Adrian's Arsenal & Additional 'Ardware Applesauce

Tan-ta-
rum...
tan-ta-
tum-
tan-ta-
ta-a-a-ah!
Tan-ta-
tum...
tan-ta-
rum...
tan-ta-
ra-a-a-ah!

Dig: we're 
stick
figgers 
(sic)
Pentel’d 
plain.
Do but 
scroll!
You'll butt 
whole
worlds of 
pain.

Chum: be-
ware

l’hommes de 
guerre
avec 
sword!
His fell 
move
may well 
prove
unto-
ward.

Let’s as-
sume

gents with 
boom-
erangs 
might…
take their 
best
shots from 
nests
out of 
sight.

Even 
kings

heavin' 
sling-
shotted 
stone…
may as-
sail.
(David’s 
tale
is well 
known.)

Do a-
void

you the 
‘droid
with the 
wand!
Run! Go 
now!
(None know 
how
to re-
spond.)

Note twin 
schmos

totin’ 
bows.
(Where’s his 
br’er…?)
Skip their 
barrows:
tipp’d 
arrows!
Take 
care!

Fear this 
guy:

near his 
thigh
rests a 
knife.
Who’s not 
bettin’
he’ll 
threaten
your 
life…?

Ought a 
person

caught 
cursin’
wield 
axes…?
Not at 
all!
Swat that 
gall
‘fore it 
waxes.

Queer’s the 
luck:

here’s a 
schmuck
with a 
crossbow.
‘Nuf’s e-
nuf!
None need 
suf-
fer such 
loss. Go!

Shit! This 
staff

splits the 
chaff
from the 
wheat.
Clue the 
gent:
“You! Git 
bent!”
[Hit DE-
LETE!]

When a 
bloke’s

yen’s to 
poke
with his 
spear
your left 
side,
what’s left…? 
Hide!
Disap-
pear!

Chimes nex’ 
cad,

“I’m Rex 
Badde!
Fear my 
pata!”
Joke’s on 
him:
folks him 
limn 

“vir non 
grata.”

Ought a 
lad

thought “not 
bad”
with his 
whips…
get to 
snag
that lit 
fag
‘twixt your 
lips…?

Men may 
writhe

when with 
scythe
you at-
tack ‘em.
Moral’s 
clear:
more foil 
fear
when they 
pack ‘em.

“E-e-e-eek! A 
bomb,”

squeaks the 
mom
of this 
fellow.
(“Show no 
fear!”’s
what the 
dear
dam should 
bellow.)

Ev’ry 
boychik

who’d 
toye (sic)
with 
hammer…
must be 
tarr’d.
(Trust you’ll 
pard-
on my 
grammar.)

Might who 
wields

bright new 
shields
run the 
risk…
of a 
scrap
with a 
chap
with a 
disc…?

Sound the
'larm!

Bounder’s 
arm’d
with a 
stick.
Answer…? 
Charm.
Lance his 
karm-
a with 
schtick.

Tykes with 
nothin’ –

like 
Goths in
old 
Edda --
combat 
blind –
though that 
kind
should know 
betta.

“A soul’s 
dead,”

we drolls 
said,
“empty-
handed.
Sans one’s 
gun,
man’s un-
done:
‘no-man’s 
land’ed!”

Zany 
stick

figyures 
(sic) --
knife…shield…
axe…
‘til new 
Rugers*
mill 
lugers
each 
lacks.

     * As of 2015, 

Ruger was the US’s

largest firearms
manufacturer

Measures For Mayella: a Relentless ABC

     Fret no more, Mayella. you'll no longer yell alone.

Mayella yells: "I got somethin' to say."
Ev'ry letter reiterates, each in its way.

Avast! A's an admiral. Anchors aweigh!
All at sea (all of three), A's got somethin' to say. 

B's a Blue-footed booby b’yond Botany Bay.

B's a Baja-bred bird and's got somethin' to say.

C’s a coy cove callin' China 'Cathay.'

Too much 'tude for one dude,  C's got somethin' to say.

D's a dressmaker's dummy dubb'd Daphne de Laye.
With her shins full of pins, D's got somethin' to say. 

E edits Edna St. Vincent Millay.

Both be erudite eggheads with something to say. 

F's fat filling farm-foster'd flounder filet.

Those omega-3s got at leas' somethin' to say.

G's Gorey's goatee, gone gunmetal grey.

Ain't G's stash -- like G's Gashlys -- got somethin' to say...?

H holds no Hallowmas haunting hearsay.

Even aspirate letters got somethin' to say.

I…? Is it Ireland's interr’d IRA…?

