O Captains! A Relentless Nonsense with a Lamentless Conceit

     Aye, aye! (Ay-yi-yi!)

O, Captains (America, Blood, Zero, Earth…): thou be nowt if not captains courageous.
Sev'ral captains, however (there's never a dearth), prove, on inquiry, captains outrageous. 
Might not each, switching ships (here's an ABC’s worth), switch their cosmoses…? Ponder these pages.

What if Ahab had captain'd, instead of his Pequod, a carrack call’d Santa Maria...?
Then would Native Americans sigh with relief at the found'ring of "Chris's Idea"…?
And would hunting white whales, like all searches for grails, now be hail’d one more fail’d panacea…?

What if HMS Bounty'd been captain’d by Beefheart instead of by officer Bligh...?
Would its mutineers, rather than take to Tahiti, have open’d a bar in Dubai…?
And would Fletcher've been play’d not by Gable or Brando but some fa-a-a-ar less self-absorb’d guy…?

If Endeavour'd been captain’d, instead of by Cook, by one Cap'n Horatio M. Crunch,
then would Botany Bay be one stop, since that day, on some serial cereal brunch...?
And would Cook's tours be publicized "Crunch Tours" instead...? It’s a good bet they would. (Just my hunch.) 

If the schooner We're Here had, as pilot, Der Captain of "Hans-und-Fritz" fame -- and not Disko,
then would young Harvey Cheyne have become Mama's bane and migrated from Gloucester to Frisco,
where, no longer a kid, he'd do scenes in a vid, playing Pancho to some sordid Cisco…? 

What if ace Captain Eddie's belov'd Flying Fortress became Captain Eo's space vessel,
then would World War II prove but minor ado, scrub’d when Ed asks Herr Adolf: "Who'll wrestle!"…?
Or would spacetime get bent, with Ed's UFO sent back in time to snuff young Georgie Jessel…?

What if Flint and his Walrus became SS Feathersword and its eponymous captain…?
Would the foremention’d Feathersword balk at the switch, crying, "No bloody way I'm adaptin'!"?
And would Captain Fantastic, with no ship at all, of a sudden start speaking Sahaptian…? 

What if George -- "Captain Seafood" – would try to usurp Captain Gantu's Galactic Armada…?
Would not Lilo and Stitch knuckle under and snitch…? What would happen…? In fact, next to nada:
George would grant Gantu's wish and serve everyone fish with a side of baked beans, blah-de-blah-dah... 

What if Hook's Jolly Roger (which once was The Wasp) were by Hornblower re-christen'd Sutherland…?
Then would Captain Horatio, thereby bereft, with no ship to return to the motherland,
taunt Herge's Captain Haddock, "You've no ship as well…? Must we both end our days in some other land…?"…?

What if Captain Insano had thrown in the towel, crying, “Please, take the con, Captain Janeway!”…?
Then might Kate clear her throat, don some admiral’s coat, and observe, “That’s a rather inane way
to your title defend. Jan…u…ar…reee-e-e-e…! Girlfriend!” (Calling Kibbee’s a mu-u-u-uch less insane way.*)
    
     * Guy Kibbee played January opposite Shirley Temple’s 
Star in the film bearing his character’s name.

What if Captain James Kirk (Mr. Spock did the work) turn’d the Enterprise over to Kidd…?
What if Kidd, for his part (Kidd was never too smart) fail’d to fix on what Kirk and Spock did…?
Yes, and what if all three handed over the key in some Kangaroo takeover bid…?

Speaking of “Trek,” it's remiss not to check what a captain like Lorca might do
in a universe which – if you’ll pardon my kitsch – is unlike that in which me and you,
were we captains like him, might inspect, on a whim, the behaviors of Romulan Hugh.*

     * A character appearing in seasons 5 thru 7 of TNG.


