Why Drumpf...? A Q&A for July 4th (Unpub)

Back in 2017, Pat Carmichael's casual friend "Cynical Sidney" 

was asked by the blogger why Sid supported Trump. Said Sid, 

"He hates the same people I hate." I've yet to hear a more 

succinct description of the MAGAtrogs.

Why, when Drumpf disses the 

great fourth estate, do boors 

back him...? 'Cuz Drumpf hates the 

same speech they hate.

Why elect pols who Big 

Lies propogate...? Because 

they hate the same stuff 

Drumpf's devotees hate.

Why support Drumpf, when his 

daughter he dates...? Because 

Drumpf seems to hate the same 

codes Drumpf's base hates.

Why'd Drumpf's base cry, 

“We shall ne’er vaccinate!”

Because they hate the same science 

Drumpf seems to hate.

Why'd Drumpf's base paths to the 

ballot berate…? Because 

they hate the same voters 

Drumpf seems to hate.

     

Why'd towards white power Drumpf's 

base gravitate…? Because 

they hate the same black lives 

Drumpf seems to hate.

Why'd Drumpf's base districting 

renavigate...? Because 

they hate the same outcomes 

Drumpf seems to hate.

Why'd they LGBT-

Qs castigate...? Because 

they hate the same queer folk

Drumpf seems to hate.

Why Drumpf...? With bleach Drumpf'd their 

insides aerate. Because 

Drumpf seems to hate the same 

facts that they hate.

 

Why try insurgency...? 

Why take Drumpf's bait...? Because 

rioters hate the same 

country Drumpf hates.

 

Why would they die for this 

vile reprobate…? Because 

Drumpf seems to hate the 

same shit which they hate.

Les Temps Perduphabet (Past)

     An American administration lasts four, maybe eight years. 

Its impact, for better or worse, drags on for lifetimes.

Ages ambulate for years. Not Advents: four weeks, tops. 
An afternoon drags on for days – as third acts do, when flops.
An attosecond…? Light takes time to make but two short hops!*

 
     *An attosecond measures the time light takes to travel the width
of two hydrogen atoms, about one quintillionth of a second. 
 
Blips be brief. And as for beats…? But fractions of a bar.
Some thirty minutes, bells at sea. (In class, bells fifty are.*)
Biennia engage two years, then bid one, "Au revoir."

 
     *Back in the day, the length of a typical high-school algebra class 

in minutes (though feeling far longer to some observers). 
 
The time a Candle takes to burn runs several hundred hours.
A century…? Eight hundred thousand hours – and more -- devours. 
(The first depends on how one takes account of candle powers.)   
 
A life spins seven Decades out – in years, three score and ten
(assuming decades ten years span): so scrawls the Psalmist's pen. 
(A day...? In hours, twenty-four: as chimes Old Smoke’s* Big Ben.)

      *A nickname first bestowed on London due to its smog. 

The moniker persisted. 

 
Each Epoch's length's determin’d by a slew of 'ick'y stuff –
like geometr'ic's, astronom'ic's, phys'ic's... (Had enough...?) 
"Yer era's just yer E.R.A.,"* opines the baseball buff.

     *In baseball, the average number of runs given up by a pitcher – 

his so-called earned run average – is not a measure of time at all. 

 
A Friedman marks six moons have pass'd; a fortnight, fourteen suns. 
A February…? Eight plus twenty ('cept in leap year) runs.
Each time frame's fluid: Brubeck (Dave) took five -- and raked in tons.
(A femtosecond's fa-a-ar too short: the time buff femtos shuns.)
 
How long's a Generation…? Whom you quiz may well prove weighty.
Galactic years…? Since time began, far fewer've flown than eighty.* 
A gigasecond lasts one second...times one billion, matey!
(Gestations and Gregori'n years…? Nowt…if one hails from Haiti.)

     *About 61 since the Big Bang, as the time it takes the solar system
to orbit the center of the Milky Way (which is the length of a galactic
year) measures about 225 million earth years.
 
A moment lasts a minute and a half. Thus, Half a mo
should, as a rule, last merely five and forty seconds. Go!
(Some sev’ral heartbeats – seventy plus two – each minute fill.
There may beat more -- or way, way less – if one falls gravely ill.)
A hectosecond takes a hundred seconds, more or less.
How many in an hour…? Hey! You do the math. (Or guess.)
 
An Instant takes no time at all. Indictions…? Fifteen years.
An instant’s just a snapshot of "right now" -- in, say, Algiers.
(A verse which blends ‘em both…? Perhaps in limericks of Lear’s...?)
 