Sure'n' begorr.' (And, o' co'r, I's got somethin' to say.) 

Js…? Jewish janitors ‘jackin' José.

No ole!s, only vey!s. Js got somethin' to say.

K is a kaffir kid -- KKK prey.

Nearly kill'd, but not still'd, K's got somethin' to say.

L's a lyric 'bout love long lost. Last line…? "Lul-lay."

Its prose primed (meter'd, rhymed), L's got somethin' to say.

M's the Musee's "Mid-morning..." by Manet. (Monet...?)

Though mixed "-net"s it betrays, M's got somethin' to say. 

N's a new-minted nickel. Nets nada…? No way!

Helps pay rents, do five cents! N's got somethin' to say.

O's one old-fashion'd ointment call’d “Oil of 'Ole!'”

Masquillage for the Mses. O...? Somethin' to say. 

P's the piss'd-off pied piper poor peons must pay.

Of two minds (and two hues), P's got somethin' to say.

Q's Quixote the quidnunc's inquisitive way.

Señor Panza’d agree: Q's got somethin' to say.

R's the researcher Roentgen. (Who re-named his ray…?) 

Though still wary, this Jerry’s got somethin' to say.

S...? The solit'ry Sphinx. (Speaks with Caesars, Shaw’d say.) 

I believe George Bernard: S has somethin' to say.

T's a Tetsubin teapot: there’s two on Tante’s tray.

Now they sleep. Soon they'll steep. T'll have somethin' to say. 

U's the undead. They're ugly; they're us. USA!

They’re alive! (Ain't no jive: U's got somethin' to say.)

V's a woid. The woid's ‘void.' (For ‘avoid,’ add an ‘a.’)

No, a void ain't devoid. V's got somethin' to say. 

W's a Wizard. Will Wall walk away…?

Well he may. Withal, W's got somethin' to say.

X is (like) 'xebec.' (One 'X' though no 'K.')

Like (like) words with no K, X has somethin' to say.

Y's a Yokkaichi yacht y'all call'd 'yawl' yesterday.

Y's, tomorrow, call'd 'tug.' Y'll have somethin' to say.  

Z's a zorse. Zebu…? Zebra…? Zorilla…? Well, may-

be. But they, mostly mum, still got somethin' to say. 

Ev'ry letter from A, through a runic array,
down to Zed: the whole spread has got somethin' to say.

A Southern Strategy

Y’all’s paper smothers rocks…?
Y’all asphyxiate y’all’s brother.
Y’all’s rocks dismantle scissors…?
Y’all cry, “Boulders be my druther.”
Y’all’s scissors sever paper…?
Y’all’s one newsprint-piercin’ mother.
But…unless y’all’d suffer mutual destruction,
yaw no futher!

Re: The Rhymeless

      Re: Rachel Maddow

Who's busy droppin' 
aitches…? 
Some horse revealin' 
raches…?*
Some cow concealin' 
naches…?**
Nope: Maddow (i.e., 
Rache') is!*** 
     * A streak on the beak
    ** A bump on the rump 
    *** The woman did study at Oxford

     Re: Michael Pollan

That's rich – buyin' rhymes for 
'arugula.'
Mr. Pollan’s both lavish 
and frugal, huh…?

     Re: Sancho and the Don

I'm quizzin' Quixote, 
"What rhymes, Don, with 
'purple'…?"
when suddenly Sancho, 
astride Dapple's 
curple,*
opines, "Don’t ask Don: 
his brain's halt; he'll but 
hirple.**
Snaps Don: "Pacé, Panza, 
or suffer my 
nurple!"***
     * The hindquarters of a horse or, 
in this case, a very gentle donkey. 
     ** To walk with a limp; to drag a limb; 
to hobble 
     *** A portmanteau of 'purple' and 'nipple' 
(It's clear the Don is a bit of a bully.) 

     Re: Faegheh Atashin

G'oosh: you're rife with rhymes for 
'woman' -- 
you who weighs your wage in 
toman.* 
     * Iranian singer Ms. Atashin, aka 
Googoosh, surely remembers the toman, 
a Persian gold coin. 

   Re: William Inge

Please say it once 
more, Inge:
"There are rhymes for 
'orange.'"*
     * One being 'Blorenge,' referring to a hill
in southeast Wales.

     Re: Sir William Walton

You'll search – oh, yes, you 
will -- fer
more words to rhyme with 
'silver.' *
     * There is, of course, 'chilver,' meaning
a ewe lamb.

     Re: A. A. Milne

I can find no rhymes for 
'kiln.'*
Does the bear know any, 
Milne…? 
     * If 'kiln' is pronounced with the 'n' 
silent, a partially similar versified query 
can be addressed to young Eulenspiegel 
of musical merry pranks fame.

