Don't Stalk! or The Second-to-Last Resort

If door-bust deal you hope to steal,
best practice: Run...don't walk! 
If neighbor's gate you'd "decorate,"
spray aerosols...don't chalk!
If names you'd slur which end in '-ner,'
shout ‘Hef’! Shout ‘Shat’! Don't ‘Faulk’! 
If Don the Drumpf you wish to dump,
just vote him out! (Don't stalk!) 

To batters who you'd shout "Skiddoo!"
just pitch the ball...don't balk!
If Tonys you would peer review,
vet Blair! Quiz Quinn...don’t “Hawk”!
If Donald's fro you'd overthrow,
to do it, bro, don't talk!
In short, if Drumpt you'd really dump,
just vote him out. (Don't stalk!)

Annus Terribilis or 2017: His First Year in Office

Spawn’d down some dank
Janitorial drain,
embolden’d by bogeymen
Febrile and jumpy,
besmirch’d by the
Marks of the murderer Cain, 
he howls to who'll hear:
"Apres moi, l'Oncle Grumpy."* 
Fowl fluids -- bilge,
Mayonnaise -- flow from twinn’d heads.
To Darwinian laws of the
Jungle he hews
as opponents he
Juliennes, minces 'n' shreds.
His ascendency
Augurs an age of fake news.
It’s severe civil
Sepsis I'm worried about.
Still, should dirges in
Octaves be suffer’d to swell...?
Wa-a-a-a-ay too late for
Novenas; our time's running out:
Ple-e-e-ease! Abort this in-
Decent descent into hell.
     * Though the identity of l’Oncle Grumpy 
remains a mystery, VP Mike Pence seems
the likeliest candidate to assume it.

Five Ws & an H

     “Who do
you few eschew,” muses
Brian Boru. “
     Can one
pander to Gandhi, not
Pandit Nehru…?”

   “What a
slut…so much smut! Nut case --
open-and-shut,” 
     ‘tut!’s Judge
Jeff to Judge Mutt. “But...she
sure does strut, what!”

   “When zen'd
men again pen 'em like
Jean La Fontaine's,” 
     ventures
Alfred Lord Tenn-, “...then I'll 
tender ‘Amen!’s”

     “Where-so-
e’er, fair-haired br’er,” declares
Robespierre,” 
     we dare
bare les derr'erres, we’ll peel
‘ready-to-wear’!”

     “Why de-
cry my dry eye…?” sighs a
fly Buddy Guy, 
     when men
libel his tie. “No vox
populi, I.”

     “How’ll I
“Ciao!” Kung Pao Cow…?” howls a
foul Chairman Mao 
     as a
scowl prowls his brow and he
zips down his trou-. 
     "What al-
lows the Great Tao: a kow-
tow…? Or a bow, 
     now I’ve
left it to Beaver…? What
ails Tony Dow…?”

Who Shat on Whom? Or, Does the Exception Always Prove the Stool?

Little Miss Mufti…? She shat on Ed Tufte.
Little Jack Horace…? He shat on Chuck Norris.
Little Brass Ambo...? He shat on John Rambo.
Little Blow Peep...? On Uriah -- young Heep.
Brave Little Toot shat on George Frederick Root.
Grave Little Nell shat on Patti LaBelle.
Mary's contrary: she shat on Rick Perry. 
But fat Mrs. Spratt gave no shit where she shat.

Capsule Comments Made by an ABC's Worth of Individuals One Microsecond After Their Respective Deaths

A-a-ack! Satan’s grim! 
Who'd dance with him…?     

But, now I'm here. 
E-bay my bier! 

Curse the dark 'n' 
Philip Larkin.

Di- (I fear I 
see) -es irae.

Enough's enough!
(Putsch came to “shuff-.”*)
     * As in “...-le off this 
mortal coil.”

Fault's my own.
I shoulda known.

God's call'd Bel.
(She's black as well.)

Though out I'd opt,
he* kindly stopp’d.
     * Cf. Emily 
Dickenson’s #479. 

I died. You lied.
(Ironicide…?)

Jus' like I tol' ya:
no magnolia.

Kiss good-bye yer
ass, young Squire!

Less is more…?
A metaphor.

Memento mori.
(No one’s sorry.)

No sound; no sight;
no shit: "Good" night*?
      * As in Thomas’s
“Do not go gentle…”

Off blocks, my chips.
Apocalypse!