A Jiffy marks the time elaps’d as light migrates one fermi.
(A fermi’s rarely read about in tomes on taxidermy.)
A jubilee is fifteen years. (Who so explains the term…? Me!)
 
What's 4.32 billion years...? A Kalpa. (Hey! Who knew...?)
What’s ten plus four and four/tenths minutes long…? That answer’s ke.
A ke’s Chinese. It’s sound approximates the Frenchman’s ‘bleu.’
A kilosecond’s three halves of a ke… so there: adieu!

  
Lents last forty days. For fasting folks, those prove a strife time.
For lunar months, slice one half day off thirty! Posed...? A knife time!
A lustrum lasts five years. When you’re in jail, such seems a lifetime.
(The bachelor -- unless confirm’d -- spends, in the long run, wife time.)
 
A Month o’ Sundays…? Thirty weeks. (In tetes-a-tetes, much greater.)
A moment ends at three half-minutes. Nope! Not one tick later.
('M's teem. But, in the meantime...see ya later, alligator!)

The time 'tween light's turn green and cab horn's honk…? A New York second.
How longs the night...? Depends on where on earth good souls begin it.
(A billionth of a second…? That’s a nanosecond, i’n’it…?)

The time 'twixt your snafu and your "Oh, no!"...? An Onosecond.
(The nature of your fuck up or faux pas can go unreckon'd.) 

Olympiads run four years long: with laurel wreaths they're fecund.

Planck time runs way, wa-a-a-ay shorter.

A length of time of three months is the span they call a Quarter.
Res satti has to do with New Year’s Day. It's Latin…sorter.
 
Lamb’s tail’s Shakes may fluctuate, as may each sev’ral season.   
Semesters, too, may vary: ask your principal the reason.
If scenes run long, play fans cry, “Wrong!” (The sin…? Theatric treason.)
A Scaramucci's ten days long, post which he's Drumpf displeasin.'
 
A Tatum* is the time ‘twixt tones in Art’s descending scale.
(A trice is also very short: it ain’t no “pace de snail.”)
A "Take Two" starts once "One" departs, once "Take One"’s deem’d “No sale!” 

     *Named for jazz great Art Tatum and that pianist's lightning arpeggios.   
 
The Upper Pal’olithic Age lasts 30,000 years.
A Vamp 'til ready lasts until the buzzing in one’s ears --
plus fear of failure, nosebleed and amnesia -- disappears.

 

A While might last a watch or two, thought way less than a week. 

An (e)Xasecond’s 1,000,000,000,000,000,000* seconds – so to speak.

     * Pronounced "one quintillion.

Yoctoseconds…? Zeptoseconds…? Both to me are Greek.
(Exhausted I'm, so ends my rhyme...in time to take a leak.) 

Another from an OK Chorale (Unpub)

The Earps appoint a posseful of cowboys.
The cow pies they amass resemble dal.
What species of embroilment have we now, boys…?
The Flung Shite at the OK Corral…?

Whether Or No ala A. A. Milne (Unpub)

On Mungday, as my beansprouts bloom
forlornly in the morning room,
I weigh, as warps and woofs my loom,
if whom be who or who be whom.
 
On Juiceday when my kumquats come
(on sale I saw, so order’d some),
I ponder while I "Up!" my thumb
if from be to or to be from.
 
On When?sday (When?sday’s where it’s at),
in situ where your nibs once sat,
I puzzle, in said habitat,
if that be this or this be that.
 
On Thirstday (Juiceday came and went,
and with it Juiceday's tuppence spent)
I seek in vain, in the event,
to know precisely what is meant.
 
On Frightday, ‘less I lose my wits
(Advance the ball...? Or call it quits…?),
I’m quick to query Uncle Fitz
if tits be tats or tats be tits.
 
On Satyrday, as fauns bounce back
to pimp each nymphomaniac,
I wish to this dispute unpack:
 “Be ‘lack alas or ‘las alack…?”
 
On Sungday, once my po'm's been penn’d,
I settle back and phone a friend
to see if, pair'd, we comprehend:
Be end begin...? Begin be end...?

Swimming with the Snarks (in Progress)

Lewis Carroll featured twice five characters in his 

"The Hunting of the Snark": a Bellman, a Boots, 

a Bonnet-maker, a Barrister, a Broker, plus a 

Billiard-marker, a Banker, a Beaver, a Baker and 

a Butcher. Once again a similar set of iso-initialed 

characters embark on a seemingly singular ad-

venture. They figure in this new poetic narrative 

(though this time their number isn’t limited to ten: 

see the list following the verses). But except for 

that numerical characteristic along with several 

vaguely similar treatments of meter and rhyme, 

resemblances to the Carroll classic are few.
 
