"Were I mad for Amadeus..." A Middle Nonsense (Goes A Long Way): A Nonsense Alphabet in Rhyme

     Were I 
mad for Amadeus, you can 
bet your bottom buck
     it's Wolfgang 
Mozart I'd adore, not Wolfgang 
Amadeus Puck.

     If of a 
Jones borne for a Butler I should 
boast, make no mistake:
     'twould be for 
Yeats (or "Wild Bill" Hickock), never 
William Butler Blake.

     When a 
Conan's whom reviewers of 
crime novels choose to feature,
     it's on 
Arthur Doyle they zero in, not 
Arthur Conan Treacher.

     I've spent 
days defending Delanos. I'd 
fain be thought the sort
to Franklin 
Roosevelt defend, not Franklin 
Delano DuPorte.

     Citing 
Ewart (as you rightly note, I 
know my statesmen well),
     it's William 
Gladstone whom I'm quoting, never 
William Ewart Tell.

     Whose 
middle name's Fitzgerald isn't 
without fail F. Scott.
     So: is he 
JFK? He might be. John Fitz-
gerald Locke he's not.

     Granted: 
'Grant' surnames Ulysses, Gogi, 
Cary, Lou and Finley...
     and's the 
mean of William Still. (There ain't no 
William Grant McKinley.)

     Will you 
hazard an opinion? I've asked 
Hazard to my party.
     Who's in-
vited? Perry! (Oliver.) Not 
Ollie Hazard Hardy.

     If it's 
Ilyich's gavottes, galliards and 
gigues that you'd be choosin.'
     choose Tchai-
kovsky's! (He don't dance, do Peter 
Ilyich Van Dusen.)

     If I 
mention J, as well I may while 
searching for my car key,

     Simple 
Simon's not my ref'rence. Nope, 'tis
Simple J. Malarkey.

     If I 
show the ol' "OK" to K, it's 
Shai Ophir to whom
     I flash that 
famous finger-thumb display, not
Shai K Rosenbloom.

     When for-
lorn, I long for Langhorne. (It's an
unrequited need.)
     But mark: I 
Samu'l Clemens miss, not Slammin'
Sam LaLanghorne Sneed.

     If it's 
Milhous mimes would mime (a dude dis-
turbed, a thane insane, he),
     Richard 
Nixon's who they fix on, never 
Richard Milhous Cheney. 

     Touting 
Nance (who's sans the laughing face), John 
Garner's whom I vaunt,
     not some plu-
pivotal Plantagenet like 
(say) John Nance of Gaunt. 

     When it's 
O I cite (in stories of, though 
likely to embarrass), 
     it's to 
David Selznick I refer, not 
David O. Sedaris. 

     Hailing 
Pierpont, it's J. Morgan I'm hal-
looing, not some meter man
     who 
monitors my gas -- and surely 
not J. Pierpont Peterman.

     Should 
"Q" head southwards from my mouth and 
should you find you've been in
     doubt I 
mean John Public -- well, I do. (I 
don't mean John Q. Lennon.)

     If 
tea you see me sip with Rice and
not some lesser crony,
     it's with 
Edgar Burroughs I imbibe -- not 
Edgar Rice O'Roni.

     When it's 
Schwenk-- all Schwenk; Schwenk all the time (the 
Brit and not the Yankee),
     William 
Gilbert's on, not William Schwenk De-
Schwenk aka "Schwenckie."

     Just whose 
middle name's 'Tecumseh'? There you've 
got me o'er a barrel.
     It is 
either William Sherman...him or 
Will Tecumseh Ferrell.

     Spare that 
girl her folks named 'Unit.' Must she 
die a gangsta rappa?
     No, not 
necessarily. Exhibit 
A? Moon Unit Zappa.

     Heard 
whining, "Thank you, Vining, but no 
thank you; I must dash,"
     I'm Arthur 
Davis thus declining, never 
Arthur Vining Ashe. 

     The 
Wilkes to whom I point in passin's 
not Miss Scarlett's swain
     but, rather, 
John Booth (Abe's assassin) -- and, Lord
knows, not John Wilkes Wayne. 

     I cite 
X the silent movie star (pre-
talkie), hoping you'll
     think, "Francis 
Bushman: he's the one." (Who's Francis
X the Talking Mule?)

     Letting 
Yipsel pass my lips, I mark no 
mediocre shmo
     but Edgar 
Harburg ("Yip"), not Edgar Yipsel 
Allen Poe, ya' know.

     And if a 
Z I race to see, it's not some 
seneschal of schlock. 
     It is, in 
fact, John Z. DeLorean. (Not 
J'hann Z. Bastian-Bach.)

