A 'Sampler' Sampler

Kid lit icon: Little Black Sampler. 
David Berkowitz: Son of Sampler.
Brynner...? Yul’s the King of Siampler. 
Ersatz meat in cans…? That’s Spampler.

Looney Tunes’ Yosemite Sampler. 
Who Wants You…? It's Uncle Sampler.

Dr. Seuss’s Sampler-I-Ampler. 
Trojan malware virus…? Scampler.

Film Director Elia Kazampler.
Captain Marvel's now Shazampler.

Bin Laden Terrorist Osampler. 
60s Rocker Sampler the Shampler.

Golfing’s Sneed: that’s Slammin’ Sampler. 
Butterfly was Cio-cio-sanpler.

Rumpole’s scapegoat: Soapy Sampler. 
Is that the time…? I gotta scrampler.

Is This The GOP Senator From Idaho?

Jim E. De Ranty!
He can’t be shush’d, can he…?
Because, as does Dante,
perverse vigilante,
Jim views the world slanty
while, like some bacchante
well-oiled on Chianti,
he pads through his shanty
(Where…? Not Ypsilanti.)
lamenting, in chanty,
1, fortunes too scanty
(like those of Tom Canty),
2, gigs penny-ante
(like Armand Asante)
3, (laws non obstante)
all obstacles anti.
Jim has to recant (he
is too Corybanty,
too Oscar Levanty,
so rarely Hugh Granty)
before, like Mame (Aunty),
he sheds bra and pantie
and, gone gallavanty,
mounts one final rant:
“Ee-ee-ee-ee-ee-ee-ee-eeee…!”

Seven Exquisite Corpses

The Prelude 

If 'e's were 'i's, 
would not 'exquisite corpse' 
be 'ixquisiti corpsi'...?
*Thus time warps.)

The Verses 

‘Hex’ (cute Pennsy-Dutch decor)...plus
‘Wiz’ (Oz oligarch of yore)...plus
‘seat’ (top spot when butts get sore)...plus
‘corpse’ (god damn cadaver).

‘Hecht's’ (defunct department store)...plus
‘Whiz’ (an ersatz cheese you pour)...plus
‘It’ (part Bow,* part Addams lore**)...plus
‘corpse’ (yes, ma'am: cadaver).
     * Clara the It Girl  
     ** The Addams Family's cousin It.

‘Egg’ (what comes before the chick)...plus
‘squeeze’ (a baseball buntman's trick)...plus
‘"Sit!"’ (command to Spot or Mick)...plus
‘corpse’ (grand-slam: cadaver).*

‘Aix’ (-lemagne, Char-* knew it best)...plus
‘quiz’ (your small exam, your test)...plus
‘zit’ (prompts adolescent's jest)...plus
‘corpse’ (no scam: cadaver). 
     * I.e., Charlemagne’s Aachen 

‘Haig's’ (‘This stuff's all own’d by Al...’)...plus
‘Swiss’ (not unlike Emmenthal)...plus
‘hit’ (...but who could shoot a pal...?)...plus
‘corpse’ (lost lamb: cadaver).

‘Aches’ (first fruits of one's malaise)...plus
‘oui!’ (like 'si!' but en Francaise)...plus
‘Sid’ (from TV's golden days*)...plus
‘corpse’ (Shazam! cadaver). 
     * Caesar (the comic not the emperor)

‘X’ (Abu Kamil's* unknown)...plus
‘wheeze’ (how labor’d breathing's shown)...plus
‘zed’ (the final letter sown)...plus
‘corpse’ (Go! Scram, cadaver!) 
     * One of the many Arabic algebr'ists

The Coda 

So: what is all this..? Mere palaver.
Though exquisite, you can have 'er.
Just a visit from Breton
(the Dada Wiz...?) You'd best move on.

Sheep in Three Colors

Do you remember this pair of Republican rams 
and one ewe from back when the GOP was still 
the GOP?

     Herman Cain 

Blah, blah, Black Sheep: 
when'd you shed your wool...?
Years ago...? Back then, my bro, 
you still laid low at school.
Or did you wait to clean your pate 
till post your pizza thing...?
Or do you bald once fondling's call'd...? 
['Hair'assment's so-o-o right-wing.]

     Rick Perry

Oops! Oops! Orange Sheep: 
use your finger rule:
One...? That's Commerce. Two...? That's Ed. 
Now, three... [Debates are cruel.]
So, whatcha call that camp you own...? 
(Its name’s the racial slur.) 
Say, "African-Amer'can-Head"...? 
Would "Black-Head" you prefer…?

     Michele Bachmann

Yadda, yadda...Yellow sheep: 
your husband's someone's fool.
Claims gays be Huns, "barbariuns": 
he'd drag 'em through his "school."
Is his a school for scandal...? 
Sure it is, if Marc proves gay.
(And, based on YouTube videos, 
the guy's well on his way.)