 “Let us be of good cheer,” 

said the Brewer of Beer.
“’Twould appear we’re all here, 

safe and sound.”
“Yet, don’t questions remain…?”

ask’d the Badger. “Explain
how we’d wade...but evade 

being drown’d…?”
 
Then the Brewmeister blanch’d, 

as saliva he stanch’d.
(His peers figured fears trigger’d 

his spittle.)
Then, regaining his cool, 

he observ’d, “This wee pool…?
Do get real! Don’t you feel 

it’s too little…?”
 
(To be continued)

Future Swimmers: Bowler, 

Belly-dancer, Bursar, Ballet-master, Barrista, Batter, 

Bluesman, Bridgebuilder, Brick-layer, Bridesmaid, 

Busboy, Buffalo soldier, Burger-flipper Best man, 

Bench-warmer, Bible salesman, Bouncer, Ball boy, 

Bellhop, Bassist, Bugler, Bandit, Basketball player, 

Brigadier, Butter-and-egg man, Basket weaver, 

Brakeman, Bicyclist, Bill collector, Bean counter, 

Beekeeper, Beefeater, Beggar, Babbit, Backdoor 

man, Bacarat dealer, Badminton player, Baedeker 

editor, Bagman, Banjo picker, Bap maker... 

6.12.18: Three for the Summit (from "This Day in History" ) (Unpub)

I. Quick Study (pace Lewis Carroll)  

Despot Dum and Despot Dee

agree to hold a summit

'cuz desp'rate Dum's approval nums

Dum dar'n't permit to plummet.

Crows Dum, "Within that first brief min,

if Dee's for real, I'll feel it.

It's splinter’d (The Peninsula):

trust ME! I've chi to heal it."

II. Naming Rights  

"Rocket Man v. Racket Man"

The NYT may name it.

"A See of Reds' Dictato Heads"

Fake News may choose to frame it.

"Summit Samba re: La Bomba": 

Which Post won't defame it...?

Despite each tag, will Drumpf not brag

that he, some way, will game it...?

III. Worst Case

"Some are called but few are chosen":

Jesus said it first.

"Summer cold...? And flu...? You’re frozen!”:

Mother’s scolding, vers’d.

"Summit call'd to feud o'er Chosun"...?

Dear! I fear the worst.

Physics Schmysics! (Unpub)

Once the whole world was
fire or earth, water or air.
That’s when God was head honcho.
Dissenters were rare.
Then a diff’rent reality
Albert E. bared:
it seems e equal’d m
times the speed of light squared.
 
Cast your mind back to Al,
him of mad-as-March hair.
To eschew Albert’s “view of the u”…?
Who dared dare…?
Yet some did disagree:
I, for one, bellow'd, “Merde!
Are you kiddin’ me…?
Energy’s m times c squared…?”
 
What next…? Dark matter, black holes,
charm quarks everywhere...?
Leapin’ leptons, bad bosons,
far fruitier fare…?
My Old Testament cosmos
can ne’er be repair’d –
not when energy’s mass
times the speed of light squared.
 
Are there cosmoi in parallel…?
Damn’d if I care!
Does my clock slow
the faster I go…? C’est la guerre!
I’d prefer Al’d not shared.
I’d much rather be spared
each new round that compounds
“E be (zounds!) mc².”

Rhymes With 'Jimmy the Greek' (Unpub)

My claim…? Names of Jameses,
through historyspeak,
in due time wind up rhyming
with ‘Jimmy the Greek.’
 
Who is James, King of Scotland,
but Jimmy Antique…?
Who is Jimmy Durante
but Jimmy the Beak…?
 
Isn’t James Joyce the novelist
Jimmy Oblique…?
Ain’t the Good Book’s James Less
merely Jimmy the Meek…?
 
Isn’t Bond…James Bond…aka
Jimmy the Chic…?
(As for Susan Saint James,
ain’t she Jim So-to-Speak…?)
 
Who are Jones, Beam and Watt…?
Aren’t they Jimmy the Clique…?
Who’s the Godfather (James Brown)
but Jimmy the Shrie-e-e-eek…?
 
Isn’t James Beard the chef
Jimmy Bubble and Squeak…?
(When he’s sautéing onions,
he’s Jimmy the Leek.)
 
