews take their cues at the Wall.
88 Jews taking cues.
If one cries, “I am big: the pictures grew small,”
there’ll be 7 plus 80 old Jews at the Wall.

Jews – 87! -- wipe ooze from the Wall.
Jews – 87! -- wipe ooze.
If one eschews soap, using grain alcohol,
there’ll be 86 Jews wiping ooze from the Wall.

86 Jews fasten screws to the Wall.
86 Jews fasten screws.
If one, name of Ringo, hangs portraits of Paul,
there’ll be 85 Jews setting screws in the Wall.

85 Jews slaughter gnus at the Wall.
85 Jews slaughter gnus.
Of one, to keep kosher, must shutter his stall,
there’ll be 84 Jews killing gnus at the Wall.

84 Jews bare tattoos at the Wall.
84 Jews bare tattoos.
If one wears “For Mom” in a heart – and that’s all,
there’ll be 83 stark-naked Jews at the Wall.

83 Jews shear their ewes at the Wall.
83 Jews shear their ewes.
If one shaves his sheep a bit close (hear 'em bawl?),
there’ll be 82 Jews shearing ewes at the Wall.

82 Jews hop their brews at the Wall.
82 Jews hopping brews.
If one brews a Ghorka, as brewed in Nepal,
there’ll be 81 Jews hopping brews at the Wall.

81 Jews plot their coups at the Wall.
81 Jews plotting coups.
If one says to Yasser, “You’re takin’ the fall,”
there’ll be 80-some Jews plotting coups at the Wall.

80-some Jews recruit crews at the Wall.
80-some Jews recruit crews.
If one cries, “I’m hiring no blokes from Bhopal,”
there’ll be 79 Jewish scouts at the Wall.

79 Hebrews cruising the Wall.
79 Hebrews cruise.
If one, though named Abd, finds a date after all,
there’ll be 78 Hebrews cruising the Wall.

78 Jews down Dews at the Wall.
78 downing Dews.
If one to club soda’s seen being in thrall,
there’ll be 77 Dew’d Jews at the Wall.

77 Jews lose at the Wall.
77 Jews lose.
If on Jew, against all odds, wins after all,
there’ll be 76 Jews who lose at the Wall.

76 Jews plant yews at the Wall.
76 Jews plant yews.
If one Jew plants pin oaks instead – all too tall --
there’ll be 75 sapling yews at the Wall.

75 Jews bring Siouxs to the Wall.
75 Jews bring Siouxs.
If one chants, “Chief Smoke won’t, though maybe his squaw’ll,”
there’ll be 74 Jews with Siouxs at the Wall.

74 Jews tame shrews at the Wall.
74 Jews tame shrews.
If Shakespeare’s King John one would then overhaul,
there’ll be 73 Jew-tamed shrews at the Wall.

73 Hebrews snooze at the Wall.
73 Hebrews snooze.
If one, wakened rudely, commences to bawl,
there’ll be 72 Jews a-snooze at the Wall.

72 Jews cook stews at the Wall.
72 Jews cook stews.
If one adds not Riesling but grain alcohol,
there’ll be 71 stewed Jews strewn ‘round the Wall.

71 Jews hear “Nu?”s at the Wall.
71 Jews hear “Nu?”s
If one suspects Yiddish expressions appall,
there’ll be 70 Jews hearing “Nu?”s at the Wall.

70 Jews defame Druze at the Wall.
70 Jews defame Druze.
If one Jew acknowledges, “That’s a foul ball,”
there’ll be 69 Jews dissing Druze at the Wall.

69 Jews spit their chews on the Wall.
69 Jews spitting chews.
If one says, “My Beechnut to spew I refuse,”
there’ll be 68 Jews spewing chews at the Wall.

68 Jews faking news at the Wall
68 Jews faking news.
If one of them says, “You can’t fight city hall,”
67 fake news Jews there’ll be at the Wall.

60-pus-7 Jews sue near the Wall.
60-plus-7 Jews sue.
If one Jew then settles (“I hate the long haul”),
there’ll be 66 Jews with disputes near the Wall.

66 Jews treading sloughs near the Wall.
66 Jews treading sloughs.
If one Jew goes down but continues to crawl,
there’ll be 65 Jews treading sloughs near the Wall.

65 Jews comb their dos at the Wall.
65 Jews comb their dos.
If one of them opts for a synthetic fall,
there’ll be 64 Jews combing dos at the Wall.

64 Jews catch bird flus at the Wall.
64 Jews catching flus.
If one tries a vaccine with corn ethanol,
there’ll be 63 Jews still with flus at the Wall.