My Band-Box Bed Back Home

     I’ve access’d
air springs and adjustables, berths,
bunk beds, box springs, too.

     Black’d out in

bassinets, chaise longues, cots, cradles,
Chesterfields (a few).

     I’ve dozed on

davenports, divans, duvets, on
daybeds trimm’d in chrome.

     And still the

best bed ever slept in’s been my
band-box bed back home.

     I’ve taken

ease on ebeds, eastern kings, fulls,
futons, four four posters.

     Gouch’d on

gurneys, The Great Bed of Ware (who
claims they’ve done be boasters).

     Hibe’d in  

hot racks, hammocks, hideaways – one
hassock fill’d with foam.

     And still the

best bed ever slept in’s been my
band-box bed back home.

     I’ve hid in

infant cribs, inflatables. I
once jump’d on a junior. (!)

     Knelt on

kinderbeds, kips, Kang bed-stoves (than
which no beds be loonier).

     Loung’d on

lecti geniales (trundles
once the rage in Rome). 

     And still the

best bed ever slept in’s been my
band-box bed back home.

     I’ve made up

Murphys, moon’d on manjaas, napp’d in 

nests and narcolits.

     Poop’d out on

orthopeds and ottomans…and
pallets (they’re the pits!).

     I’ve plopp’d on

platforms, palanquins and pillows – 

as has Jakob Broehme.

     And still the

best I’ve ever slept in’s been my
band box back home.

     Quiesced on

queens with quilts, on roll-aways, re-
lax’d on rope-strung racks.

     Sawn wood on

sofas, Sertas, Sealys. Stretch’d out 

some in sleeping sacks.

     Turned in on 

Therma-Rests, twins, upper berths, up-

holst’r’ds…with a gnome!

     And still the

best bed ever slept in’s been my 

band-box bed back home.

     I’ve valued

Vi-Springs and vibrating beds (I
melt ‘neath Magic Fingers).

     Waked on

water beds and Weevacs (déjà

vu of two still lingers).

     X through 

Z…? I’ve zoned in none, though web I’ve
surf’d and globe I’ve roam’d.

     And still the

best bed ever slept in’s been my
band-box bed back home.

Pick a Pair (But Not of Buds) or Hommages a Rivers: an ABV ABC & a Draft on Drafts

Today's post is a reboot from several years ago. Here's hoping it still rings true. (If you, constant reader, spot any inaccuracies, please don't hesitate to report them.)


A is for Aass Bock. Percent...? Six point five.
B is for Bush: 12%! (Sakes alive!)

C is for Celis Pale Bock: three point nine.
D is for Duvel: it's practically wine!

E is for Enville Ale: four point five...? Great!
F is for Frankenheim Alt: four point eight.

G is for Gaffel Kölsch: four point eight…nu?
H...? For HB Mai-Bock: seven point two!

I's for Iceni Four Grains: four point two.
J's Jeanne D'Arc Belzebuth: fifteen! (Who knew...?)

K is for Kneitinger Bock: six point O.
L's Lion Stout: eight point two. (Just say "Know!")

M's for Mac Queen's Nessie: seven point three.
N is for Newcastle: some prefer tea.

O's Oberdorfer Wiessbier: four point nine.
P's Pater Lieven Blond: six point five...? Fine.

Q is for Queen's Knickers: ABV...? Eight!
Rodenbach Grand Cru...? 'Tis four/eight...by weight.

Sam Adams Triple Bock...? Seventeen five!
(Beer geeks pour three or four; so few survive.)

T is for Tomintoul Stag: four point one.
(Tell me the truth: are we yet having fun...?)

Unibroue Quelque Chose...? Eight point oh: strong!
V's Vieux Temps: five point oh...unless I'm wrong.

Whitbread Gold Label...? It's ten...that, and more.
X is Xingu: less than five; more than four.

Y's for Young's Waggle Dance: five point O one.
Z's for Zambezi: That's lager! We're done. 




A is for Aass Bock. (Norwegian, no doubt.)

B is for Brooklyn – their Black Chocolate Stout.

C is for Cains, one "formidable" brew.
D is for Dock Street: they, too, brew Grand Cru.

E is for Everard's Daredevil Ale.
F is for Wassail. (Its full name's Full Sail.)

G is for Great Lakes – their Dortmunder Gold.
H is for Hellers Wiess – Kolschbier, we're told.

I's for Im Fuschen Alt. Hoppy...? Oh, my!
J is for Jever: their Pilsener's dry.

K is for Kostritzer Schwarzbier – it's black!
L is for Lion Stout, lacks not arrack.

M's for McMullen: their Castle Ale's pale.
N is for Newcastle's popular ale.

O is for Orval: don't serve it too cold.
P is for Portland's Mactarnahan's: gold!

