Red- and Blue-State Bunnies Frolic: Chemical Markers on a Large Grade A

"And now it's complete."
                     -- Ulysses Poe

A Rummy Nose

     "A nose is a terrible thing to blow." 

                                    -- Donald Rumsfeld

"You've got your known noses,

your unknown noses,

your known unnoses,

your unknown unnoses,
your runny noses,
your unrunny noses,
your runny unnoses
and your unrunny unnoses.

A Lazy Afternoon

Stitch liturgies re letter G...?
'Midst plethoras of lethargy...?

POTUS Pillories the Press Corps

    Dedicated to those members 
of the press corps who aren't here 
but should be...and soon shall.
    
"CNNer Kaitlan Collins
was, I'm told, a date of Stalin's.
ABC News Jon'than Karl...?
'That's not true,' Karl's prone to snarl."
     "Petty Shannon Pettypiece:

We'd better phone the truth police.

AP’s Jonathan Lemire…?

Oh, by the way, he's odd. And queer."

"News Hour biche Yamiche Alcindor:

Newsday ought to’ve Anne Boleyn’d ‘er.

Bloomberg News’s Justin Sink…?

The dext’rous Duke of Doublethink."

     "The Times’s Maggie Haberman.

A plu-unpleasant neighbor, man!

NPR gal Tam’ra Keith…?

Obtuse up top, zip underneath."

"The New York Times’s Peter Baker.

Hold the muck: ol’ Pete'll rake 'er.

CBS’s Paula Reid…?

I think I, with her, did the deed."

     "Bezos boyo Philip Rucker.

Like his boss, another sucker.

Fake News WaPo’s Ashley Parker…?

Brother Bezos' side show barker."

"New York Times’s Michael Shear.

The failing pub’s fail'd pamphleteer.

A U R N’s April Ryan:

Lyin’ Brian Williams’ scion."

     "The New York Times’s Annie Karni.

Who knew Jews to broadcast blarney…?

Reuters Jimmy Oliphant:

Can or can't he cut the cant…?"

"Peter, Peter Alexander!

Soon I’ll sue his ass for slander.

Ms. O’Donnell (christen’d Kelly)…?

Too true blue for prime-time telly."

     "Fox News Radio’s Jon Decker.

One pontificating pecker.

Fox News Channel’s Kevin Cork.

Part-time putz and full-time dork."

     "Roberts, John. Acosta, Jim.

I cannot stomach eith’rof him.

Welker, Kristen. Jackson, Hallie.

Much preferr’d…? A campaign rally."

     "CBS’s Major Garrett.

Ignoramus -- 14-caret.

Press corps! Please leave me alone!

And where’s my freakin’ Roy M. Cohn…?"

A Mixology Briefing from the Bartender-in-Chief

     It's Fallback Friday. Pick his poison!

"I tell my base in rampant candor:

'Try my Brandy Purexander!'

Flat out stuff the ballot box...

then try my Clorox on the Rocks!

For giving virus rumors rest,

my Piña Colalysol’s best.

And, no! I don't know Mussolini.

Meantime, try my Boratini!"

     Coda

"My hunch...? A touch of indigestion's
 actin' up. Still...no more questions."

Limericks in the Light of COVID

Lewis Carroll’s kid, Coventry, asks,

“At mad tea parties, must we wear masks…?”

The lad’s daddy replies,

“He who doesn't don dies.

He who does in beamoshity basks.”

Mervyn Peake's son (a offspring call'd Pikes)...?
The most id'osyncratic of tykes:
he's injecting himself
with chlorine off the shelf.
Have you ever heard tell of the likes...?

Limerickyricardo

     Here's an example of a verse form named 
after a county in Ireland and featuring a fellow 
from a county in England who penned some.

Edward Lear sires one daughter, call'd Shanda.
Fixing fruit hats for Carmen Miranda,
does she tell her dad that
she's "re-pear'd" her last hat
'less she, too's, 'llow'd to sing with the band...? Duh! 

Verse Brief, Illustrated (World's Second Shortest Poem)

          ...and yet...

Pairs Not Pomaceous

One pair of Chutes (one spells his ‘Shute’)

once shared one pair of parachutes.

The two proved resolute, to boot:

they’d wear, unair’d, wet Wellie boots.

“A couple o' parabolas,”

declares one pair of gabb(e)lers,

“results in psychobabble from

most mathematics dabb(e)lers.”

One pair of Bulls, one day in shul,

declar’d one pair of parables.

One’s Mike; one’s Scott. Pay heed and you’ll

hear bells not toll’d at tractor pulls.

One pair of grins – one’s yang, one’s yin –

once graced one pair of peregrines.

“Good morning, Minh.” “How fare thee, Flynn…?”

(If frowns such clowns wear, no one wins.)

One pair of pets were order’d, “Get

thee b’yond yon pair of parapets!”

Their fate…? No fetes. (Here, on cassette,

view “Tigh ‘n’ Tigger’s Death Duets.”)

One pair of Sauls (whose…? Montreal’s)

installs one pair of parasols.

Just who plants whose none now recalls,

nor were there pressing protocols.

One pair of dice – much-needed spice –

Eve’d introduce in Paradise.

“S-s-s-so: you’d entice…? Heed Asp’s advice.

One uns-s-s-sliced apple sh-sh-shall s-s-s-suffice.”

One pair of Moores one can’t ignore

once took one pair of paramours,

new senses ceding (veil’d before)

to turns of phrase like “two-by-fours.”

      * One early manuscript shows

“cellar doors” here. Another has

 “parquet floors.” Both are early.

One pair of graphs (can one but laugh...?)

attempts one pair of paragraphs

to paraphrase, though just one half

proves readable; the other’s chaff.

