Selfie Sketchbook: Cocteau...

 

The Jean Cocteau "Le Bête e' Bellefie"

Jean remarks, "We're not alone."

Josette barks, "Bête's done ete my phone."

(Marais's performance...? Overblown.)

One Fine Day In A Forest Outside Camelot

   

   

You and the night and the music...? No! 
Ewen the Knight tann'd the moose...? Sick!!

One Fine Day With Sadie & Sol In An Indian Restaurant

 

Half a loaf is better than none...? No!

A Selfie Sketchbook Hierarchy

Their Lost Cause Rebel Yellfie
quells our Wicked Witch's Spellfie, 

my Anti-personnelfie 

and your Norman Bates Motelfie. 

   Their Solid Xerogelfie

(as it flaunts its daunting smellfie)
fells our Dhammazedi Bellfie
and Rossini's William Tellfie.

   Their Celtic Clootie Wellfie,
which dispells my Asphodelfie
and your Seventh Ring Of Hellfie,

pelts S. Claus's Fav'rite Elfie.

   Their Columbian Cartelfie,

with your So Long, Fare Thee Wellfie

and my Third-Grade Show-'n'-Tellfie:

not a one's "just one more selfie." 

The Harrowing Of Heaven

      Canto I 

   Last 

Friday night, late, I slipp'd 

right off the plate, kick'd the 

bucket. I gave up the 

ghost, 

   came to 

ultimate harm, bought (and 

paid for) the farm. I (and 

let me speak frankly) was 

toast.

   Drank I 

deep from Doom's cup, beds of 

daisies push'd up, had my 

ticket punch'd, caught the last 

ride; 

     met the 

Reaper (he's grim), bit the 

Big Galbijjim, with the 

fishes slept. (Bluntly: I 

died.)

   To in-

visible choirs I ap-

pended my lyres; kick'd the 

can (sadly, not down the 

road); 

     met my 

end, popp'd my clogs; went whole-

hog! to the dogs, crossing 

o'er to no mortal a-

bode.

   Call my 

trip what you will: the Big 

Sleep, the Big Chill, that I 

pass'd to some vast other 

side, 

     cash'd in 

chips, bit the dust -- R.I.-

P.'d if you must. But, while 

nixing to shout it or 

flout it or tout it, there's 

nowt doubt about it: I 

died. 

      Canto II 

     Dapper 

Dante of yore...? He faced 

gauntlets galore. Me...? I 

can't declare I did as 

well:

     I was 

neither urn-buried nor 

quite Aligh'eri'd; 'tis 

clear I veer'd nowhere near 

Hell.

    Virgil...? 

Never turn'd up. Were I 

on my own...? Yup! (Them three

hell-creatures never show'd, 

neether. 

     BF-

B (Bonne Femme Bea)...? She, too, 

made no appea-. Lo, to 

tell you the truth (though it 

smells less than couth), their A-

WOLism 'queath'd me a 

breather. 

     Canto III

 

     (to be continued)

O Tempora, O Mores; Or, Nine, Nein...? An Anagrammatic Nonet (Vaguely OuLiPian) In The Form Of A Dialog Between A Certain Eve And Her Pal Steve

The Nine Notes 

(1) By the end of the opening line,

18 letters have been used. 1+8=9. 

(2) By the end of the second, 

36 letters have been used. 3+6=9. 

(3) By the end of the third, 

54 letters have been used. 5+4=9. 

   (4) By the end of the fourth line, 

72 letters have been used. 7+2=9.

(5) By the end of the fifth,

90 letters have been used. 9+0=9.

(6) By the end of the sixth,

108 letters have been used. 1+0+8=9.

   (7) By the end of line seventh line,

126 letters have been used. 1+2+6=9.

(8) By the end of the eighth,

144 letters have been used. 1+4+4=9.

(9) And by the end of the final line,

162 letters have been used. 1+6+2=9. 

The "Nine, Nein...?" Nonet 

Steven, dear; my Steven:
every M.V.A. needs tents,
my vest...and even trees.
Events, my dear...events!

Steven, dear; my Steven:

meet any Denver's vets...?

Yes; seven matter'd, Eve.

Events, my dear...events;

events, my dear...events!

