An OK Chorale (Unpub)

Three Earps, one Holliday (dubb’d Doc) in tow
to bolster their inadequate morale,
oppose a trapezoidal UFO:
The Tonne Kite at the OK Corral.
 
Doc Holliday is nuts for funny papers.
He follows Blondie, Skeezix and Prince Val.
The latter cuts, in armor bronze, wild capers:
The Dun Knight at the OK Corral.
 
The Earps had Sister Steele in second grade.
She smack'd ‘em good: she’s one unyielding gal.
She black'd one’s eye; she crack'd one’s shoulder blade:
The Nun Smite at the OK Corral.
 
Doc Holliday with Virgil, Morgan, Wyatt:
all four endure the consummate grand mal
as running sores of Attila run riot:
The Hun Blight at the OK Corral.
 
“Sure, ‘no man is an island,’” Wyatt notes,
“and ‘Death shalt die’ and ‘bells shall toll’ et al.
I’m up to here with metaphysics quotes…”:
The Donne Cite at the OK Corral.
 
The Earps ask ev'ry señor and señora.
They forage but can form no rationale
for walls dividing Tombstone from Sonora:
The Unbright at the OK Corral.
 
The Earps appoint a posse mann'd by cowboys.
The cow pies they amass resemble dal.
What species of embroilment have we now, boys…?
The Flung Shite* at the OK Corral…?
 
     * Possibly The Dung Flight at the OK Corral...?
 
The Earps -- that's Virgil, Morgan (Wyatt, too) --
along with MD Holliday, their pal,
face Dominick the Vampire. None pull through:
The Dunne Bite at the OK Corral.
 
The Earps have gone their way, replaced by Ike,
whom locals task with lifting their morale.
But Ike is dropp’d by Tyson -- Iron Mike:
The Stunn’d Dwight at the OK Corral.
 
My carol's through. I bid “adieu” to Wyatt,
now teaching Western Lit at Southern Cal.
(Remarks re cals reminds me of my diet:
The Pun Trite at the OK Corral.)

Aspects of 'Chi' (Unpub)

Dapper Don Ameche dotes on balding Ed Balducci.
Campo (yum!) di Bocce’s haut. So’s Italy’s Il Duce.
Ignorat’ Elenchi quotes sequential Fibonnacci.
 
Soprano Galli-Curci curtsies, dancing Hootchie-Kootchie.
Matthew Groening’s Itchy blurts, "See fancy Jughead’s Archie...?"
 
Pakistan’s Karachi fatwas fatuous Liberace.
Happy-New-Year Mochi…? “Not when Gott ist tot!” shouts Nietzsche.
In Nevil’s On the Beach, he plots how senior cits grow paunchy.
 
Accupressure’s Qi-Chi chews up Justis playing “Raunchy.”
Big Night’s Stanley Tucci brews up martial art form Tai Chi.
 
“…cedeme Un Chi Chi” croon collaborees from Vichy.
Maids from Weeki-Watchee swoon for frat boys’ Beta Xi Chi.
Shirley Yamaguchi soon licks Dragonball Z Chi Chi.
 
I tip my hat to ev’ry ‘chi.’ To each: Arrivederci, ‘chi’!

Ev'ryone's '-ster'ing (Unpub)

     Gott: sogar die maus!
 
Auster pens novels, pure post-modern stuff.
Bluster of Doodyville’s grumpy ‘n’ gruff.
Custer claims fame just for taking a stand
Dumpster…? Where half of the planet’s meals land.
 
Easter: He’s risen…? Let’s color some eggs.
Forster: his novels, as film scripts, have legs.
Gloucester: Lear’s sidekick is Edmund’s old dad.
Hester (Ms. Prynne)…? One more good gal gone bad.
 
Ister (that’s Aethicus Ister to you)
iters the Cosmographia. (Who knew…?)
Hieronymus author’d this erudite coup.
“Jester, The Court,” jaws of “brew that is true.”
 
Kapellmeisters’ keisters grow fat (all that sittin’).
Lester of Leicester's with lobster legs smitten.
Munsters are monsters, though Fred Gwynne is not.
Nor’easters…? They blow up the East Coast…a lot.
 
‘Oldster’ is shorthand for – si! -- senior cit.
Pollster: she’ll pick your brain. (Only a bit.)
Quaester (sic): Roman appointee (misspell’d).
Rochester…? Man Friday. (Benny’s excell’d.)
 
Sylvester Stallone plays a sinister sheister.
Twister: a cyclone. (Twinn’d twisters…? A “twice”ster.)
Ulster: the scene of some Irish dissension.
Vester…? “Of you” (Latin, second declension).
 
Worcester: the home of Quinsigamond School.
Xyster: guitarfish. Or surgical tool.
Youngster: some kid who’s inventive though tiny.
Iranian sage Zoroaster, in fine.

L=A=N=G=U=A=G=E Poem (Unpub)

 

 

O     N     C     E

D     A      Y    S 

G     R     O    W

L      E     S     S 

T      H     A     N

L      O     N    G,   

 

W     H     O’    D

M     A      K     E 

T      H     E     M  

E      A     C     H

M     O     R     E  

F      U     L      L

 

N      E    E     D

K      N    O    W 

W     H    A     T

W     O    R     D, 

W     H    A     T 

S      O    N    G 

 

T      H    A     T, 

S      U    N    G,

N      E    T     S 

T      I     M     E

L      E    S     S

N     U     L     L.