     Re: Tom Brokaw

You who'd find a rhyme for 
'plankton': 
do quiz Brokaw, bloke from 
Yankton.

     Re: Genesis’s Noah

Pair the rhymeless word 
'midst'…?
Surely, Noah, thou 
didst.

     Re: Robert Moog as Bob the Builder

Do you need a rhyme for 
'plinth'…?
Bob will build one...on his 
synth.

"The More Things Change..." Dept., or Has POTUS Experienced an Unreported Neurological Episode?

     I 
Nixon from the Oval: 
"Am I a crook...? Not I!"
Drumpf from bed at Walter Reed: 
"I cannot tell a lie."

     II 
Nixon! The man was a dick.
Tricky Dick was a Milhouse besides.
Drumpf, who'd be don,
was, moreover, a john.
Ask those sundry seducees he hides.

Ukraine Upload: Tercets Plus Refraine

     'Migraine' in the third verse below should 

be pronounced as it is in the UK, namely, 

"mee-graine." Drumpf, were he to recognize 

the word at all, would doubtless, as the verses 

suggest, opt for the 'my-graine'

pronunciation (emphasis on the "my") -- this 

because everything falling within his myopic 

purview he perceives as somehow being all, 

and only, about him.  

Bordering Russia...? Ukraine.
(They'd prefer you pronounce it 'U-kraine.') 
"Hearing 'U-kraine's too paineful," Kyiv's sayin'e.
(By the way, let me say: Drumpf's insaine!) 

Drumpf's refraine...? "ME!kraine!" (Drumpf's so urbaine.)
"If you must mispronounce," he'll explaine,
"just say 'WEkraine.' Or simply abstaine."
(I urge all to recall: Drumpf's insaine!) 

Where's that "'hands 'cross the sea'-laines" campaigne...?
Quid pro quos set in motion migraine.
(Of Ukraine Drumpf's now proven the baine.
All who meet him repeat: Drumpf's insaine!)

Promis'd Jav'lins Drumpf opts to detaine.
"Dirt on Joe...? Volo's * job to obtaine,"
thunders Drumpf in a "tit for tat" veine.
(Once againe, the refraine: Drumpf's insaine!)

     * Volodymyr Zelensky, President of Ukraine

Shakespeare's Sonnets

Shakespeare's sonnets...? 
William wrote one hundred fifty four.
Shakespeare soon hits
each aesthetic target -- that and more.   
Shakespeare's 'sonics'...?
Sometimes sub'd for 'sonnets' heretofore. 
Shakespeare's son...? It's 
Hamnet, is it not...? (Bill's boy's a bore.)
'Soon hits,' 
'sonics,' 
'son...? It's,' 
'sonnets':
Bill, you're so-o-o-o-o the whore!

Shakespeare's sonnets...?
De rigueur in Avon, Bath and Reading. 
Shakespeare's so nuts 
he bequeath's his wife substandard bedding.
Shakespeare's suin' Nats 
third baseman Noll, a trial Jake's dreading.
Shakespeare's sane. It's 
Pound who's nuts. (D'you see where this is heading...?)
'So nuts,' 
'suin' Nats,' 
'sane. It's,' 
'sonnets':
White-coat men: Get netting!  

Shakespeare's sonnets 
celebrate the girl of Willie's dreams.
Shakespeare's Senate's 
chockablock with Caesarcides, it seems.
Shakespeare's sand gnats
fill his flat; with stinging flies it teems.
Shakespeare's sea nets
mahi-mahi, carp and gilt-head breams.
'Senate's,' 
'sand gnats,' 
'sea nets,' 
'sonnets':
Which unknowns...? Which memes...?

Shakespeare's sonnets
so impress'd the poet's maw and paw.
Shakespeare's sign outs-
ide his house: "Kings...? Not above the law." 
Shakespeare's sun hats...? 
Made in Myanmar -- braided hemp or straw.
(Shakespeare's Sioux...? Not s-
een in any play of Will's. Search Shaw.)* 
'Sign outs-,' 
'sun hats...?.' 
'Sioux...? Not s-,' 
'sonnets':
Some stick in my craw.

Shakespeare's sonnets
fill up fourteen lines aka parts.
Shakespeare's song hits...?
"Me, Oh, My Ophelia" climb'd the charts.
Shakespeare's sanit-
ary napkin play no critic hearts.
Shakespeare's sin etc-
etera…? The Bard's tempestuous farts.
'Song hits,' 
'sanit-,' 
'sin etc-,' 
'sonnets':
Will's back where he starts.