63 Jews sniffing glues at the Wall.
63 Jews sniffing glues.
If one combines Elmer’s with parasite gall,
there’ll be 62 Jews sniffing glues at the Wall.

62 Jews spray paint hues on the Wall.
62 Jews spray paint hues.
If one covers all with a Gainsboro pall,
there’ll be 61 Jews spraying hues on the Wall.

61 Jews hail their muse at the Wall.
61 Jews hail their muse.
If one of those muses refuses the call,
there’ll be 60-some muses of Jews at the Wall.

60-some Jews construct pews at the Wall
60-some Jews construct pews.
If one of those Jews hollers, “Prie-dieux for all!”
there’ll be 59 Jews building pews at the Wall.

59 Juif cordon-bleus at the Wall.
59 Juif cordon-bleus.
If one introduces cuisine from Nepal,
there’ll be 58 Juif cordon-bleus at the Wall.

58 Jews mouthing ‘mu’s at the Wall.
58 Jews mouthing ‘mu’s.
If one mouths a ‘nu’ instead (what a miscall!),
there’ll be 50 plus 7 mouth'd ‘mu’s at the Wall.

50-plus-7 Jews coo towards the Wall.
50-pus-7 Jews coo.
If one of those Jews grabs a last curtain-call,
there’ll be 56 Jews cooing “ooh!”s at the Wall.

56 Jews courting Sues at the Wall.
56 Jews courting Sues.
If one of those Jews cries, “Suzanne: you’re too small!”
there’ll be 55 Jews courting Sues at the Wall.

55 Jews speaking Wu at the Wall.
55 Jews speaking Wu.
If one of them says, “This is not Montreal!”
there’ll be 54 Jews speaking Wu at the Wall.

54 Hebrews called Saul scale the Wall.
54 Hebrews called Saul.
If one of ‘em changes his name to RuPaul,
there’ll be 53 Hebrews called Saul on the Wall.

53 Jews roses strew near the Wall.
53 Jews roses strew.
If one of those Jews decides daisies enthrall,
there’ll be 52 Jews left to strew near the Wall.

52 Jews cry, “J’accuse!” at the Wall.
52 Jews cry, “J’accuse!”
If one gets the picture: “We're not in Bhopal,”
there’ll be 51 cries of “J’accuse!” at the Wall.

51 Jews sweeping flues near the Wall.
51 Jews sweeping flues.
If one plans a new Franklin stove to install,
there’ll be 50 sweeps – Jews -- cleaning flues near the Wall.

50 Jews sneezing "A-choo!"s at the Wall.
50 Jews sneezing "A-choo!"s.
If each of the 50 takes Nytol withal,
there'll be no Jews to sneeze at the Al-Buraq Wall. 

Breaking Weather News: Derecho Developing in Great Plains

D is for Derechos,

squalls whose palls give sheiks the shakes.
Like trains – huge trains, not HOs – 
they schlepp windshears in their wakes.
To flee, as Holden* chose, 
wind-wary folk do all it takes:
they pull up stakes, 
release their brakes,
then run like hell, for heaven's sakes!
     * Salinger's Holden Caulfield

"Some days my minde plays tricks on me..." Vu and Other Dejas: A Constrained Alphabet

Some days my mind plays tricks on me.

Such stuff seems nothing new.
Your mind plays tricks on you as well.
It's labeled déjà vu.

Like when 'twould seem, as in a dream,
I’ve bid “Bis bald!” to you
not once or twice but thrice times thrice:
I’m having dej’ adieu.

Or, as when craving late-night nosh –
Dovedale at ten till two -- 
I chew, encore, that goo once more:
I’m having deja bleu.

Whence ousts of Oman’s oligarchs,
pols' purges in Peru?
Occurred these turdes de force before?
Hooray for deja coup.

I reckon second song lines 
from a second kangaroo
should sound…well. sound. They’re, I’ll be bound,
my deja didg’ridoo. 

One rhyme sings, “Mary had a lamb.”
One claims she’s had a few.
That rhymer must imagine Mary's
having deja ewe. 

My forehead’s hot. The runs have got
me running to the loo.
I retch. And then I retch again.
I’m having deja flu. 

More wildebeests? (Oh, well: at least
it’s not more caribou.)
Their name is Boer. They’re back once more:
I’m having deja gnu.

Here’s Hef. There’s Laurie.
Not to worry: Masekela, too,
twice viewed with Grant. Twin sightings can’t 
be less than deja Hugh. 

I’ve never lent ye. Borrowed? Plenty. 
One loan’s wa-a-a-ay past due.
I own I’ve owed an ample load.
It’s deja I.O.U. 