Pride had shit
to do with it.

Quick or dead,
this ain't my bed. 

"Ripley said..."?
(But Ripley’s dead.) 

Suspend the search!
Arrivederch!

To be…? I'd not.
So: off the pot.*
     * As in “shit 
or get…”

Upside...? None.
No mon-, no fun. 

Very, very
"Alighieri." 

What the hell...?
I'd been so well. 

X times three...?
I can't agree. 

Yes, it's hot,
though dry it's not. 

Zen di'n't work.
I've been a jerk! 

Whose? Or, Nonsense for a Snowy Evening

Here's Robert Frost ‘neath snowy trees:
“Whose woods these are I think I know…”
Beers -- Belgian ales -- go well with cheese:
“Whose worts…? These are (I think) Hainault’s.”
Aleppo’s ethnic music stores:
“Whose ouds these are I’d plink, not blow.”
Through Bible thumpers' closet doors:
“Whose goods art these…? Thy pink I'd throw.”

Some metal crosses grace our town:
“Whose roods are these…? They’re zinc, yet glow.”
From brothers beige and black and brown:
“Whose ‘hoods be deese…? Dey stink, ma bro!”
From telling tales, Milne rarely rests:
“Roo’s moods bizarre my shrink I’ll show.”
Some Brits engage in kitchen tests:
“Whose pudds, these…? Dare I lick the bowl…?”

Gone’s Sigmund’s objectivity:
“Whose moods, these…? Arch! Ein kinky, no...?”
French days wax warm. Who’s thirsty…? Me”
“Whose food bar, this…? I’d drink iced eau.
This scribe for colored pencils fights:
“Whose words are these…? Their ink’s de trop.”
Ms. Martha from Mount Vernon writes:
“Whose wooden teeth…? A. Lincoln’s…? No!”

Though blue’s not bad, I’m not a fan:
“Whose woads are these…? (Like [wink] nice, though.)”
Zamboni eyes a backup plan:
"Would kudzu freeze ice rinks…? Why, no.” 
Some apiarists can be mean: 
"How'd you harm bees...? I'd pink eye sow."
Was Tiger in the pro shop seen...?
"Those Woods par threes I think I'd blow."

Privyet, Proshchay!

Who'll swamp with hate our ship of state?
The Putin puppet Don'll.
"I'll now be Czar.* Who'll crown me? Barr... 
and Moscow Mitch McConnell."
     * Bizarre indeed.

A Bralphabet

The bimbo array’d in an Abracadab Bra 
shall school as a sorc’ress and saw folks in half.
The bimbo display’d in a My Name Is Bar Bra 
shall feign funny ladies and fetch folks a laugh. 

Gals knockin’ 'em dead in an Indian Co Bra 
shall bob from a basket to blues blown on flutes.
Gals makin’ their bed in a Sixth of Decem Bra
weds elves name of Nick dress’d in cherry-red suits. 

When Cavan colleens wear an Erin-Go Bra,
they shall swing a shellelagh and savor their stout. 
When actresses preen in their Fortin Bras…? Hah! 
She'll ne’er yield till she fathoms what Hamlet's about. 

Who suits up in BraGgarts but elsewise runs nude 
shall be labell’d "Ms. Show Me" – nor never "Ms. Prude."
Who snoots, "I’ll sashay in my J. Edgar Hooters” 
shall never lack confidence. (Nor, indeed, suitors.) 

Who tries on a BraIlle shall prove tres touchy-feely. 
What "walking's" requir'd her friends' fingers can do.
Who ties on a JaBrawock’s crazy…no, really!
(Who puts on a Jugg Band's meshugganah, too.)   

Who dons a Khalil Gi Bra (not her hijab)…? 
She’ll pass through a dim psychological haze.
Who puts on a 34D LiBrarace...?
She’ll fascinate women and men, straights and gays.  

Who wears a Bra Mitzva (such women don’t have to be
Jewish) shall move from NY to LA.
Who effects a NeBraska shall move to Grand Island
and work as a cornhusker’s flunky. (Oy, vay!) 

Sue wears "Ob-la-di Ob-la-da Life Goes On Bras.
There's no way such gals shall not sing with the band.
Who wears a Penum Bra, though, plays second fiddle.
Her lights under bushels she’ll keep well in hand.