     Below are a few of culture’s captains who might well figure in future verses:

Marvel Morgan Nemo Obvious Picard Queeg Ron Sisco
Sparrow Spaulding Teague Underpants Von Trapp
White Xavier Yuri Yamato Zoom Zack

Cautionary Charm in the Time of Corona: an Instructional Audio

Stay safe! Stay sane!

Stay sane! Stay safe!

Stay clear of tripe! 
Stay clear of trayf!

Stay the Land of the Free!

Stay the Home of the Brayf!

(Ralph Vaughn Williams's name…?

Brits pronounce his name ‘Rayf.’

Know the French word ‘café’…?

Brutes pronounce that word ‘kayf.’)
Stay at home! Please don't chafe!
What'sa matta?! Y'all 'dayf'...?

Monday's Child or Another Long Week of Brief Briefings

     You've survived the Dawn of the Dead, Morning in 
America, the Day of the Locust, the Afternoon of a Faun, 
Sam and Janet Evening, the Night of the Iguana, the Age 
of Anxiety and the Time of Cholera. Now, steel yourself 
for the Week of the Briefing...and Godbloodyspeed!

Monday’s child is fair of face.
(The Donald’s brief briefing…? A hu-u-u-uge disgrace,

one aim'd amateurishly right at his base

while vainly attempting to make the case:

“I’ve won it: The Gowns, Gloves 'n' Facemasks Race!

And, by the way, Barron's mask…? Chantilly Lace.")

Tuesday’s child is full of grace.
(The Donald’s brief briefing…? It's right on pace

to define for the nation the notion 'debase’:

(“We’re doing, per capita, more tests than Thrace!”)

while fleshing that out with this coup de grace:

“I’ve won, by the way, The Great Vent'lator Race!”)

Wednesday’s child is full of woe.
(Don's briefing...? Doc Fauci has fail'd to show

as Donald’s philippic goes toe-to-toe,

with (Can you believe this stuff?!) polio!

Says Debra: “Well, I could have told you so.

Says Donald: “They love me in Kokomo!”)

Thursday’s child has far to go.
(The Donald’s brief briefings...? Not brief! Oh, no!

Drones Donald: “Most states, Maine 'n' Idaho,

must reopen now. Right now! You know,

a million or so deaths is (models say) low.

And, by the way, there was no ‘quid pro quo’!”)

Friday’s child has love to spare.
(The Donald’s brief briefing…? Now, Birx isn't there.

As CDC testing continue to err,

Donald urges his faith leaders: “Pray us a prayer.

Two million deaths…? Oh, well: c’est la guerre!

And, by the way, see this...? It isn't fake hair!”)

Saturday’s child works very hard.
(The Donald’s brief briefing…? It's further marr’d

by Donald’s ten-thousand-teenth crass canard

deliver’d as Donald is caught off guard

by press room reporters. What's Trump's trump card…?

“I, prev'ously, on “The Apprentice" starr’d!”)

And the child who’s born on the Sabbath day

is bonny and blithe and good and gay.
(The Donald’s brief briefing is briefer today.

Says Donald: “I’m KOTUS*, just by the way.”)

     * King of the United States

Re: En Dehors or On the Outs

Aborigines wander the Outback.*

Comes their bedtime, they’re out like a light.

One’s a cat in a hat.

Catch and put out that cat!

We can chat once that cat’s out of sight.

D. J. Drump takes a dump in our outhouse.

“Are you out,” voters shout, “of your mind…?”

(Will who denigrates him

end up out on a limb…?

Nonsense: Drumpf’s out to lunch, all shrinks find.)

Elephants hang out outdoors.

Did they not, they’d go out of their wits.

Certain frogs, tres outres,

will go out of their way

to tout only an outfit which fits.

Gregarious gnomes seem outgoing.

Often, hermits are outcasts, no doubt.

And ice lollys are fun.

(Can ice pops be outdone…?

I think not: such “improvements” are out.)

Are not jesters at court now outmoded…?