"A's for Allegra allergic to nuts..." Abecedarial Allergy Allegory ala Gorey

A's for Allegra allergic to nuts.
B's for Burl's boils. (Burl's been huffin' mutts' butts.)
C's Clytemnestra. Her Nemesis...? Pollen.
Dag's dogg'd by dander. The itchin's appallin.'
Emmaline's caught the ergotamine plague.
Floyd's bane is Latex. (The source remains vague.)
G's Gioconda whose bete noire's raw wheat.
Hersch hates not soy, yet it's soy Hersch can't eat.
I is for Ilka "illergic" to fish.
Jayne's jinx...? Raw egg. Lay no egg in Jayne's dish.
K is for Kal. Milk's his fatal attraction.
Lee's bloody bee stings exact big reaction.
Maeve must avoid all prescribed penicillin.
Naps in the grass...? Nathan's flesh is unwillin.' 
O is for Oleg allergic to dust.
Poul is a mold-shirker. (Isn't he just.)
Q is for Quinton: no antibiotics.
Rodney's allergic to tsetses, though not tics.
Steffi's all stuffy. Her nose knows it's pollen.
Tartrazine causes Todd's tongue to grow "swahllen."
U is for Uta allergic to semen.
Vern discerns dust mites and's right away screamin.'
Winifred's allergies cause dermatitis.
Xavier binges on gluten -- to spite us.
Yuri and cephalosporins don't mix.
Zeke combines yogurt with ergot -- for kicks!

(RS) "Arnstein? Nicky. Aggstein? Ruin..." -Stein Song; or, Much More Than Mugs

Arnstein…? Nicky. Aggstein...? Ruin. 
Bernstein's beer stein...? (Len! What's brewin'...?)
Ben Stein...? Wordsmith. Blitzstein...? Marc. Clan-
destine...? Undercover narc.

Corrieanne Stein...? Monday's dark: she 
shan't sing "Sundays in the Park..." (She 
could sing "Subways..." -- as a lark. Her 
bite's, though, better than her bark.)

Durnstein...? Where'd we disembark...? The 
Deutschland/Danube Pay-'N'-Park.
Ep-...? Yep! Ein-...? Fine! Eckstein...? Billy. 
Eisenstein...? Films far from frilly.

Fein- and Finkle-. Fierstein…? Harv. 
Gertrude Stein. (That gal shan't starve.)
Holstein...? Hole where Schleswigs go. The 
Isaacston & Stein Fish Co.

Songs sung Styne...? A jew'l, he (Jule), 
lionized -- nor not unduly.
SS Koenigstein...? Shipp'd Jews to 
South America. (Old news.) 

Alpine...? Liechten-. Pop Art...? Lichten-. 
Barbra Streisand hadn't click'd when,
post Miss Marmelstein, fame kick'd in.

Mark Steyn...? He's a neocon. 
Nstein...? "Git yer content on!"
Ostein...? Collagen of bone. 
Oystein...? Plays a Sousaphone.

Philistine...? That's Dave's Goliath. 
Q-stein's choppers Matthews flieth.
Ruben-...? Arthur. Silver-...? Shel. 
E Street's Spring-...? (He'd '-steen' it spell.)

Economics...? Veblen, Thor-. 
Utstein...? Heart attacks it's for.
"...Lol V. Stein"...? A Duras novel. 
Wittgen-...? He of "haut to hovel"!

Ludwig's Wald- und Schiller's Wallen-...? 
Can't get up because they've fallen.
X Stein...? Pencils tres deluxe. 
Mel's "Young Franken-...? Bravo, Brooks!

Zwei-...? A freebie from the web. 
(Your "-stein" esteem: so: does it ebb...?)

Beyond the Burgess Bovine (W)

You know the noted Burgess purple cow.
You know the cow of whom one asks, 'How now...?"
You've heard of cows who leapfrog o'er the moon.
But have you ever chow'd down in Cowloon...?

You've heard of fam'lies sheltering black sheep.
You've heard of sheep one counts to fall asleep.
You've read The Lost Sheep Parable full stop.
But have you sail'd the Good Sheep Lollipop...?

Of snakes that part the grass you've heard. You've read
of snakes which Eden's Eve and Adam fled. 
"The snake has all the lines," Jean Kerr's kid said.
But what of Mailer's "...Snakéd and the Dead"...?

That straws can break a camel's back you know.
That camels through a needle's eye can't go.
That camel's, once inside your tent, won't shoo.
But do you know what work a cam'll do...?

You know that fish and visitors will smell.
You know fish out of water feel like hell.
Of fish you've heard: "There's plenty in the sea."
But can you rightly spell 'e-fish-ent-ly'...?

You speak of rats deserting sinking ships.
The phrase 'drown'd rat' has often cross'd your lips.
"You dirty rat," barks Cagney, fist a-clench.
But do you know that 'ratatouille''s French...?

You've heard of pigs who build their house of twigs.
Of bricks as well, when pigs with plans build digs.
A greas'd pig, once, you chased about its sty.
But know you why act pigmies (sic) so shy...?

You've heard of dragon's teeth and dragon's blood.
In China dragons thrived before The Flood.
You know that Puff the Dragon fairy tale.
Still, there you sit, a-dragon on that nail.*

     * A 'coffin nail' (sometimes termed a 'coughin' nail') 
refers to a cigarette (sometimes termed a 'cancer stick') 
which, because it can cause cancer, is thought of as 
a nail for one's coffin. 