Q is for Quail Springs' OK IPA.
R is for Rodenbach Grand Cru: hurray!

S is for Stoudt's Pils: it finishes dry.
T's Three Tuns Clerics Cure. (Three tuns...? But...why...?)

U is for Unibroue Quelque Chose (cherry).
V is for Vieux Temps. It's sherbety...very!

W's Wadi Brau Lady Hanf Weisse.
X is Xingu – few Brazilian brews nicer.

Y's for Young's Waggle Dance – brewed using honey.
Z's for Zhong Hua: has no tap here...? Not funny!

Sounds of the Season: a Preview

Xmastide! What fun to ride! 
Ye faithful hear 'adeste,'
while tots hear Nick shout 'Blitzen.' 
(No way’s Xmas second-best day!)
How sweet the sound of 'candy canes' 
eclipsing 'lic’rice whips,'
as 'dreidel,' although Jewish, 
slips (flips, drips) through Xian lips.
An 'elf'’s heard come December 
(far less frequently come June),
while 'French hen'’s sounded solely 
in that Partridge-Pear-Tree tune.

Is 'greensleeves' just an Xmas word…? 
Vaughn Williams never hinted.
Unheard is 'handbell' till 
the Xmas choral program’s printed.
An 'ivy'’s sung alongside 'holly.' 
Such a jolly pairing!
Nor’s 'jingle,' juxtaposed with 'bells,' 
held seasonally daring.
Noms Noël…? I’m hearing 'Kringle' 
even in the loo.
And 'lords a-leaping.' 
(Partridge-Pear-Tree-wise, we’re all all through.)

'Mistletoe,' unheard befo’e, 
runs wild midst mild Decembers.
'Nativity' trumps ev’ry child – 
September’s child, November’s…
Phrases feat’ring ‘O’s resound 
all ‘round our Xmas trees: “O Tannen-
baum...,” “O Little Town...,” “O Holy Night...” 
(I cite in threes).
'Poinsett’a' popcorns off the walls, 
and not just walls of florists,
while 'quismas' exits mouths of babes 
in other parts of forests.

As Autry croons his 'Rudolph' 
and Torme his 'Chestnuts' renders,
we check their noses: 
have those nuts and reindeer been on benders…?
Good folks forbid all talk of 'tinsel' 
till their trees they’re trimmin.’ 
Only outres utter 'unto us…' – 
not normal men and women.
Is 'Vixen' ever heard 
in vernal conversations…? Nope.
(Were 'Wenceslaus' heard ‘round our house, 
abandon’d be all hope.)

Is ‘krissmiss' meant or 'exmiss,' 
when you 'Merry Xmas' hear…?
Not 'exmiss,' surely!
'Krissmass' purely bursts upon the ear.
Those 'yule's you may encounter 
in October (linked to 'logs')
have less to do with Xmas 
than with tales of shaggy dogs.
'Zwarte Piet'…? It’s indiscreet: 
Dutch racialism, right…?
Now…Merry Xmas! Bless us everyone! 
To all: goodnight!

Yves Has At 'Em: a Riddle Rewrite

As Yves was mot'ring toward St. Ives,
he pass’d a guy with seven wives.
(Imagine what a Hausfrau drives.)
Each “better half” held seven hives
she'd subdivided, using knives.
Each bride had sliced those into fives --
the bees sent fleeing for their lives,
each executing seven dives
(if spook’d, an insect truly strives:
it’s how each at-risk hive survives.
In last analysis, it thrives)
each dive a writhe of seven jives,
set free, each, from confining gyves.
Gyves, jives, dives, lives,
fives, knives, hives, drives –
plus just one guy, though seven wives.
So: how few motor'd toward St. Ives...?

RLS Amp'd

The world is so full of a number of things –
of cedars and cypress’s annual rings;
of roads to Morocco with Dots, Bobs and Bings;
of governing folkmoots and Icelandic T'ings…

of jubilant feelings each holiday brings;

of Klingons aloof (and one Klingon who clings);
of Francis Sinatra’s “A-ring-ding-a-ding-ding!”s;
of Flashes and Zarkovs and Merciless Mings…

of Arkansas burghs like Fort Smith and Hot Springs;
of shortbodied mak'rel and long-bodied lings;
of Ning Jing and Ning Cheng and Ning Ying -- all Nings;
of yang-opposed yins which the naïve call yings...

of Irishmen’s ceilis and Scots’ Highland Flings;

of Brandy Manhattans and Singapore Slings;
of cymbals with sizzles and zithers with “zings”;
of southern fried chicken and barbecued wings…

of tuppence and wampum and cash that “ka-ching!”s;

of O rings and key rings and variant blings;
of Rolling Stones, Elton Johns, Beatles and Stings;
of black players – Sidneys and Denzels and Vings…

of Nipponese Yukis and Sino-Beijings;

of tom turkeys’ necks which my grandmother wrings…
No bull! It’s so full of a number of things
So: why aren’t we all more than happy as kings…?