Who wears a George BraQue shall appreciate cubism,
although orbiculism prefer.
Who wears a Bra Rabbit shall toil as a Bunny
in Hugh’s Playboy mansion -- Hef’s Hutch, as it were.

Who wears the Bra Sband to a different drummer
must march, doin’ diddles and ratamacues.
Who dares wear a Bra Twurst (especi’lly in summer)
must parch…or sweat puddles of Mulligan Stews.

The Fräulein who’s view’d in a rude U Bra Alles
shall bring to mind Herr Hitler’s Mädchen Ms. BraUn.
The Fräulein who’s nude is unclued. Her Bra Vissimo’s
closeted as she parades around town.

Who’d strut in a Bra Nee, although she seems scrawny,
shall shout, “’Tis a Bra(w)ny I’m harness’d in here.”
The slut in a BraXton shouts, “Some John climax’d on
my “gabradine” BraXton. ‘Tis ruined, I fear.”

The bimbo array’d in a Yogi Bra…? Fussy!
No Winnie the Pooh Bra. (No Polar Bra, either.)
The bimbo display’d in a bold Bra Zen Hussy…?
Risque! (Now…who craves a “bra”ndiloquent breather…?)  

G (Hommage Joseph Weber)

Gravity waves, gravity waves.
The zenith of Joseph's cosmogonal faves.
Joe's poised as each fresh set the Milky Way laves,
his cortices stirr'd by how spacetime behaves. 

Gravity waves, gravity waves.
Each new theory swells as an older one caves.
Joe's thought garners scorn; others' theories rates raves.
Still, the guy gains the gold who views Delphian braves.

Gravity waves, gravity waves.

Success festoons who the peculiar path paves,
who in Science's script the next paradigm graves. 
(Note: that nabs a Nobel which appearances saves.) 

Gravity waves, gravity waves...
(The thoughts herein...? Not necessarily Dave's.*)

     * Physicist and philosopher David Z. Albert

The Straight & the Gay -- Four Times Eight, H Thru A

Abe, as always, earns straight As.
Thus, Abraham’s rewarded.
Ashley…? Ash receives gay A’s.
His hash gets water-boarded.

Bubba’s straight bid proves successful.

Bub brings home the prize.
Bruce’s gay bid fails (though Bruce does
bring home sev’ral guys.)

Chuck’s in straighten’d circumstances.

Friends all lend a hand.
Cody’s circumstances…? Gay’d –
which get his sad hide cann’d.

Delivering the straight dope’s long been

Duke’s great claim to fame.
Daryl dishes gay dope. (‘Daryl’:
that’s a sissy’s name.)

Edward’s straight edge…? All Ed needs

for lines from A to B.
Etienne’s gay edge...? Essential
for his forays – well past Z.

Franklin’s straight flush beats your boat.

It beats my two pair, too.
Forrest’s gay flush loses –
and earns bruises in the loo.

Gordon rates Gibralter’s straits

“World’s Greatest Spot to Swim.”
Georgie dates Gibralter’s gays.
(What won’t they do to him!)

Herbert’s going straight to hell –

Unless he curbs his pique.
Hunter’s going gay to hell.
He’s packing as we speak.

Gamut Lichkeit

     From 
A to zed. From famish’d to fed.
     From the 
tip of my toe to the top of your head.
     From 
my ultravi'let to your infrared.
     From My 
Dinner With Andre to breakfast in bed.

     From 
bad to worse. From dogg'rel to verse.
     From 
Grisi (Carlotta) to Cunningham (Merce).
     From 
doctor to nurse. From pocket to purse.
     From Al-
gonquian Sioux to Sahaptian Nez Perce.

     From 
coast to coast. From pillar to post.
     From 
alla Romana to sardines on toast.
     From 
guest to host. From least to most.
     From 
Kilimanjaro to Ivory Coast.

     From 
door to door. From ship to shore.
     From 
"either" ('n' "and/or") to "neither" ('n' "nor").
     From 
"Less..." to "...is more." From in pieces to war.
     From 
"Thanks...but no thank you!" to "Si, si, Senor!"

     From 
east to west. From curs’d to blest.
     From 
nuclear family to empty nest.
     From 
worst to best. From thigh to breast.
     From 
serio-comic to genuine jest.