In the US that jury’s still out,

sound decisions outweigh’d

by a South KKK’d.

(White supremacy’s what they’re about.)

Are not lesbians out of the closet…?

Where’d be Lincoln without ‘Honest Abe’…?

Doesn’t Lutwidge cry out,

“When a boojum’s* about,

let the toves and the mome raths outgrabe”…?

     * A dangerous breed of snark made 

famous by Charles Lutwidge Dodgson.

Nursing nuns by machines grow outnumber’d,

making outpatients’ outcomes prove poor.

And the outlook looks grim,

since the chances are slim

that nun output improves anymore.

Lord of all: help me crawl out from under.
(Dare I spout this from out of the blue...?)
If you look, Lord, you'll find 
I'm not out of my mind.
(Out of gas, perhaps. That you'll find true.)

Below are just a few of the many 'outs' 

which will occupy future verses:

outpost

outpatient

outperform

outpouring

out-qualify

out run

outrigger

out sick

outsourcing

outtakes

outu

"Out vile jelly!"

out vote

out weigh

out west

out yonder

out zone

A Show of Hands

A show of hands, if't please, who thinks
that on this ball where all we live with all this wherewithal
lives all that’s living everyplace that was or ever were

or is...?

     A show of hands who thinks

that off we’ll all die any day or nighttime now...? 
(Gee-whiz!)

     A show of hands who thinks 
that other lives who live will live a little while,
a little shorter while -- 
then die…?

     And they'll be dead a long, a long or longer long, 
much longer time...? 
(Goodbye!)

     Hands who thinks

some life will come to life someplace to live 
again…?

     Hands who thinks

that something like this happens ev’ry now 
and then…?

     Who thinks…?

Nothing: A Shape Poem

  
     Below is a transcription for those attempting 
to view this on a phone.

Tho' train’d for the priesthood, I opt not to pray; 
I’ve got, Reverentially, nothing to say.
I blab not of brisot or mohels – oy, vey! 
I’ve got, Circumstantially, nothing to say.
I’ve penn’d not one scene of a long-promis'd play; 
I’ve got, Penitentially, nothing to say.
Do I utter 'Aidan' or 'Anthony'…? Nay!
I’ve got, Quinntessentially, nothing to say.
I chat not of COVID…not after today;
I’ve got, Influentially, nothing to say.
I gab not at conf’rences, say what they may;
I’ve got, Exponentially, nothing to say.
I jaw not at umpires (a loathsome lot, they);
I’ve got, Referentially, nothing to say.
Of suicide…? Nope! But let’s call it a day;
I’ve got, Existentially, nothing to say.

The Covetous Carpenter

      PlaysWell presents a series of parallel 
worlds posing abecedarial Jabberwocky 
rejoinders. (Work in progress)

“The time's occur'd," 
a Walrus slurr'd,

"to part from partners old,

to bide, like glue, 
to sidekicks new --

companions manifold.”

“I can’t concur,” 
a Carpenter

objected, less controll’d.

“I’m flummox’d, man,” 
this artisan

bark'd. “Hand, we’ve been, in glove.

But now you scrum 
for some new chum

while dishin' me the shove.

Who's ever heard 
words more absurd...? 
There's none I’m conscious of.”  

A Walrus 
and an Astronaut,

discarding pressure suits,

bid "Hasta..." 
to their module, donning

only paddock boots.

“In nature’s state 
we needn’t wait

to taste forbidden fruits.”

“One question,” 
press'd a Carpenter,

observing their parade.

“Do rocketeers 
and kindred peers

enjoy such promenade...?

Or, if they don’t, 
is it their wont

to only stroll when paid…?”

A Walrus 
and a Basilisk
together swann'd the piers.
"With Bas, why, I've 
felt more alive
than I have felt in years.
We both admire 
("They so-o-o inspire...")
their work -- Nel's...Carroll's...Lear's."

