Dessert Song (A Nonsense ABC)

Supper’s over. Who wants pudd? It’s understood: I would! I would!

Alas, I'm diabetic, so…all normal helpings must forego.

‘Twould be, for me, the height of folly, as arrives the pastry trolley,

to ingest one morsel more than minimum. Thus, I ask for…

one axion of apple pie. One bite of baklava.

One crumb of carrot cake. One dwarfling’s dab of dacquoise – ah-h-h-hh.

One element of Entenman’s. One fermion of flan.

One grain of German choc’late cake. (Why? Just because I can.)

One hint of halva. Imagawayaki? One iota.

One jot of jam, one kiss of Krispy Kreme topped with ricotta,

plus just one lick of laddoo (just the one: one’s been my quota).

One morselette of macaroon. Of nougat? Just one niggle.

Oladui? Just one ort, not two: no room have I for wiggle.

One particle of petit four. One quark of queijadinha.

One radion of Rocky Road. (I’ll pass on the farina.)

One smidgeonelle of sachertorte. One tittle of taiyaki.

One up quark of the upside-down cake. (Pray it’s not too chalky.)

One very – vanishingly very – trivi’l vial of vla,

unless the vla be bland and blah -- (that’s ever been its flaw).

One whispering of Whoopie Pie. One extract ot ximago.

And, though I’m not a Glarus Swiss, one yin of your sapsago.

And zero of the zabajone – zero's quite enough.

Then top it off with treacle toffee…and…Marshmallow Fluff.

Do Black Lives Matter to Drumpf? (A Doggerel)

The Donald insists that his long par fives matter.

His one-hundred-fifty-yard baffy drives matter.
The courses he’s building outside St. Ives matter.
But where does Drumpf stand vis-à-vis Black Lives Matter?

The Donald insists that his trophy wives matter.
His comb overs, blowouts and boy beehives matter.
Though sad hands, his glad hands and jive high fives matter.
But where does Drumpf stand vis-à-vis Black Lives Matter?

Drumpf’s towers? Vulgarian dives! Do they matter? 
Drumpf’s Bedminster 18-round skives: do they matter?
How long before Donald crash dives? Does it matter?
(Where were we? Let's see: oh, yeah: does Drumpf agree
    Black Lives Matter?) 

Coulda, Shoulda, Woulda or Augmented Marlon (A Nonsense Rhyme)

I coulda had class, coulda been a contenda.

I shoulda had kvass, shoulda went on a benda.
I’d pass clad in Blass, if my thighs had been slenda.

I shoulda spent brass, woulda been "Da Big Spenda."
I'd blast bad trad jazz, had I had me a Fenda.
I coulda been crass: tact ain’t par for my genda.

Coulda coupled with Cass, but instead I wed Brenda.
I should pad may ass, ‘cuz my butt’s somewhat tenda.
I coulda passed gas, then sass’d, “Retoin ta senda!”

I coulda had bass; striped, it woulda been tenda.
I woulda smoked grass but I hadn’t a venda.
I should attend Mass. (Would I snooze through the splenda?)

I shoulda grabbed passes to “Prisoner of Zenda.”
I would stand a glass for my fellow West Endas.
I coulda danced chasse, woulda filmed with Wim Wendas.

I should sport a girdle instead of suspendas.
I could…but, alas: I’ve my own bent agendas.
I’ve reached an impasse. Now, please, pen your addendas.

If A Is Not Four or Five Whatevers, Then Whatever Is A For?

A is not four, 
nor five or more, 

aged alligator clips.
Allowed as
afterthought’s an agile Appaloosan acrobat.
And B's not four,
much less one more,
burnt bien cuit bacon strips.
Big brother’s
brief? Be babysitting’s baddest bowlered bureaucrat. 

C is not four,
nor five or more, 
coy Californians,
‘cuz (candid-
ly) crisp coatings choke cute chocolate-covered crocodiles.
And D's not four,
much less one more, 
defective diamonds.
Duets D
does distinguish? Dartmouth’s dapper dancing discophiles.

E is not four,
nor five or more, 
East Sister Islanders.
Each earnest
epileptic elf exhibits elasticities.
And F's not four,
much less one more, 
"for fun" faux-foxtail furs.
Far from it!
Friends foresee ferocious feeding-frenzied fantasies.

G is not four,
nor five or more, 

guffawing garden gnomes.
Gay gyro
geeks grab gravity’s gigantic Gs! Go, gallivanters!
H is not four,
much less one more, 
hardhats for Hemlock Holmes.
Hark! Huns hoist
hands high, hoarsely holl’ring, “Heil, Hitlerian h’erophanters!”

I is not four,
nor five or more,
injected Idahoes
if it, in-
deed, instead imports illuminated isobars.
And J's not four,
much less one more, 
jumpshots by Jalen Rose.
Jock Jalen’s
joy’s just jostling jowl-jammed jack-o’-lanterned jaguars.

