Ask the Magic A-to-Z Ball! (Pub'd)

     Be careful what you ask for. 

(And whom you ask.)

Q:________________...?
A: Ask again anon, Aristotle:
answers, as always, are
all askew and awry.
 
Q:____________________...?
A: Before beginning blatently
bothersome badgering, Boethius,
better briefly break, buddy.
 
Q: ______________________...?
A: Candidly, Copernicus, conditions 

continue cloudy. Can’t currently
comment.
 
Q: ________________________...?
A: Dubiosity...? Definitely done, 

dispelled! (Does Dr. Descartes doubt…?
Dammit, Doc! Don't! Dig...?!)
 
Q: _____________________...?
A: Enfin, Einstein, E equals ‘Erratic.’
Every easy explanation ends
enigmatically enshrouded.
 
Q: ________________________...?
A: ‘Fraid frequency’s failing, Fridugisus.
Follow-up forthwith -- Friday fortnight,
f‘rinstance.
 
Q: ___________________...?
A: Generally, Galileo, generating 

gross grilling gets guys' gonads 

gainsaid.
 
Q: ____________________...?
A: Holy ho-hum, Herr Heidegger!
Honestly, haven’t heard. (However,
heckling hardly helps, huh…?)
 
Q: ________________...?
A: Input’s inferior, Isidore. Its
interpretation is, I imagine,
incomplete.
 
Q: _________________...?
A: Jabberwocky’s just jargon,
Jung…jamais!
 
Q: ____________...?
A: Kindly, Kierkegaard,
kill kinky koans.
 
Q: ___________...?
A: Ludicrous, Leibniz!
Let’s (like) liaise later,
laddie.
 
Q: _______________...?

A: Merlin...? Maybe Monday.
Meantime, Mr. Moue, mark
my mouth: “Moo-oo-oot!”
 
Q: _______________________...?
A: Nope, not now, Nostradamus.
Nearer noon…? Nyet! Next November…?
Nein! Numquam! (Never!)
 
Q: _________________...?
A: Oracles…? Obscure, Origen.
Omens…? Outre.
 
Q: ______________...?
A: Please, Plato: pray put
philosophical posers politely.
 
Q: __________________...?
A: Quiet, Quine! Quit querying!
Quash queer questions qua
quarreling.
 
Q: ________________...?
A: Request roundly rejected,
Rousseau. (Right! Really!)
 
Q: ________________...?
A: Sorry, Socrates. Should’a
said somethin’ sooner.
 
Q: _____________...?
A: ‘Tis truly tough to tell,
Teilhard. Try this time
tomorrow.
 
Q: _________________...?
A: Unanswerable, Unamuno…
unless…
 
Q: ____________...?
A: View’s vague, Vico…
very! Vamos!
 
Q: ______________...?
A: Well would we wonder
why, Wittgenstein.

Q: _____________...?
A: Xenophon…? Xeno-…
XII...XI...X...

Q: ______________...?
A: Yesterday's yammering, 

Yockey, yields you your 

yearned-for “Yessir!s”
 
Q: ______________...?
A: Zeno…? Zeno?!
Zzzzzz…zzzz…zz…z...zz...z...

"Touse" & "Confused" (Pub'd)

How About Youse...? 

I love the sounds of words.
How about youse…?
I covet phonics, surds.
How about youse…?
I crave Lear’s limericks,
Dodgson's deja vus.
Blasons, blues, clerihews,
mots, mikus, haiku IIs:
how about youse…?
 
I prize each Muir feghoot, 
each Norden pun.
(Are any not a hoot…? 
Can't think of one)
"...in the wabe..."; "...brillig, and the sli-...
" What might they signify…? 
I've got no clews.
But, I like 'em.
(How about youse…?)

I Get 'Em Confused 

Barney Frank and Bernie Sanders:
one’s a crank and one meanders.
Both loathe drama – Shaw’s, Menender’s.
Bernie Frank and Barney Sanders.
 
Barnie Fracken, Burney Sand...?
One burns bright; the other’s bland.
Both (please don’t misunderstand)
are li’ble to get out of hand.
 
Sandor Frankel, Barnhard Burns:
one backs burial in urns
and plumps for stuff the other spurns.
Both would teach, though neither learns.
 
Sandy Frankburne, barberer --
in former life an arborer –
is now of thieves a harborer…
(And sand, of course, is far from fur.)
 
Sandra Bernhard, Binnie Barnes:
one unravels; t’other darns –
and neither gathers into barns.
(But aren’t you list’ners sick of yarns…?)

Magic Dreidel (Unpub)

     Tired of those same old 

Magic 8-ball answers...?
Fed up with “Reply hazy: try again later” 

and “Very doubtful”…?
     Get set for the Magic Dreidel 

and its nearly rabbinical responses.