Isn’t James Earl Ray actu’lly
Jimmy the Bleak…?
Shouldn’t teamster head Hoffa
be Jim Up-the-Creek…?
 
Isn’t James the Fat (Mor Stewart)
Jim Chubby Cheek…?
Harvard’s James D. G. Wood…?
Who but Jimmy Critique…?
 
Jimmy Carl Black…? None but
Jimmy the Freak.
And James MacNeill Whistler’s
just Jimmy Technique!
 
John Lennon’s real name…?
Jimmy Eight-Days-a-Week.
(And somewhere there I stand:
Jim taking a leak.)
 
In Melbourne, ’07, there’s
Jimmy the Streak.
Isn’t fashion’s James Galanos
Jimmy Boutique,,,?
 
(Jamie Harris the glass artist’s
Jimmy Lalique,
and each blackbird you see
might be Jimmy Cacique.
 
Note: “Jimmy Marlu’s
not Jim Martinique,
but I think Lizha James
might be Jim Mozambique.”
 
Jesse James assumes names:
ain’t one Jimmy the Sneak…?
And the West’s Edwin James:
ain’t he Jim o’ Pike’s Peak…?
 
Flautist James Galway passes
as Jimmy the Squeak.
Author P. D. James has to be
Jim Hide-'n'-Seek.
 
(Or perhaps P.D.’s actu’lly
Jimmy Mystique.
Jimmy Shergill of Bollywood’s
Jimmy the Sikh.)
 
Isn’t James Earl Jones
famous as Jim Vaderspeak…?
Surely Javans are fond of their
Jimmy Batik!
 
And there’s, somewhere, an
Arab called Jimmy the Sheik.
(None are easy to find.
Still, to find you must seek.)
 
Isn’t Baldwin, occasion’lly,
Jim Fit-o'-Pique…?
James Kisiki of films:
Jimmy Diabolique…?
 
Dennis James, bodybuilder:
not Jimmy Physique…?
(Ain’t Ezekiel aka
Jimmy the Zeke…?)
 
Where’s the card-playing James
known as Jimmy Bezique…?
One more James whose geek name
rhymes with ’Jimmy the Greek.’

Q&A&A: an ABC (Walrus)

A new abecedarial nonsense whose stanzas 

channel those of Carroll's The Mad Gardener's Song.

Might A be Anna's arabesque
augmenting half Alf's partners desk…?
No, A be Alfie's amphigory
airbrushed in Ann's lavatory.
(Also -- viewed through Pink's pink prism –
A's an Attic witticism.)
 
Might B be Baby's badinage
begun while boxing Bubb's corsage…?
No, B be Bubba's balderdash
begat while brushing Babe's mustache...
unless B's baked in Boursin cheese:
in that case, B’s a bald betise.

Might C be Caesar's* calembours
contrived behind closed cellar doors…?
No, C be Coca's** coups de plume
concocted in Sid's coke-filled room,
except when cow'ring in Sid's ditch:
in that case, C's a carrawitch.
 
     * Sid   ** Imogene

Might D be Dodgson's* dunciad
discovered in some deacon's pad…?
No, D be D'Indy's doubl'-entente
delivered dans Drood's Restaurant,
unless D's deemed cajolery:
in that case D's (duh!) drollery.
 
     * Charles Lutwidge Dodgson
 
Might E be Edward's escapades
engaged in with three upstairs maids…?
No, E be Eddie's equivokes,
whose end line rhymes, "Dos Eq’-, Joe Doakes!"
Unless at eight pence to the pound
E's priced. Then, E's an empty sound.

If F's for Fifi's foolishness
fomented from Flo's olive press,
F's not, then, for her flummeries
(film footage offers summaries),
unless said film be conterfeit:
in that case, F's a flash of wit.

Might G be "Godot"'s gobbl'ygook
grok'd graven in God's grading book…?
No, G be Garbo's "gallicisms"
(Greta's anti-Semitisms...(?)).
Garnering gefiltefish, 
this G's Ed Gorey's gibberish.
 
Might H be Hugh's hyperbole
hatched mute -- i.e., nonverbally…?
Oh, no, H be Hef's hebetude –
what attitude! -- his hips half nude,
unless Hef's Hoovers halt their raids.
Then, H be Hefner's harl'quinades.

Might I be Idi's "idi-"'-cies
inflicted on Ike's tse-tse’s bees…?
No, I be Ireland's Irish bulls –
in Innishfree, they’ve firkinfuls;
still, inside Iceland's bourgeoisie,
there I's an imbecility.