Three billy goats dubb'd Gruff -- you know the three.
To get folks' goats proves easy as can be.
And scapegoats -- for your sins! -- go to the mat.
Yet, zygoats (sic) aren't goats: do you know that...?

Who Says Tomatoes? (W)

Yer pimpernel's a flower; yer Tigris is a flower.
Yer April rain's a shower; yer horse what's third's a shower.
Yer minaret's a tower and yer Little Toot's a tower.
I rest me case: this world's a place of pother.
     Yer dirty look's a glower; yer lightning bug's a glower.
Yer quarreler's a rower; yer oarsman is a rower.
Yer leafy nook's a bower and yer Robin Hood's a bower.
I'll not deny I wonder why I bother.

Si Sights Spirits Signing (R)

'Twould seem as though Si Lewen's sighted a ghost.
Si's ghost's signing "...ooh poop...they call me the most..."
as it lathers grape jam onto dampfnudel toast.

'Twould seem as though Si's seen assortments of bogies.
Si's bogiemen sign "Git along little dogies..."
while swallowing (whole!) handfuls (two!) of hot hoagies.

'Twould seem as though Si's also seen him a shade.
Si's shade signs "The Charge Off the Lightning Bug Aide"
while torpedoing Bali Hai's balance of trade.

'Twould seem as though Si's now seen spotting a demon.
Si's demon's seen signing "Zee mann who luff'd weemen"
while toting a boatload of over-sex'd seamen.

'Twould seem as though Si's eyes have spied him a wraith.
Si's wraith soon, while signing "O come all ye faith-..."
slickly segues, mid-phrase, to "A-ma-a-zing graith..."

'Twould seem as though Si's seen surveying a phantom.
Si's phantom's seen signing our National Antom.
(Still, lighter than welter- but ampler than bantam-.) 

'Twould seem as though Si's overseen a chimera,
which sprite Si's eyes sight, signing "Guantanamera,"
seems less Luciano-like, more like Carrera.

'Twould seem like Si's spotted a will-o'-the-wisp,
Si's will-o'-the-wisp, signing "Ol' Mississisp-...,"
signs it strictly in Klingon, avoiding the lisp.

'Twould seem like Si's sighted some St. Elmo's Fire.
Si's St. Elmo's Fire signs "...the widening gyre..."
(Shall such signing anticipate Drumpf? Don't inquire.)

'Twould seem like Si's survey'd some fatui, ignes.
Each fatuus, ignis signs "...Unto death, sig-ness..."
which frightens His Highness (Si terms him "His Hig-ness").

'Twould seem like Si's scanned six or so aarnivalkea,
sev'ral seen signing "The Ride of the Valkyea."
Weird sisters -- and one's a bit of an alchy, huh?

Seemingly, Si's, since, surprised by a spectre.
Si's spectre's seen signing "Who pines for fine nectar?"
(Alert, please, some Braille-reading social director.)

'Twould seem like Si's seeing assemblies of spooks
signing, "Get 'em: yer greens, 'lopes, muskmelons 'n' cukes."
(Those who don't like Si's phantasms? Put up your dukes!)

'Twould seem -- si! -- like Senor Si's seeing a bruja.
Si's bruja's seen signing "...doo-wah doo-wah doo-wah..."
(You've no clue what Si or Duke's on about, do ya...?)

(NW) Word Ladders: All to One, Ship to Port, Former to Latter

ALL>ALE>OLE>ONE

SHIP>CHIP>CHIN>COIN>CORN>PORN>PORT

FORMER>FARMER>FARTER>FASTER>MASTER>MATTER>LATTER

(RS) "Of all the luck! Here's Peter F**k..." The Twelve F**ks

Of all the luck! 
Here's Peter F**k.
I'd ask him, "Wha-a-a-a-zup...?" 
but Pete ain't one to talk.

Men dare not duck 
the Law of F**k.

Alas, it's the gas: 
it's not fast; it's not thick.

Half Jim, half Huck: 
that's Barton F**k.

His film's gone unfathom'd, 
some cineastes think.

To utter, "Things suck 
at U. of F**k!"

may put all your 
scholarship money at risk.

It ain't no duck, 
Umberto's F**ke,

just the darlingest doggie. 
So: what's not to like!

They strum and pluck 
those tunes called 'f**k.'

They inflame. They enrage. 
They perturb. They provoke.

Above the ruck-
us, Brother F**k.

He's a wizkint in Physics. 
(We don't mean the jock.)

Tuck into your tuck, 
but use your f**k.

(If it's pigeon breast, 
best requisition a spork.)

Don't pass da buck! 
Bring in da f**k,

be you R2 da rapper 
or P.U. da skunk.

No jive! No shuck! 
Just Eminem's F**K.

It's useless...unless your skin's 
beige, brown or black.

It's run amok, 
the dotcom F**K.

Its bite: is it better 
or worse than its bark...?

More f**ks...? I'm stuck. 
I ain't no f***k.

Besides, I've arrived 
at a cul de sac.

     Just FYI, the 12 f**ks are 

Fauk, Fick, Fink, Fisk, Flike, folk, 

Fock, fork, funk, FACK, FARK and flack.