 
Vey is mir!
True…nu…?
Nem zick a vaneh!
No way, Hosea!
Nakhamal shfeter!
You bet your bubbe!

Tisk-for-Task: a New Abnormal (Unpub)

     A-tisket for a-tasket!
Contemn December's casket!

No sin to shed yo' winter thread.
(Trash'd COVID mask…? Don’t ask!)

     A-tisket for a-tasket!
Who’d spurn this Vernal Masque…? It
be no dumb thing, when’s come the Spring,
in revelry to bask.

     Quick! Pack a Paschal basket
with brisket and a flask. (It
were also good to haul some pudd –
if no exacting task.)

     A Swiss get, or a Basque (it
be "no-go" to blow a gasket). 
Tell 'em, "Don’t forget your jazz kit!"
Come: let's risk this Tisk-For-Task!

A "Baby/Board" Doggerel (Unpub)

Logg'd in as "fem" 

on her birth record, 

one girl child opts for a change 

which advances her manliness:

Babe bein' "bro"'d, 

babe bein' "bro"'d!
Babe bein' "bro"'d...? 

Wham, bam! Babe bein' "bro"'d!

Potential 'Babies' (Unpub)

Baby on Boris 
Bay Bora Bora (in Sicily)
Baby in Borneo
Bay, "Beef en Bourguignon!"
Bay'd beets in borscht
Baby arboreal
Baby on Borodin
Baby Juan Borgia
Bey breedin' Borzoi (Who knew Mos Def was into raising dogs!)

3 Babies on Board (Unpub)

Drypoint plate image 

of toddler -- call'd "Baby" -- 

surrenders it's feath'ry look 

post twelfth impression: 
"Baby" unburr'd, 

"Baby" unburr'd!
"Baby" unburr'd...? 

Boo-hoo! "Baby" unburr'd!

Newborn emerges 

from brief incubation 

required due to sharp drop 

in said newborn's body temp: 

Baby un"B-r-r-r-r!"'d! 

Baby un"B-r-r-r-r!"'d!
Baby un"B-r-r-r-r!"'...? 

Bless you! Baby un"B-r-r-r-r!"'d!

Neonate suff'ring 

a difficult birth -- 

one whose mom is Tibetan -- 

twixt life and rebirth hovers:

Baby in bardo, 

baby in bardo!

Baby in bardo...? Om-m-m-m-m-m-m... 

(Baby in bardo!)

Florchitecture Postcards (Past)

The Taj Mahalmond

The Sydney Hop'ra House

Sacre-Couergettes

The Pearamids at Giza

Maiza Verde

Magnolia Plantaintion

Machu Peaches

The Lingon Memorial

Kiwi West

Grapesland

The Eiffel Taro

The Mad Florchitect's Songs (Past)

The Taj Mahalmond 

Which celebrated sepulcher 

might please the legume connoisseur
your mum's become...? Just muster Mom und 

tote 'er to the Taj Mahalmond!

Machu Peaches 

Who sports a Jones 

for fruits, with stones, 

from far-flung distant reaches

no worse can do 

than tour Peru:

Pick Incan Machu Peaches!

 

Grapesland 

(Must be sung to the tune of 

Chuck Berry's "Memphis, Tennessee," 
ideally accompanied by Johnny 
Rivers's '57 Stratocaster.)

Help me, InfoMaven, to en-
roll each Pinot gris...

each Shiraz, Merlot, each noir Pinot -- 

plus each Verdot (Petit)...! 

     'Cuz, when I'm through, we'll (me 'n' you) 

enjoy a vintage spree...

through El "Vin" Aros'* Grapesland, 

down in Memphis, Tennessee.

     * A Spoonerism for "Elvis Aron"'s.

The Lingon Memorial  

Last seen, years past, 

in The North Hjo Pictorial:

red, round, respected...

and so-o-o-o gastronorial.
     Yipe! Now he's ripe. Let's all 
pipe verse sensorial:
♪ "Two for dessert at the 
Lingon Memorial." ♫

The Sydney Hop'ra House

Who’s daft for draft

and Johann Strauss

(composer of

Die Fledermaus)

must make a point to, 

with his spouse,

drop by 

the Sydney Hop'ra House.

Maiza Verde

Who'd yearn fer corn

must earn her corn, 

nor turn forlorn

'n' scaredy.

     If spook'd by heights, 

tour sunken sites: 

steer clear 

of Maiza Verde!

Magnolia Plantaintion

I confess to cessation 

of holidays Haitian,
of furloughs Croatian, 
sabbaticals Thracian.
     Ba-na-na-

na-nation...? Nah! 

Now no vacationin'...

'ceptin' in Charleston's 
Magnolia Plantaintion.