"One caution, sir," 
a Carpenter
intoned. "If you've a mind,
as you advance, 
to take the chance
and read what verse you find,
you take great risks
with basilisks.

Indeed, you might go blind."

A Walrus
and a Concierge...

None of the Below (cont'd): 1/2 an(e) ABC (N thru Z)

     (N)
No nervous strain. No noms d'huitaines.*
No Nick (nor Nora) Charles's wane.
"No, No, Nanette”…? No! Not again! 

     (O)
No Orson "Bane." No odder twain.*
No "Open sesame!" refrain.
No Orient Express (the train).

     * Cf. "Cunnie Rabbit, Mr. Spider..."

     (P)
No pain. No gain. No Pontchartrain.
No Peter Pain. No peneplain.
No “phart.” No “ph**k!” (They’re both profane.) 
     
     (Q)
No Quiche Lorraine. No quadruplane.
No Quackenbush. (That man's insane!)
No quid. No quo. (Cf. Ukraine.)

     (R)
No rain in Spain. No regent’s reign.
No reindeer’s rein. No Claude Rains cane.*
No rani’s raw salát romaine.
     
     * Which he wields as Mr. Dryden 
in the film "Lawrence of Arabia."

     (S) 
No suzerain. No sales campaign.
No Shakespeare's Melancholy Dane.
Nor definitely no Sinn Fein.

     (T)
No tumtum pain. No two cents plain.* 
No tourists trapp'd in Taprobane.
No twice-told tales of Tramontane.

     * During the Great Depression, 
the price of a glass of seltzer water 
at soda fountains.

     (U)
No urethane. No ururbane.
No University, Tulane.
No undercover sting -- cocaine! 

     (V) 
No vortex vein. No Vivian Blaine.
No Value Village voles maintain.
No vex’d Vince Vaughn: “Na twa, na ane!” 

     (W)
No wax. No wane. No Walter Crane.* 
No John ("Duke") Wayne in "Wagon Train."
No warbling whippoorwill’s refrain.

     (X)
No xanthic acid's yellow stain.
No XXX (i.e., "profane").
No 12 xaq = 1 xaqane.* 
   
      * Footnote currently on inter-library loan. 

     (Y)
No Yardbird playin’ “Sweet Lorraine.”
No "You're So Vain" -- verse nor refrain.
No yin. No yang. No “yawp!”s of pain.*

     * Cf. Whitman’s “Song of Myself.”

     (Z)
No “…zizzy, zing, zing, boom, boom, ay”’n’*
No Zane Gray's novel "Betty Zane."
No reachin’ zed with zip delay’n.’ 

      * Cf. “Italian Street Song.”

None of the Below or No Pain No Whatever: 1/2 an(e) ABC (A thru M)

     (A)
No aeroplane. No acid rain.
No Asian crane. No Auburn, Maine.
No Bates's* "...amber waves of grain."

     * Katherine Lee Bates composed 
"America."

     (B) 
No ball. (No chain.) No Barbara Bain.* 
No brut champagne. No Broca's brain.
No "Buy Bohemian!" campaign.

     * Barbara Bain was Martin Landau's 
"ball 'n' chain." 

     (C) 
No "Come back, Shane!" No cellophane.  
No Courtney Love. No Kurt Cobain.
No coup de main by Charlie Kane.

     * Welles's "Citizen" Charles Foster.

     (D)
No daisy chain. No "...down de drain." 
No Delaplane. No laird's demesne. 
No double-duty dado plane. 

     (E) 
No ethnic strain. No East Ukraine.
No Eleanor. No Aquitaine.
No etymology of '-ane.'*

     * Suffix with a distinction of sense
(such as ‘humane’ compared with ‘human’)

     (F) 
No "...fruited plain*..." No Andy Frain.**
No famed first baseman Ferris Fain.*** 
No frickin' "feminent domain."****

     * More from "America": cf Katherine
Lee Bates footnote above.
     ** America's favorite provider of 
ushers for sporting events -- just ask 
White Sox first baseman Ferris Fain.
     *** Cf. footnote immediately above. 
     **** A new cultural meme heard 
in conjunction with the so-called War 
on White Men.