Might J be Jean-Jacques' jabberwockies
jotted down while sipping sakes…?
No, J's Joseph's jeu d'esprit –
jejune, like J. J.'s jamboree,
unless Joe's jokes be quid pro quo.
Then, J's jests…? Just junk jeu de mots.
 
Might K be Keith's kid's kakapoo
as squawk'd (hawk'd...?) thru Ken's bass kazoo...?
No, K be "Krazee Kinkajou," that
kids'-show host (KQFU).
And what if K. K. -- kidnapp'd -- dies...?
Then, K be Krazee's kaddish, guys.

Might L be Lisle's light levity
colinking length with brevity...?
No, L be Lulu's lunacy
(illegal in Altoona, si...?)
...unless that L will prove legit:
in that case, L's your lack o' wit.

M maybe mimics merriments
made up by Mali's malcontents...?
Mais non, M's Mommie's mots pour rire
(though neither's music to mine ear),
unless Mom's 'nom de mime' be "Mick."
In that case, M's Ma's monkey trick.
 
Might N be Norns' nugacity
nuancing Butch (bitch!) Cassidy...?
No, N's a nugae canorae
announced when 'noshing rhubarb pie,
though not when watching "Frasier," see...?
Then, N is Niles' niaiserie.

Ought O be even oddities
occurring in these ABCs...?
No, O's for one obscurum per
obscurius (one can but stare).
(Throughout Ontario today,
though, Os be for our oui dires, eh...?

Might P be peoples' poppy-cock
(pronounced as "ph'ah'q" in Languedoc)...?
Nope, P be Popi's persiflage
performed while "perping" Pip's "massage,"
unless Pop's prattle's rife with surds.
Then, P's a pun -- a play on words.
 
Might Q be Queequeg's quid pro quo...?
(I'd quite concur if Q said, "No.")
"No, Q be quite the quiddity,"
quoth thou, with queer acidity,
"...unless said quipper fires point-blank.
Then, Q's Quixote's quip 'n' crank."

Are Rs for Ryder's raillery
recounted 'round Red's Whalery...?
No, R's for Ringo's repartee.
His "co-Starr" (retrogressively)
be Belle: Rick's arse feels "rather droll."
(Perhaps his R's for rigmarole.)

Is (was...?) Ms. Suze's silliness
subscribed to sporting fancy dress...?
No, S is Stu's stultiloquence
suggested o'er Soc's stockade fence...
'cept Sunday week: 'Tis Hallowmas!
Then, S shows Salman's sounding brass.
 
Might T be Trigve's thing'majig
translated whilst Trot trims Trig's wig...?
Not! T be Trot's tomfoolery.
(Trot tripp'd whilst thieving jewelry.)
And if the true thief's less than nimble,
this T's, then, for tinkling cymbal.
 
Might U be your ultravagance
unleashed while mugging nonchalance...?
No, U be unintelligence
unurn’d while burning frankincense...
unless you misquote Watson-Crick:
then, U's an urban ledjend (sic).

Might V be Vernon's verbal quirks...?
(He visits 'em on var'ous jerks.)
Vay, no: V's vox et praet'rae ni'l,
voiced softly, 'neath Vin's windowsill.
We've felt, however, V's vibrations.
So-o-o-o...V be vermiculations.
 
Why's W a waggishness
express'd whilst weeding watercress
when W's more witticism...?
(Mum's the word: no criticism!).
Yet, when whale oil warms Wim's dim sum,
W'd be want o' wisdom.

Might X be texts --"Xanthippe's Tirades,"
ex. grat. -- penn'd by Marxist mermaids...?
Nope, X be xylarity
(though, spelt with 'x,' a rarity)...
unless said X relaxes us:
then, X be my xyphopagus.

Might Y be all that yettering
you've vetted at Sloan-Kettering...?
Yes...No! Y be your yap 'n' yammer
yell'd while editing my grammar.
Yet, if you don't give a darn,
in that case, Y's a navvy's yarn.
 
Might Z be zazen zanyism
zoned to hone post-modernism...?
No way! Z's Zeke's slow-paced zizz
(though paradox Zeke's zephyr is).
If those zeds bring semantic fits,
then (Zounds!)...this Z's for Zasu Pitts!

(Mini-)Portrait of (Uly) Poe (Unpub)

Less than 

master,
less than 

poet.
Poet-

aster…?
Don’t you 

know it!