A CRT Primer (Unpub)

Whence heroes de yore,
like The Right Stuff's Chuck Yigger…?
Who cheers as the U.S.
files climate's hair trigger…?
Who's praisin’ the Christian
while razin’ the Uigher…?
 
Who black-listed Zero
Mostel ‘n’ Pete Sigger…? 
Who back’d Michelle Bachman
and blog’d "How we dig ‘er!"…?
Who cast bags of ballots
for Palin…? Go figger!
 
Who neighs to his neighbor,
"My gun be w-a-a-ay bigger"…? 
Who drives after drinkin’
way, wa-a-a-ay too much ligger…? 
Who thinks Donald Drumof
has no need of a wigger…? 
 
On steroids, Team USA's
cyclists ride quigger,
though usin’s destroy’d 
more than one Major Ligger,
while boys who know better
still chortle ‘n’ snigger.
 
Who bans marijuana
but puffs a big cigger…?
Who boozes by gallon
and never by jigger…?
Who flaunts G. I. Joe, 
dissin’ Eeyore ‘n’ Tigger…?
 
Who "pooh!"s Mendel's gene work
while callin’ him 'Grigger'…?
Thinks H'waii'ns by spaceship came,
not by out-rigger…?
And who doesn’t think Donald
Drumpf’s The Intrigguer…?
 
Who prefers to defer to
the Founders with vigor,
insistin’ all immigrants
weather the rigor
of Homeland Security's
brutal butt-kigger…?
 
When promises made
to the farm-produce piggers
deserve follow-through,
who are A-one renegers…?
A hint: who's hellbent (nor be
zaggers nor ziggers)…?
 
Whose ancestors came here
ensconced in square-riggers…?
Whose immigrants’ kin support
Anti-Def Liggers…?
I’m quoting just facts, ma’am…
just facts, ma'am, and figgers!

Unidentical Twins, Part I (Unpub)

Oliver and Oliver: 

a Hardy and a dragon.
Remus and/or Remus: 

one’s your uncle, one found Rome.
     Aron (also Aaron): 

one’s O.T. and one’s a Trask.
Bert and Bert: a Muppet…

and a Bobbsey, when he's home.
     Castor and/or Castor: 

one’s a physic; one’s a brother.
Dum and Dumb: a Tweedle...

and a cinematic fuck.
     George and George: the first’s 

a Founding Father; two’s a Weasley.
Huey (also Huey): 

one’s a rocker; one’s a duck.

Understudies (Unpub)

“Ladies and gentlemen, in tonight’s performance of 

“Tintin Tours Tartarus,” the roles of the twin detectives 

Thompson and Thomson will be played by…

 
…Ms. Theda Bara and Mr. Yogi Berra.”
…Mrs. Laura Bush and Mr. August Busch.”
…Ms. Willow Bay and Mr. Turhan Bey.”
…Mme. Marie Curie and Mr. Finlay Currie.”
…Ms. Celia Cruz and Mr. Tom Cruise.”
…Ms. Jeanne Crain and Mr. Hart Crane.”
…Ms. Barbie Doll and Mr. Roald Dahl.”
…Little Miss Echo and Mr. Umberto Eco.”
…Ms. Tina Fey and Mr. Michael Faye.”
…Ms. Nadia Gray and Mr. Zane Grey.”
…Ms. Lena Horne and Mr. Paul Horn.”
…Mr. Harold Ickes and Mr. Dave Hickey.”
…Dick’s sister Jane and Alan Ladd’s Shane.”
…Herr Helmut Kohl and Ms. Natalie Cole.”
…Ms. Lois Lane and Mr. Frankie Laine.”
…Ms. Mary Lamb and Mr. Wifredo Lam.”
…Ms. Vivien Leigh and Mr. Pinky Lee.”
…Ms. Mary Tyler Moore and Othello the Moor.”
…Mr. Louie Nye and Mr. Bill Nighy.”
…Ms. Tatum O’Neal and Mr. Eugene O’Neill.”
…Ms. Kimberley Po and Mr. Edgar Allan Poe.”
…Mr. Anthony Quinn and Ms. Butterfly McQueen.”
…Mr. John Rambo and M. Arthur Rimbaud.”
…Ms. Rene Russo and M. Jean Jacques Rousseau.”
…Ms. Rachel Ray and Mr. Alvino Rey.”
…Ms. Patti Smith and Mr. Ronald Eustace Psmith.”
…Mr. Louis Untermeyer and Mr. Samuel Untermeier “
…Ms. Missouri Vaun and Mr. Stevie Ray Vaughn.”
…Ms. Fay Wray and Mr. Man Ray.”
…Ms. Kelly Winn and Mr. Keenan Wynn.”
…Herr Max Weber and Mr. Andrew Lloyd Webber.”
…Ms. Loretta Young and Herr Carl Gustav Jung.”
…Senor Zorro and Mr. George Soros.”

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...?