     (G)
No gravy train. No G. I. Jane.  
No market gain. No Greer, Germaine. 
No Gorgeous (George* or Gussie**) reign.

     * George Wagner the famous 
wrestler.
     ** Gussie Moran the famous 
tennis player.
     
     (H)
No hurricane. No 'him'icane. 
No King Hussein. No Jack Haldane.*
No "Hans ♥ hu-u-u-uge hepatic vein."

     * J.B.S. Haldane the well-known 
geneticist. 

     (I)
No Ikelos.* (That god's insane! 
But, though I know he's inhumane, 
I shalt not take Ik's name in vain.)

     * Greek god, personification of 
nightmares.

     (J)
No Dick's sib Jane. No John McCain.*
No gods of Jain. No jug'lar vein. 
No jugs of polyurethane.

     (K) 
No Killer Kane.* No King of Pain.
No Klingon bane. No Ku Klux Klane.
No kilobytes to ascertain. 

     * Antagonist in the "Buck Rogers" 
film serials.

     (L)
No Lois Lane. No Lunt-Fontanne.*
No Lowe. No Lerner. No lo mein. 
No Lovers' Leap. No Lovers' Lane.

     * New York theater honoring famed
acting team of Alfred and Lynn.

     (M)
No Mary Jane. No Mark of Cain.
No Marj'rie Main. No "marzipane."
No “Miss'd Miss Marple's Myst'ry Train”...

     (Cont'd in a later posting)

O Tempura O Mare's Eggs or Riffs on "O Rose..."

     Tyger Tyger, burning bright. One takes 
to tosh in times of blight. As for you, don't 
forget to email me with comments.

We read Blake’s a yokel.

(Lord knows he’s a hick --

tho' able to author

“O Rose thou art sick.”)

I’d proffer you quatrains --

composed with a Bic --

which incorporate William’s

“O Rose thou art sick.”

Pound -- on occasion --

arose (he was quick)

to remark, as did William:

“O Rose thou art sick.”

You can pick your poison.

Your nose you can pick.

You can’t pick your parents.

O Rose thou art sick.

“Ahoy!” holler'd Ahab.

“Thar blows Moby Dick.”

All perish'd save one.

O Rose thou art sick.

Which bishop grabb'd hold of

his crozier (his stick)

and attack'd three agnostics…?

O Rose thou art sick.  

The mouse targets Krazy

and throws a large brick,

having never consider'd

“O Rose thou art sick.”

The Disney flick “Dumbo”

shows crows doing schtick.

I fear Walt’s a racist.

O Rose thou art sick.

That guy is Keith Richards.

Keith poses with Mick.

Stones...? No longer vital.

O Rose thou art sick.

There’s short shrift for amateurs.

Pros get their pick

of sneaker endorsements.

O Rose thou art sick.

Which are smaller…? His hands…

or his nose…or his dick…?

‘Fraid the POTUS won’t own up.

O Rose thou art sick...

...art awfully, dreadfully, 

terribly, recklessly, 
rudely, psychotic'lly, 
wildly, unstably...

...maniacally, rabidly,
shamefully, wickedly,
brutally, viciously
big-leaguely sick.

Three Complete & One Partial Alphabet: A Retrospective of Nonsense Images from Pre-Covidian Days

    At the top, an Appaloosan Acrobat 

kicks off a rhyming tautogram 

appearing elsewhere on the PlaysWell site. 

After that, an annotated ABC 

draws attention to the various intersections 

of strokes used in a sans-serif alphabet. 

"Body Parts: an ABC" 

follows, appearing just above 

a representation of the interrelations of lines  

in a more-or-less standard pantoum.

Now you know your ABCs.