Life Takes a Haiku & Adds an Envoi! or Twenty Six Skidoo

Aiding rods and cones, goggles boost my infared: life by night's agleam --
not unlike a dream.

Bend it Korbut-like, lest you tumble to the floor: life's a balance beam.
Olga dares to dream.

Curds' casein (sans whey), Cornish cows' milk, cottage cheese: life apes clotted cream...
just like in my dream.

Don't be so quick to abandon rivertown shacks: life is hard downstream...
so unlike my dream.

Ever been to Mars…? It's not unlike living here: life -- in the extreme.
(Careful what you dream.)

For Pete's sake, fellas! You've been caution’d: never spin! Life's not foosball, team!
(Much more like a dream.) 

"Gracias, Fidel! Hasta pronto, Uncle Sam!" Life's el Golfo's stream.
(Leave: go live your dream.)

Half-lives of sherries are measur’d in months, not years…Harvey's Bristol Cream:
good for life…? You dream!

I love Haagen-Dazs, Ben & Jerry's and Edy's: life's like good ice cream.
(Care to share my dream…?) 

Just Google him, man! It's just inconceivable (life without Joaquim).
(Oo-oo-oo...I doo meese heem.) 

"Keep the 'Alcindor'…?" "Nope! Try out 'Abdul-Jabbar.'" (Life with Lew Kareem:
a defender's nightmare. 

Long…? Nope! Focuss’d…? Nope! Amplifiable…? No way! Life's no laser beam:
life is, Bud, a dream.

Memento mori...just in case death's slipp’d your mind: life as metameme --
not just in a dream.

Never saw The Card; never saw The Seventh Sin: life per Ronald Neame.
(How that man could dream!)

Oscar Wilde was right: bad verse springs from true feeling. Life's odd, don't you deem…?
(O thought so, 'twould seem.)

Promptitude's a must; wait not for Nones to kick off: life begins at Prime;
later, you can dream.

Quiet flows the Don (though not when rowing upstream): life's a quinquereme.
(Please: abort this dream!) 

Riots in the streets; you're a cinch to your head. Life, in old regimes,
guillotines one’s dreams.

Somebody told me, "Wetter shaves are better shaves." Life, like shaving cream,
lubricates my dream. 

Throw...row...tow your boat: get through any way you can. Life's this poem's theme...
albeit a dream.

Under the boardwalk, or on top of the boardwalk: life's severe upstream.
(Nothing but a dream.) 

Vice-consul father; actress mom; at least four wives: Life with M. Vadim...? 
Nightmare vs dream.

Where's that guy who said, "Life's just a bowl of cherries"…? Life's just sour’d whipp'd cream! 
(Thank god it's a dream.)

X-rated sound track: you're the Grammy nominee. Life's the next Xan's Theme.
(Who can't hear you scream…?) 

Yellow, violet, black 'n' blue and black...and blue: life's your color scheme.
(But then: it's your dream.) 

Zero chance in ten of beating Mr. Death. Still...life's the zone supreme:
Who cares it's a dream…?!

Rhymes On Rough-to-Rhyme Rhymes

     [Re Rachel Maddow]
Who’s busy droppin' aitches...?
Some horse revealin' raches...?
Some cow concealin' naches...?
Nope. Maddow (i.e., Rache) is.

     [Re Michael Pollan]

Here’s Mike, findin' rhymes for
‘arugula.’
It seems Pollan's quite lavish. 
An' frugal, huh...?

     [Re Sancho and the Don]

I’m quizzin' Quixote,
“What rhymes, Don, with ‘purple’…?”
when suddenly, Sancho,
astride Dapple’s curple,
opines, “Ask him not.
His brain’s halt. He’ll just hirple.”
Adds Don: “Pace, Panza –
or suffer my nurple!”

     [Re Faegheh Atashin]

Googoosh, who’s rife with rhymes for
‘woman’
weighs her wage in Persian
toman.

     [Re William Inge]

I’ve said it before, Inge:
“There are rhymes for ‘orange.’”

     [Re Sir William Walton]

Search far 'n' wide, Will, fer
just one rhyme for ‘silver.’

     [Re A. A. Milne]

I’ve found no rhymes for ‘kiln.’
Does Pooh know any, Milne…?

     [Re Tom Brokaw]

Who would find a rhyme for ‘plankton
must quiz Brokaw: bloke's from Yankton.

     [Re Ark builder Noah and lexicographer Webster]

Pair the “rhymeless” word ‘midst’…?
Surely, Noah, thou didst.

     [Re Robert Moog]

If you're short of rhymes for ‘plinth,’
Bob can build one on his synth.