K is not four,
nor five or more, 
keel'd kayaks Kant once rowed.
Kan’t (sik) kind
kindergarten kids keep keening kosher katydids?
And L's not four,
much less one more, 
large lizards (pigeon-toed).
Look! Lanky
lawyer Laughing Lincoln’s left lifts lofty lilac lids!

M is not four,
nor five or more,
moist macaroni shapes.
Mere mugging,
mostly – maybe miming mad, malicious malcontents?
And N's not four,
much less one more,
Near-Nostradamists’ capes.
Nope! Nearly
no nerds notice nice, neat neighborly non-residents. 

O is not four,
nor five or more, 
o'er oak tree leaping otters.
O's often
only one one-octave oil-soaked orange ocarina.
And P's not four,
much less one more, 
pert pharaonic daughters.
Pin, please, plu-poorly pleated pantaloons, patrician Palestrina! 

Q is not four,
nor five or more,
quaint Muammar Quaddafis.
Quare que-
reris, quiv’ring queer quinduplicated quadrupeds?
And R's not four,
much less one more,
ripped ropes of Turkish taffies.
R's rarer,
really: raging, ruffled, rather rude Rhode (Island?) Reds.

S is not four,
nor five or more 

sweet saccharine serapes.
So: simply
stated: Swirlin’ Swami’s somewhat silly silken sash.
And T’s not twice times
two or more
trilat'ral tainted nappies.
Thirteen to three, ‘tis tireless Ted the Toiler, trucking ten-ton trash.

U is not four,
nor five or more, 
Ur-unwed Ursulines.
U’s ugly:
undressed Uncle Uly’s (ugh!) unsightly underpants.
And V's not four,
much less one more,
vat-vintage'd Valentines.
Vay! Vay!  V’s
very vicious vole’s (de)vours V's vocal Vivian Vance.

W's not
four or more 
wet Warhols wafting kites --
not while wild 
white-wigg’d warlocks wiggle one's weird worthless warrantee.
And X? Not four,
much less one more, 
xerotic xerophytes.
Is X...? Exactly! "Ximply xwarming" xanthic xylocopidae. 

Y's not four,
nor five or more, 
yurt-yellow yolk-yoked yaks.
Yeah, yeah, you
"you-know-what": Y’s yakish, yet’s your yashmak'd young'uns’s yak.
And Z's not four,
much less one more,
zig-zagging zodiacs.
Zorillas?
Zebras? Zebus? Zorses? Zut, no! Z’s for Zeke, our Zack!.

The Carpenter's Druthers (A Nonsense Poetry Composition Competition)

Who Carroll’s Carpenter Might Have Been 
Create an Alphabet’s Worth of Six-line Stanzas, Each Introducing a Different Partner for the Walrus   

Sometime in 1871, presenting the text for “The Walrus and the Carpenter” to his illustrator John Tenniel for the artist to illustrate, Lewis Carroll gave the man alternate choices for the character of the Carpenter, namely the Butterfly and the Baronet, explaining that each fit the poem metrically (in what is here designated as a -- ^ -- pattern) and that Tenniel should make the selection based on the chosen image’s pictorial potential. 

The list below features 26 other options Carroll might have offered. The list includes neither inanimate objects (for example, ‘the Catapult’ is not included) nor phrases (e.g., it excludes ‘the Bishop’s Thumb’ even though that phrase exhibits the requisite -- ^ -- pattern). Otherwise, pretty much anything goes, and the list is far from comprehensive.

Here’s Carroll’s original (with a normalized punctuation: pace Rev'd Carroll):
 

The Walrus and the Carpenter

Were walking close at hand;

They wept like anything to see

Such quantities of sand:

“If this were only cleared away,”

They said, “it would be grand!”

And here are several options:

The Walrus and the Astronaut

The Walrus and the Basilisk

The Walrus and... 

the Corporal, the Doberman, 
the Extrovert, the Fisher King, 
the Gadabout, the Harlequin, 
the Idiot, the Janitor, the Kittiwake, 
the Liberal, the Masochist, the Neonate, 
the Ombudsman, the Pantywaist, 
the Quietist, the Radical, the Shepherdess, 
the Trotskyite, the Ubermensch, 
the Vagabond, the Wanderer, 
the Xylocarp, the Yodeler, the Zebrafish

Or select your own new partners, as long as they maintain the -- ^ -- pattern.

Then compose six new line stanzas using each additional option in turn, following the metrical model and rhyme scheme of Carroll's original.

Alphabet of Bugs (A Structrually Constrained Nonsense ABC)

A's for A Bug: 
Donald Rumsfeld, 
shocking, Awful 
ABU Ghraib Bug!

B's for B Bug: 
Ms. Savitsky, 
bitchin' Bella 
ABzUG Bug!

C's for C Bug: 
John Belushi: 
"…-burger, cheese-!" (Cheese-
BUrGer Bug!)