The Eiffel Taro

I got son'thin' ta say, mio caro,

tho' methinks this verse stinks -- like stale gar roe...
and this rhyme can't vamp time 'til tomorrow.
     List' away, lest your day end in sorrow!
Who knows nil climbs a Kilimanjaro.

Don't tempt fate! Best to wait in the far row.

     Why'd shy guys have you rise up so far...? Oh,
cry not "Why not...?"! Sigh "Bye, Eiffel Taro."

The Pearamids at Giza 

Scorchees searchin' sere Saharas 

for desserts design'd to please a-

ficionados of the phara'hs

plump for Pearamids at Giza.

Sacré-Cœurgettes

Forget about Iceberg 'n' 

Cranberry Beans; 

skip Endive, Romaine 'n'

Arugula Lett-

uce, Radicchio, Kale 'n' Chry-

santhemum Greens:
try visitin' Montmartre's 
Sacré-Cœurgettes!

The Drumpf Wheat House

Comes word you've ne'er heard 

of the house built of wheat.

Pols and pundits who have 

even call it The Wheat House.
     Its tenant's a liar, 

a psycho, a cheat,

a molester of women --

in short, a complete louse.

He herds his "good words" 

into long-winded tweet-
storms he Twitters most morns 

from the bowels of The Wheat House.
     Thrice wedded, he's pull'd 

an espousal "threepeat,"
though each bride Blondel beds 

proves but one more effete spouse.

Yet sleepers awake! 

Patr'ots take to the street
to protest this tycoon -- nay: ty-

rant -- of The Wheat House.

     Him (guilty as sin) they'll soon 

rightly unseat --
less a man [plus his kin!] 

than a now-obsolete mouse.

Let's do it! 

(A Weatherman's victory sweet.)
Ah-h-h-h...but how...? Must we now 

this wimp's fam'ly with 
"sheet" dowse...?
     Or hang the whole gang -- 

cronies, kids -- by their feet...
and display 'em across 

the South Lawn of the Wheat House...?

Other "Babies," Other "Boards" Continued (Unpub)

Evergreen laurel tree 

drill'd full of holes to al-
low group of thrill buffs to 

set up their zip line:
Bay bein' bored, 

bay bein' bored! 
Bay bein' bored...? Gung ho! 

Bay bein' bored!

To see 38 additional OBOBs, check out 

June 4th's post, just a short scroll below. 

Diarrhea: Another Adolescent Apologue (Unpub)

Runny roux
stain shorts and shoes. 
Have I attire-rrhea…?
It steams; it streams
(from shoppes, it seems:  
perhaps I've buyer-rrhea). 
The village watch-
man's stain’d his crotch -- 
the guy's got crier-rrhea.
I note his poo's
turn’d dusty, nu…?  
It's desert-drier-rrhea.
 
Do fluxes smell…?
Don't ask; don't tell. 
You’ve got enquire-rrhea. 
(In fact, they do.
They're torrid, too:  
some forest fire-rrhea.) 
What skips my skivs
swirls down my privs:  
I've spiral Gyre-rrhea.
Historical
proportions, ya'll:  
some Georgette Heyer-rrhea. 
 
My clothing's mess’d:
I'll get undress’d. 
(Have I "I Spy"-arrhea...?)
Still, weather's warm:
I'm done no harm.  
By Jove! July-arrhea!
Damp poop on sand
I can withstand:  
that's Karch Kiraly-arrhea.
I bet you hold
I've falsehoods told:  
that mine’s white lie-arrhea.
 
A further purge…?
A second surge…? 
Here comes Messiah-rrhea!
When runs appear,
pray TP's near:  
apply for nigh-arrhea.
If TP's not,
abut the pot:  
expect "Oh my!"-arrhea. 
If TP's there,
most trots you'll bear.  
(Oh, fie! 2-ply-arrhea!) 
 
If I need scores
(say, 24s)  
of sheets, I've Quire-rrhea.
If but to bed
I could but head,
I'd cry, "retire-rrhea!"
O, friends: let fly
your hue-an’-cry: 
I've shepherd's pie-arrhea!
And now I see
what looks like...ghee! 
(It’s turn’d to Thai-arrhea!) 

Disgusting dregs
drip down my legs: 
I've upper-thigh-arrhea.
My "bastille"…? Storm’d...
with filth unform’d:
severe Versailles-arrhea.
One can but stare:
such dysinter-
y! Why…?. Wide-eyed-arrhea!
Like frog manure, 
I smell of sewer:
I've Xenopi-arrhea.

None certainly 
will envy me 
my yippey-ki-arrhea.
Yet, careful, you...
lest Montezu- 
ma's zeta psi-arrhea
revenge enact,
and you're attack’d  
post eating his tortilla
and you're so hit
with agua'd shit 
that you admit,
"My eatin' it…?  
‘Tweren't not a good idea."