These games I’ve played before: today’d
be not my grande debut.
I’ve jumped. I’ve soared. I’ve shot. I’ve scored.
I’m having deja jeux.

This scene repeats: I’ve seen these sheets,
these kindled crosses, too.
Supremacy? Hyperbole:
I’m having deja Ku.

Again: green stalls. Graffiti’d walls.
Green urinals. Green poo.
Familiar Gents, with sim’lar scents.
I’m having deja loo.

Like Burgess, G., I fail to see 
plum cows. (My bovines? Blue.)
But, were I to, I’d croon, “So, nu?
What’s this? More deja moo?” 

I’m kibitzing. I’m chalisching.
And, although not a Jew,
I’ve felt like “thisht” before: farmisht.
Oy vay! ‘Tis deja! Nu?

I’ve mourned in morning rooms before,
each gilt – bronzed through and through.
Like Paris ebenistes, I’m having
deja ormolu.

They – Eeyore, Piglet, Rabbit, Owl –
with me and Baby Roo,
stroll Hundred Aker Wood once more.
I’m having deja Pooh.

I’ve lined up. But…in line for what?
Cheap tickets for The Who?
Why can’t I, then, ken where or when?
Do I have deja queue?

I stand before my stove once more --
su chef, Le Cordon Bleu, 
don toque (my hat), whisk flour in fat.
I’m having deja roux.

Again I pull a Sitting Bull.
Why so? I’ve got no clue.
Still, I’ll not gripe, “With you’s the pipe”
when having deja Sioux.

Revisiting the jet set, as
from time to time I do, 
I roast great hosts of global ghosts.
Do I have deja Tru?

I live a lie. Then, by and by,
reliving it anew,
I start to see. What’s dawned on me?
That I have dej’ untrue.

As if on hajj, I roam the Raj,
like Fogg and Passepartout.
That tang? Again? I’m having, then,
more deja vindaloo.

Once more, these scents. Such redolence:
is something on my shoe?
They come, these smells, from fragrance hells.
I’m having deja “whew!” 

I’ve chanced upon these domes of Khan
more times than Earhart flew. 
They never cloy. I so-o-o-o enjoy
each deja Xanadu.

As encore, I’ll quick march a mile
ensconced in your left shoe.
No diff’rence be ‘twixt thee and me:
I’m having deja you.

I can’t ignore what’s seen before –
a ewe, a gnu, a shrew.
Wild things times ten, seen o’er again:
I’m having deja zoo.

And so it goes. As I disclose
to you one final vu
to end one verse, I start rehears-
als. Coming's Deja Two.

"Todaey's the 31st of Maey..." Paean on the Last Daey of Maey

Todaey's the 31st of Maey 
and, just like aeny daey this Maey,
Maey's raeinin' clouds weaer shrouds of claey.

Maey's ocean waeves weaer crowns of spraey
in shaedes of whey, Maey's waey to saey
that Maey remains, clean through todaey, 

a month gone graey -- so very graey
that every single sound of /ay/
Maey's spelt with e-augmented a.

"Curly, Moe, Larry, shemp..." Doin' the Mortal Coil Shuffle: A Constrained Necrologue

Curly, Moe, Larry, Shemp: each devolv'd to room temp.
The cartoonist Thom Nast wound up breathing his last.
Colin’s granddaddy Firth has departed this earth.
When shall you and/or me shuffle off this m. c.?

Codicologist Morse rides – behold! – a pale horse. 

Culture icon Joan Quarm, late last year, bought the farm. 
Mogul Friedrich (“Fritz”) Krupp found his number was up.
When shall you and/or me shuffle off this m. c.?

Mr. John Albert Macy’s now pushing up daisies.
One Solomon Phipps fin’lly cash'd in his chips.
My mate Morrison Waite simply slid off the plate. 
When shall you and/or me shuffle off this m. c.?

All (or most) of the Bysshes now sleep with the fishes. 
St. Christopher Wade? Made to drink the Kool aid.
Herr Hermanus van’t Hoff slowly exited off.
When shall you and/or me shuffle off this m. c.?

Rudi (jazz critic) Blesh went the way of all flesh. 
Ms. Elizabeth Baker en fin met her maker.
Li’l Abner’s Al Capp took that final dirt nap.
When shall you and/or me shuffle off this m. c.?

Couple Carl and Blanche Jost, grinning, gave up the ghost.
Poet Julia Ward Howe waved, then took her last bow.
Joseph Smith and his wives? All of them lost their lives.
When shall you and/or me shuffle off this m. c.?