Le Quartette Fauntastique; Or, The Ballade Of Pseudo-Pliny's Imagin'ry Mini-Menagerie

The Beasts

Ripley's Radicaloo

The Physiologus-drawn Dango

The Innumerate Quot

Pitt's Illijitterbug Bear

 

The Ballade

   By 

Lear unsuspected;

by Gorey neglected.

By Carroll...? Detected...then shunn'd:

   Pseudo-  

Pliny's Imagin'ry

Mini-Menagerie! 

Stare! Then, prepare 

to be stunn'd!

 

Ripley's Radicaloo

   Rather 

rare's Ripley's Radicaloo, 

which sports    

three. (You 'n' me...? 

We've but two.)

   So: how 

so is such so...? Blathers 

Rather "I know..." -- tho' Dan's 

not 'bout to hand out 

one clue.

 
The Dango

      The 

   Physiologus-drawn Dango 

   (tres unclean!) goes unseen 

   'cept towards dark.

      You who'd 

   vie to espy it...? 

   You'd best just deny it.

   (Put bluntly: Go hunt me a Snark!)

   The Innumerate Quot 

  To that 

lot who would spot 

the Innumerate Quot -- 

pictured here as a yearling 

(a calf):

   Nose...? Ears...?

Eyes...? Of each, one. 

Eyeballs...? Truth to tell: none. 

But eyelashes...? A thatch and 

a half.    

 

   
The Illijitterbug Bear 

   Willy 

Pitt's Illijitterbug Bear 

boogies bare. Queried, 

"Where's that fair

hair... 

     ...which once

thrived 'neath your fez...?" 

Illijitterbug says, 

"One iota less I could not 

care."

Der Briefkastenliebhaberkunstler

The 
Malebox 

   The 
   Fe-
   Malebox

The
Call Me Ish-
Maelbox

The
Cozy Camo-
Milebox 

The 
Gulag Tread-
Millbox 

The 
Fakakta Shle-
Mielbox 

Size Matters

Too small, Drumpf's eyes, 

as are Drumpf's hands. 
(Not so Drumpf's thighs

and thyroid glands.)

Too long Drumpf's ties: 

couture Drumpf pans.  
     So: how now hangs 

Drumpf's danglydoo...?

Drumpf's sturms and drangs

provide no clue. 
Ms D harrangues, 

"Too tiny, too." 

     Too small, Drumpf's mind,  

each cell, each lobe. 

Drumpf's kindness-blind. 

(This boob's no Job.

Drumpf is a bigly

xenophobe.)

     Though small (Drumpf's fist)

Drumpf grabs the loot. 

Now Stormy's diss'd 

Drumpf's sissypoot:

"I've never kiss'd one 

more minute." 

 
     Coda 

Small as well...? 

Drumpf's handicap. 

(Drumpf cheats.) 
But bigliest 

of all...? 

Dumb crap Drumpf eats. 

Ashurbanipal Bach

Ashur-

banipal Bach is a

student of Rock, a grand-

nephew of Johann Sebastian, 

who, when 

yet a young fellow, ar-

ranged for the 'cello his 

feint on the "Saint Matthew Passtian." 

Ashur-

banipal Bach keeps great 

time (like a clock: tock, tock, 

tick) so he's nicknamed 'Cartier.' 

Once, when 

op'ra was needed, folks' 

summons he heeded: his 

"Qarmen" recalls George Bizier.

 

Ashur-

banipal Bach channels 

Bartok, Beach, Bloch. Bach's "Toc-

cata for Glockenspiel"'s Grammy 

serves to 

put on the map a 'til-

now-unknown chap -- one An-

navarupa Rama Swammy.

 

Ashur-

banipal Bach I e-

lect not to mock nor to 

jeer but to merely take stock, 

through this 

partial parade, of the 

music he's made, boy and 

man: Ashurbanipal Bach.

Lost: An Abecedarial List

     Preface 

A Hare, caught power-napping, lost the race.   

A Family -- Robinsons -- lived lost in space. 

Below, you'll find some ancillary "Losts" 

reporting on assorted risks and costs.

    Lost Ark

Heedless Hebrews lost their ark. 

Jones the Gentile found it...

...whole but harb'ring half a dozen nasty 

Nazis nosing 'round it. 

     Lost Boys

When J. M. Barrie's lads get lost,

they light in Neverland. 

But when to go they make great show, 

their plans get Peter Pan'd. 