One peer of Keats (from l’hommes d’elites)

repeats one pair of parakeets’

loquacity: “Too-wheet, too-wheet!”

(L’eclairess’ment: “What’s shakin,’ Sweets…?”)

One pair of docs (one Groucho mocks)

apparently’s one paradox:

The short one’s wily as an ox.

The shorter…? Dumber than a fox!

Two pairs of dimes – amalgams I’m

to view as pairs of paradigms:

financial fall guys for tough times –

now fail, I fear, to “k’ching!” my chimes.

One pair of Finns did, for their sins,

smear pairs of beards with paraffins.

That each bears pairs of double chins

diminish’d ethane-damaged skins.

Of all accounts of pairs of mounts

in Lit, which pair be paramount…?

If Silver Rosinant’ surmounts,

does Dapple Tonto’s Scout discount…?

Do “noids” of Freud’s wax overjoy’d,

annoying pairs of paranoids…?

Of pity Sigmund proves devoid,

while Anna schizoids now avoids.

One pair of lies (who’ll pose the “why…?”s...?)

will petrify and paralyze.

The first…? That God bestrides the skies.

The second…? That She prophesies.

One pair of Rays (so someone says)

twin virelays in paraphrase

determine to compose…in days!

Fiasco…? Let me count the ways.

One pair of sites sits train’d tonight

upon one pair of parasites.

Before they flee (go left, flow right),

let fly…and nuke their leukocites!

One pair of Ds (thus: PAR-OD-DY)

misspells completely ‘parodies’

and orthographic’lly ODs…

unless one’s speaking Parrotese.

One pair of cleats to prink two feet,

one each for pairs of Paracletes.

Two’d be taboo; yet still they’re fleet.

Pete poach'd the pair. (Pete always cheats.)

One pair of blasts, one day long past,

destroy’d one pair of parablasts.

One film crew on the scene was gass’d.

Press sketches…? None like Nast’s nor Chast’s.

One pair of cells, one chemist tells,

invade one pair of paraceles

within one’s brain, where – swell! – they’ll swell,

until one’s hearing “boids ‘n’ bells.”

Who’ll swear to share au pairs – in pairs –

with Herr Moliere…? Au pairs like theirs

could care for heirs of trillionaires.

(Their nightmares…? Or their answered prayers…?)

A pair of guys (I tell no lies!)

discovered pairs of Paraguays.

The one…? A tropic paradise.

The other…? Shades of Paris skies.

Parameters…? I don’t know yours,

but mine rate pairs of amateurs

who’re fabricating haut coutures.

(One hopes that “off-the-rack” endures.)

Paracelsus Hohenheim,

a Swiss physician friend of mine,

says, “On one pair o’ seltzas dine

each day. ‘Twill keep ya feelin’ fine.”

'-Oy'phabet: an Abecedarial Decade

At ABCs, girl, I’m your boy --

gilt-edged, world-class, the real McCoy.

Heads up! Achtung! Take heed! Ahoy!

as I some twenty-six deploy.

An A fronts ‘Arundhati Roy.’

A B initiates ‘bok choy.’

A C gives birth to ‘corduroy.’

A D begins (sans ‘t’) ‘Detroi-.’

Edging forward, I employ

both E and F for ‘Eddie Foy.’

A G, in Yiddish, opens ‘goy’

plus half of Boorman’s “Hope and Glo’y.”

An H initials ‘hoi polloi’

and ‘Helen’ (formerly of Troy).

I takes the lead in ‘Illinois.’

(It also sets up ‘Iroquois.’)

A J…? It’s just to jump-start ‘joy.’

A K begins not ‘carp’ but ‘koi.’

An L…? ”The Thin Man”’s Myrna Loy.

An M heads Beckett’s play “Molloy.”

Annoyingly, N’s not for ‘noy,’

but O (sans ‘l’) opes ‘Olive Oy-.’

A P prompts Rumpole’s ‘Pomeroy.’

Q leads, not ‘Matsu,’ just ‘Quemoy.’

An R initiates ‘Rob Roy.’

An S inaugurates ‘St. Croix’

and stomps its impress on ‘Savoy.’

It takes two Ts to ‘Tinker Toy.’

A U starts ‘Ubu Roi.’ (Think “Roy.”)

A V…? V launches ‘Vic-e-roy.’

To kick off ‘weiner’ (saveloy),

A W you must deploy.

An X prompts…not much. (As a ploy,

friends recommend the word ‘xystoi.’)

A Y leads ‘yo un nino soy.’

(From where I sit that’s “I’m your boy.”)

Last, lest these crambos start to cloy

(or worse: to thoroughly annoy),

a Z originates ‘Zoy Zoy.’

Now...let me hear your “Atta boy!”!

The Ballade of Bill Ding: Verses Written Under the Influence of Carroll's "The Hunting of the Snark"

    (Does one, despite one's wandering
through PlaysWell, ever hear Bill sing...?) 

 

‘Twas sev'ral years ago last Spring,

when bygone times were still "the thing"...

               ...and mulling ‘em was in full swing.

               I’d tired of reading Deng Xiaoping...

  



...and Dr. Martin Luther King

when, practicing my highland fling,

               I met a man call'd William Ding.

               Bill's coat – pale wenge, a coloring...

...like nutmeg more than anything --

had suffer'd stubborn static cling.

               Bill's diction bore a certain ring,

               a slang I’d slung when visiting...

 ...a cordage shop in Old Peking,

in search of high-grade yoyo string.

               As I stood eyeing Mr. Ding,

               he faded -- like a bathtub ring.

                                 No matter what your morrows bring,

                                 I doubt you'll spot an odder thing.