Far-right-winger John Birch leaned, then fell off his perch.
Charles Caldwell McCabe? In the bosom of Abe. 
Both men -- E. and K Wynn (pop and son) -- packed it in.
When shall you and/or me shuffle off this m. c.?

Rufus, Tom and John Choates all donned pine overcoats.
Kicked the bucket did Boggs: J. S. G. popped his clogs.
Even Prosp Merimee, in the end, passed away.
When shall you and/or me shuffle off this m. c.?

"My belief in my Awl..." My Mistrusted Menagerie: A Nonsense in Meters and Dubious Rhymes

Faith in my Awl remains awlfully smawl.
What I know of my Brylle is, essentially, nylle.
Apropos my Clampoo, I possess not a cloo.
R&D on my Droone? Discontinued last Joone.
As concerning my Erd I've heard nary a werd.
Tests performed on my Flopt? Ex officio stopt.
Should I shelter a Glannz? Though I could, I've no plannz.
Once endangered, my Hyst now’s been scratched from that lyst.
My poor Ilk lost its hair. (Truth be known, I don't cair.)
I once pooh-pooh’d my Jeng. Then the Fat Lady seng.
My poor Kloyl died of AIDS: we were playing charaids.
How my Lhugee makes do? It ingests its own po.
Asked to care for a Mhanx, I said, “Thanx but no thanx.”
So: how cool is my Nyuk? One part goose, two parts dyuk.
Some might visit my Ohng, but they don’t tarry lhong.
Time reported my Phryfe lives in fear for its lyfe.
Have you seen my Qabazz? Fret not: nobody hazz.
All those blogs re my Rolld? Evidently on holld.
The whole life of my Schtakt fills just one tiny trakt.
What’s the knack of my Tyghte? Just to hide in plain syghte.
Ugh! The last living Uew died in tuew thousand tuew..
Yes, my Vardavalette's an impossible pette.
All my Wargs went extinct. (To the auk they’ve been linct.)
No, my Xanthano can't catch the Gingerbread Mant.
First, my Yergaroo pair mated. Now they’re not thair.
I know that my Zuzzent would love to…but duzzen’t.

My Fair Mary: A Nonsense Fam'ly Crambo

A fair maid is Mary. Her surname's duBarry. 
Her tipple's dry sherry. Her mood? Quite contrary. 
She’s heedless, is Mary. Of Mary I’m wary.
She’s careless. She’s airy. Of Mary I’m chary.

She's vowed not to marry – a vow I’d not parry. 
Her dad's Captain Larry. He pilots a ferry.
Her mom, nee Glengarry, milks bears in a dairy. 
Her brother's called Terry. Some swear he's a fairy.

Her sister's name's Jeri. Jer’s fair-hair'd -- and hairy. 
Her great-uncle Gary’s the clan’s cash-‘n’-carry
comptroller in Gary. Her aunt shares an aerie –
no hawks, one canary -- with Marion Barry. 

Monotonous? Very! (Rejoice! I’ll not tarry.)

I'm (Like) Ma Vlast: A Constrained Rhyme

My country, right or wrong! 
My brewskis? Lite or strong! 
My Potus? Dwight or Long! * I'm (like) 
my country, right or wrong! 
     * Ike achieved; Huey aspired. 

My skivvies? Tights or thong! 
My show? "Tonight" or "Gong"! 
My game? "Dogfight" or "Pong"! I'm (like) 
my country, right or wrong!

My island? Wight or Long!* 
My meerschaum? White or bong! 
My "ciao"? "'Goodnight" or "S'long"! I'm (like) 
my country, right or wrong!
     * The Isle of Wight or Long Island

My pet? Kite or dugong! 
My hairstyle? Fright or long! 
My Hong? "Trade site"* or Kong! I'm (like) 
my country, right or wrong!
      * 'Hong' is Chinese for foreign 
commercial establishment.    

My bird? In-flight or song-! 
My throng? Slight or "humong-"! 
My fate? Shite or "Go 'long!" I'm (like) 
my country, right or wrong!

My sex ed? Hite or Jong!* 
My -geist?** Zeit- or "ding-dong"!
My cuntwee? Wite or wong! I'm (like) 
my country, right or wrong!
     * Shere or Erica   ** German for 
characteristic spirit ('Zeit' means time).  

Mute Court or Upending Amendments: the Four Freedoms: A Constrained Rhyme

The Kremlin he’s lootin’: that’s Vladimir Putin.
He’s point guards recruitin’: that’s Coach Morgan Wootten.
At Putin we're hootin.' For Morgan we're rootin.'
But freedom of speech Donald's courts ain't salutin.' 