     From 
first to last. From future to past.
     From my 
flying jib boom to your main skysail mast.
     From 
slow to fast. From garrotted to gass’d.
     From 
your Cathy Wilcox to my Thomas Nast.

     From 
God to man. From pat to pan.
     From 
Jewish Defense League to Ku Klux Klan.
     From 
bottle to can. From albino to tan.
     From Cos-
tello and Abbott to Ollie and Stan.

     From 
head to tail. From rail to sail.
     From a 
slap on the wrist to a fortnight in gaol.
     From 
hammer to nail. From pass to fail.
     From 
Niag'ra Falls to the Sante Fe Trail.

     From 
inside out. From nort' to sout'.
     From 
seven bean salad to knockwurst ‘n’ kraut.
     From 
flood to drought. From pilsner to stout.
     From 
"Come up 'n' see me!" to "Go on...get out!"

     From 
jazz to pop. From pop to op-.
     From 
get-go to stop. From bottom to top.
       From 
robber to cop. From ragtime to bop.
     From 
underachieving to over-the-top.

       From 
Kings to plebes. From idols to dweebs.
     From 
valets de chambres to burra sahibs. 
     From 
griffins to grebes. From goyim to Hebes.
     From 
400 Spartans to Seven 'gainst Thebes.

     From 
low to high. From "Howdy!" to "Bye!"
     From De-
cember the Seventh to Fourth of July.
     From 
wet to dry. From "True!" to "You lie!"
     From a 
bird in the hand to a pie in the sky.

     From 
Maine to Cal. From Falstaff to Hal.
     From 
woman of virtue to femme fatale. 
     From 
capriccioso to pastorale.
     From the 
New York Trade Center to Guadalcanal.

     From 
now to then. From women to men.
     From 
Barbi to Ken. From the sword to the pen.
     From 
zero to ten. From Glenda to Glen.
     From 
Rodeo Drive to the five-'n'-ten.

     From 
old to new. "From Santa to you."
     From 
Steinway piano to didgeridoo.
     From 
red to blue. From "Don't!" to "I do."
     From The 
Last King of Scotland to Brian Boru.

     From 
Pole to pole. From codex to (sc)roll.
     From 
body to soul. From the part to the whole.
     From 
Irving to Cole. From the tee to the hole.
     From 
Franz Joseph Land to the Costa del Sol.

     From the 
quick to the dead. From the leech’d to the bled.
     From 
Nike to Ked. From "too" to "instead."
     From 
single to wed. From Desi to Fred.
     From 
My Blue Heaven to fire engine red.

     From 
right to left. From awkward to deft.
     From 
lightness to heft. From Mutted to Jeff'd.
       From
organized crime to white-collar theft.
     From 
Marlene Dietrich'd to Hildegard Neff'd.

     From 
Stern to stem. From l'homme to femme.
     From 
en to em. From Japeth to Shem.
     From 
probe to LEM. From choler to phlegm.
     From 
pauvre diable to creme de la creme.

     From 
treasure to trash. From Zarkov to Flash.
     From 
credit to cash. From bangers to mash.
     From Hun-
garian Goulash to heavenly hash.
     From your 
Ma's army boots to your Father's mustache.

     From 
us to them. From acquit to condemn.
     From 
Rep to Dem. From fix’d to pro tem. 
     From 
term'nus a quo to term'nus ad quem. 
     From
 breech-loading musket to ICBM.

     From 
vale to hill. From hale to ill.
     From 
ballpoint to quill. From parsley to dill.
     From 
all to nil. From lung to gill.
     From 
Eleanor's Franklin to Hillary's Bill.

     From 
win to lose. From seltzer to booze.
     From 
running amok to a march two-by-twos.
     From 
"Born Again Christian" to "Right To Choose."
     From the 
Queen of the Spades to the King of the Jews.

     From 
Xs to Os. From sucks to blows.
     From 
allies to foes. From buttons to bows.
     From 
comes to goes. From virgins to 'ho's.
     From 
where babies come from to God only knows!

     From 
yin to yang. From syntactic to slang.
     From 
guttural utt'rance to nasally twang.
     From 
Phyllis to Fang. From fresh-squeez’d to Tang.
     From 
sev'ral elipses (...) to interobang (!)

     From 
zag to zig. From little to big.
     From 
hippie to pig. From jeté to jig.
     From 
Tory to Whig. From raisin to fig.
     From 
someone specific to thingamajig.