     Lost Cause

Dixie's kvelling, rebels yelling,

"Abe we won't embrace!"

(But let's be clear: the issues here 

have all to do with race.)

     Lost Dog 

On Wednesday week, our family's peke 

(call'd Haydn's Sikh) went missing. 

Around the pound we found our hound, 

whence follow'd licks 'n' kissing.

     Lost Everything 

Nigh '29, nine mates o' mine 

who'd mucho moolah earn 

say "Boo!" to bears, buy "sev'ral" shares, 

then promptly crash 'n' burn.

     Lost Face

Embrace, Your Grace, your loss of face!

Admit your misdemeanor!

Begin to graze where (goes the phrase)

the muchas grass grows greener. 

     Lost Generation

Whose body "best of breed" defines...?

Pop Hemingway's...? Or Gertrude Stein's...?

Ms. Zelda's...? Or F. Scott Fitzgerald's...? 

Or Yanks who share their Paris Heralds...?

    "Lost Horizon" 

Shangri-la, where lamas 

with ur-consciousness commune:

half Himalayan health spa, 

half Tibetan Brigadoon.

     Lost Innocence 

Eve and worse-half Adam curse,

"Our Paradise is lost." 

"Dost thou regain it, shine or rain...?"

asks God. "Thou bet thou dost."

     Lost Job 

I lost my job so join'd a mob 

who, kvetching 'bout such losses, 

apace agreed: "Our basic need...? 

Erasing greedy bosses."

     Lost Klimt 

Who hid the Klimt...? Please drop a himt: 

'tis worth a mimt or more.

Had I that Klimt, I'd ne'er be skimt. 

(I've pray'd I didm't die poor.) 

     Lost Lenore 

A poet (Poe of Bal'imo'e) 

beheld a talking grackle. 

That verbal bird spoke but one word: 

it "Nevermo'e" would cackle.

     Lost Mittens 

When clueless kittens misplace mittens, 

each deserves a shakin.' 

When manic mousers lose their marbles, 

stronger steps get taken. 

     Los Nachos 

This AI I download 

sounds bursty: 

it blossoms; it mushrooms; it pops. 

Of "These nachos are makin' me thirsty" 

I'm suspizzious. (Here's hopin' it stops.) 

     Lostometer 

Columbus's lostometer 

proved faulty. Soon it fail'd. 

Been made had Chris aware of this, 

I know he'd ne'er have sail'd. 

     Lost Pluto

To me it's still a planet.

Though "experts" tried to pan it

and hatch'd a plan to ban it, 

en fin they had to can it.

     "Lost" Quotes 

"'Tis better to have loved and lost..."

"All's lost once losing dice are toss'd..." 

"Your bridges all are cross'd...? You're lost..." 

(Now...what's that 'lost road' line from Frost...?)

     Lost Rhino 

I'm not your av'rage wino, 

tho' I relish gettin' sauced. 

My fav'rite brew...? Lost Rhino. You...

and everyone: Get Lost! 

    Lost Souls 

Denizens of Dante's Hell, 

engraved by M. Doré, 

appear more formidabl' today 

than did they yesterday.

    Lost Time 

You need to read how nostrils 

serve to spur a lad's recall 

when a sugar cookie's dunk'd 

into Great Auntie's tea 'n' all.

     Lost U-boat 

A submarine -- Sargasso Green 

and captain'd by von Grath -- 

was lately seen (where had she been...?) 

last ev'ning in my bath. 

     Lost Voice 

My infamous aesthetic voice, 

exhausted penning "List," 

the sound of which -- nor Pound nor Joyce -- 

shall, nonetheless, be miss'd.

     Lost Wax 

The lost wax process: adults say 

how even children do it. 

I've look'd it up and say, "No way! 

There's, oh, so much more to it."

     Lost Xiaomi 

Hark closely: I'll not tell you twice. 

Locate the page call'd 'Find Device.' 

(It's likely lurking in the Cloud.) 

Click 'Phone.' Then brace for something loud.

     "Lost (in) Yonkers"

Mercedes Ruehl, an actress who'll 

with spirit rule the day, 

as oft before, she has once more,

in Mr. Simon's play.

     Lost Zero 

Once Hirohito ax'd Bushido, 

Kenji flew his plane 

toward Yankeeland full throttle...and 

was heard from ne'er again.