Poet Poe pens nonsense verse. "Plus...phun," puns Uly, "I disburse." Its gamut runs from spam to worse. The po'sy posted...? Poe's diverse -- most, postcards from his universe, replies to grudges he must nurse. My summary...? Let me be terse: a mitzva, mostly. (Not a curse.)
There was an old deadbeat from Meath
holding on by the skin of his teeth.
Once those teeth shed their skins
(a) he moved on, towards his shins
(b) he dry shaved all his chins
(c) he sought crowns (Sergey Brin’s...?)
(d) he whined, “That won’t score wins!”
(e) he scour’d bargain-book bins
(f) he bark’d, “Yangs…? Nada! Yins!"
(g) he’d wet naps tack'd with pins
(h) he’d yell, “Room...? None at inns!”
(i) he gave gums sev’ral spins
(j) he’d rub lamps, rousing djinns
(k) he plied Anais Nin’s
(l) he bought placque – Howard Zinn’s –
(m) he donn'd dentures -- Ed Wynn’s
(n) he’d sigh, “Fresh out of ins…”
(o) he cried, “Had I but fins…”
(p) he’d pour two double gins
(q) he phoned Anthony Quinn’s
(r) he bought false ones – for grins
(s) he employ'd Rin-tin-tin's
(t) he got gout (for his sins)
(u) he'd rent Loretta Lynn's
(v) he'd indulge in Wheat Thins
(w) he'd instruct, "Damp the dins!"
(x) he'd try your next of kin's
(y) he'd collect sardine tins
(z) he consulted with twins
(y) he exhumed Freddie Prinze
(x) he equipp'd the Ashvins
(w) he book'd passage for Linz
(v) he restrung violins
(u) he remark'd, "Thus begins..."
(t) he'd tan elephant skins
(s) he cheer'd might-have-beens
(r) he'd plant chinquapins
(q) he'd raze walls (Berlin's...?)
(p) he'd ____ Ho Chi Minh's
(o)
then, indeed, died -- said deadbeat from Meath.
Blogger Poe adores self-reference (who doesn't?!) but
wonders: if a text that uses every letter of the alphabet
is called a pangram and if a pangram that uses every
letter except one is called a pangrammatic lipogram,
then what is a pangrammatic lipogram that uses every
letter except two called?*
The Walrus and the Lipogram,
In
DXV** BC,
Were quick to end their self-ref wend.
Goes Wal, “Don't ya’ll agree
We must disperse...?” (He’d suss'd: his verse
Contain'd no J or Z.***)
* Names suggested thus far include 'pangrammatic
bi-pogram,' 'pangrammatic di-pogram' and 'pangrammatic
twi-pogram.' PlaysWell has yet to indicate a preference.
** Read as either "five fifteen" or "dee-ex-vee."
PlaysWell is pleased and proud to recommend either
and/or both.
*** Strictly speaking, of course, the verse does contain
both letters, since the last line, in which they appear,
is a part of the verse. Self-reference can prove slippery.
The Walrus and the Neonate
Perambulate their nabe.
“Not
one more lap without your map!
Who's snatch'd my astrolabe…?”
The
Walrus thinks. “This precinct stinks!"
Prates tot, "It's got you, babe.”
The Walrus and Madame Defarge:
Beneath the
guillotine
Nigh which
they’ve stray’d, they hitch its blade,
Which seems extremely
keen.
“Let's shave aristos,” whistles she.
“Voila!
Well-oil’d machine.”
 |
| "Two Suckers" chemical marker on copy paper by Ulysses Poe |
Sucrose on a
stick. (It tastes so
good!)
The Loser Sucker.
Vote! (You vote, you
lick it! Under-
stood...?)
The Walrus and the Ombudsman
Suspend their morning jog.
“You lag, Milord,” the Walrus roar'd.
"You've slow'd us to a slog."
“You're Dynamo,” quoth Señor O.
“Me…?
I'm El Underdog.”
"Be All You Can Be"
-- Former Army recruiting slogan
Long-haul truckers…? Could be cruisers.
They
ain’t suckers. They ain’t losers.
Snoozers
should be sitting duckers.
Losers...? Nope! Nor be they suckers.
Pass-the-buckers
might be schmoozers.
They
ain’t suckers. They aint losers.
Musers...? Right! They're thunderstruckers.
Losers...? Nope! Nor be they suckers.
Oyster
shuckers can turn oozers.
They
ain’t suckers. They ain’t losers.
Beggar'd ruckers can’t be choosers.
Still, not suckers. Nor, yet, losers.
Texan Cruzers...? Some seem schmuckers.
They
ain’t losers. They ain’t suckers.
Rural Hoosiers...? Few be chuckers.
They
ain’t losers. They ain’t suckers.
Now your POTUS has reveal’d:
dying on some foreign field
turns you loser, makes you suck.
WTF,
Drumpf…?! WTF...?!
The Walrus and the Quietist
To pilgrimage aspired.
Posed Walrus, “Say! Let’s leave today…
Unless your dogs be tired.”
Can't! Thank this cyst,” the Quietist
Return'd, “my sole's acquired.”
The Walrus and the Prostitute
Patroll'd the Tenderloin,
A-reminiscing all the while
Of General Burgoyne.
"'Gent John' rejoiced in drabs," Jen* voiced.
John blew a slew of coin."
* Perhaps Jenny Diver from John Gay's
"The Beggars' Opera"...?
The
Walrus and the Radical
Enblurb their urban street.
“Quote: 'Ave...? Ain't mean.' (From all we’ve seen,
With
business 'tis replete.)"
Yet, "IT’S ABLAZE!!" ignites today’s
Drumpf trump’d up White House tweet.