His horn he’s self-tootin’: that's Grigor' Rasputin.
When movies not shootin,’ Dors* draws drafts in Luton.
For Dors we are rootin’; at Grigor' we’re hootin,'
But freedom of worship down "christians" are shootin.'
     * UK film star Diana Dors occasionally worked as a publican.

Past second he’s scootin’: that's Mil-town's** Bill Bruton.
With Leibniz disputin’ be piss'd Isaac Newton.
For Bruton we're rootin'; at Newton we're hootin.'
But freedom from want Don's colluders ain't mootin.'
     ** Milwaukee -- specifically the Milwaukee Braves baseball team.

His mummified suit in lies ol’ -khamun, Tutan-.
A tad highfalutin’? That’s -- mispronounced! -- Grooton.***
At Grooton we're hootin’; for Tutan- we’re rootin.'
But freedom from fear all Don's bruitin's are mutin.'
     *** Here of necessity not pronounced as it properly is, i.e., 'grahtin.'

M*me's the Word: A Constrained Nonsense Rhyme

‘Mame’’s the word for Mrs. Burnside.

Patrick* calls her Auntie Mame.
She savors savants; snobs she spurns. I’d
label ‘Mame’ another meme.

     * Patrick Dennis, author of Auntie Mame.

‘Meme’’s the word for ‘culture force.’
Pure Dawkins, dreaming up a name
for surd, gefelte fish, wild horse.
This meme’s immense, the mother meme.

‘Mime’’s the word for imitate. 
Stan Laurel played the apeing game
with Ollie, first in silent state.
This ‘mime’’s a slapstick brother meme.

‘Mome’’s the word for ‘lost one’s way.’
The Rev’rend Carroll’s most to blame.
“Do mome raths grabe?” one asks today.
This ‘mome’s’ a “had his druther” meme.

‘Mume’* (not ‘mum’’s) my word. I coined
it Friday last. It’s been my dream
to, lest its usage be enjoined,
pinch hit for ev’ry other meme,
to focus, like a laser beam,
my “other-memes-to-smother” meme,
my “memes can go no 'futher'” meme.
(I hope ‘mume’ grows and picks up steam.)

     * Pronounced “myum” and not to be confused
with ‘mu-ME,’ a species of Japanese apricot.

A Month of Maddays: A Constrained Nonsense Calendar

May is a mad, mad, mad, mad Mental Health Month. 
Below is my abecedarial daytimer.

On Madday the first, lad Mad Anthony Wayne 
moues, “I’m mad…about you!” (I fear Tony’s insane.)
Later on that same day, I hear Madame Toussaud: 
“I’m as mad as hell…and I’ll not take it no mo’.”

On the second, “Mad Bomber” Metesky's on tap.
(Mr. M’s mad ball ops demand decades to scrap.)
On Madday the third, madcap devil-my-care
playboy Reggie Van Gleason falls by – avis rare!

On Madday the fourth, tales of mad cow disease
relates "Rad Rachel" Maddow, doyenne of TVs.
Though supportive of MADD, she downs cocktails with ease
ev'ry Madday night -- sev’ral. (I'd best hide her keys.)   

On Madday the fifth, I remember things past,
such as Proust and his madeleines -- weren’t those a blast?
Whistling “Paddlin’ Madeline Home” I row fast. 
(My raft's made in Japan, so I fear it won't last.)

On the sixth day, a mad friend of mine, one who's queueing
before the Mad Fox Brew’ry door, coos, “What’s brewing?
My palate needs fresh’ning. My throat? 'Tis bone-dry:
thus I’m mad for your barleywine. Poured's a pint nigh? 

Or mad fruit (whiskey raisins), mad figs (fresh from roasting),
mad French macaroons… (Such mad flavors you’re posting!)
So, well you might ask: why'm I not on their tour? 
For the nonce, this mad fool has been taking the cure.)

On Madday the seventh…

(A work in progress)

"Mada" Hari  Madagascar 
Madchen in Uniform 
Mad Dog Mattis 
Madge
madhi  Mad Hatter
Madison 
Mad Jack
Rabee al-Madkhali  Mad King
Mad Libs  Mad Ludwig
Mad Max  Mad Men  mad money  Mad Magazine
madness
Madonna
Mad P
Mad Q
Mad River  Madras
Mad Science
Mad TV  Mad Tea Party
"Mad"usa
Mad v
Mad (Mad, Mad, Mad) World (It's A)
Mad X
Mad Y
Mad Z