D...? D Bug: Mar-
lene Dietrich: 
Deutsch-treat BlaUe 
EnGel Bug!

E's for E Bug: 
King Kong: esca-
lator’d E. State 
BUildinG Bug.

F’s for F Bug: 
Swiss Jean Tinguely, 
fabled FreiBoUrG 
Fauvist Bug!

G’s for G Bug: 
young Abe Lincoln, 
gabby Gettys-
BUrG Address Bug!

H...? For H Bug: 
Little Toot: the 
hapless happy 
HarBor TUG Bug!

I's for I Bug: 
Adolf Hitler: 
rare "Is Paris 
BUrninG...?" Bug!

J's for J Bug: 
Oscar Hammer-
stein: "June's BUstinG 
Out All O-…" Bug!

K's for K bug:
Boris I,* the 
karmic Khan (BUl-
Garian) Bug!
     * Boris the First, of course – 
i.e., not Boris Ingelheim the 
New Jersey orthodontist.

L...? For L Bug: 
Wolverines: those 
"I Love Thee, Li'l 
Brown JUG" Bugs!

M...? M Bug: The 
Artist’s* "The Most 
BeaUt'ful Goil In 
Woild" Bug!
     * The one formerly known as 'Prince.'

N's for N Bug:
Ms. Monroe: the 
nubile Nude-on-
Bear-RUG Bug!

O's for O Bug:
K. L. Bates:* "Oh, 
BeautifUl For 
Spacious...Grain" Bug!
     * Composer of "America the Beautiful" 
Katherine Lee Bates.

P's for P Bug: 
A. Carnegie: 
philanthropic 
PittsBUrGh Steel Bug!

Q's for Q Bug: 
Marx, aka 
QuackenBUsh (call’d
Groucho) Bug!

R's for R Bug:
Michael Richards: 
racist RaBid 
JUnkyard DoG Bug!

S? S bug: for 
Messers Flatt and 
Scruggs: two Southern 
BlUeGrass Bugs!

T's for T Bug:
Joseph Gibbs: a 
Turncoat BUrgun-
dy 'n' Gold Bug!

U’s U Bug: U-
nited Ara-
Bic RepUb' of 
EGypt Bug!

V's for V Bug:
C. Bartholin*: 
“VestiBUle...Va-
Gina” Bug!
     * The Younger.

W’s Bug is
Patrick Henry: 
WilliamsBUrg Gun-
powder Bug!

X? For X Bug: 
Ryken*: Xaver-
ian Bro from
BrUGge Bug!
     * I.e., T. J. Ryken.

Y's for Y Bug:
Rodgers:* "You've Got
Caref'lly to Be 
TaUGht" Bug!
     * Richard, of course, 
not Roy – note spelling (orthography, 
of course, not Tori).

Z's for Z Bug: 
Pike: Z-z-z-z-z-z-z-z-z-breeding 
ZeBUlon Mont-
Gom'ry Bug!

Aesop Abbrev'd (A Nonsense Rhyme)

A is for Aesop. ('Tis I.
You'd act brash? Spell it 'ash, sigma, omicron, pi.')

Read here: "Andra moi ennepe Mu-..."?*
Not one whit! Here's writ lit -- bits of wit fit for fou.**
     * The opening words of Homer's Odyssey.
     ** French for 'crazy.'

B is for "Belling the Cat."
Point? To say ain't to do. (Dudes like you should know that.)

C's for "The Cock and the Jew'l."
What's its gist? Who persists fetching frills finds a fool.

D's for "The Dog in the Manger."
Who accrues without using: purrs any cur stranger?

E is for Ennus, my scion.
Me he jail'd. Si, he fail'd. (Enn's no gens I'd rely on.")

F's for "The Fawn And His Mother."
No raison favors fight -- not when flight be one's druther.

G's for "The Gnat and the Bull."
'Tis so true: you're just you. Let not pride pull the wool.

H? For "The Hare And The Tortoise."
Rule to keep: Never sleep! (Just remember Abe Fortas.)

I's for "The Idol of Clay."
Not cajol'd, to it pray though you may,
it spills gold when you break it one day.
(It appears this god hears...in his roundabout way.)

J is for "Jove and the Monkey."
Please to note: one's son's haut, be he fair-faced or funky."

K's for "The King of the Frogs."
Lesson? Don't for storks sue; do make do with god's logs.

L's fpr "The Lion in Love."
Be that passion's irrational cognizant of.

M's for "The Miser's Lost Gold."
Knick'd: the lot! Nor is Cotta* cajol'd.
"Still," folks thought, "nowt got bought; nowt got sold:
what's amiss?" Merely this: not one dollar he doled!
     * Alexander Pope's personification of the miser.

N? For "The Neats Tongues Adventure."
When our gallant's droll talents prov'd awkward to censure.

O's for "The Old Man and Death."
Don't entreat Death's relief! Save your breath! Death's a thief.

P's for "The Peacock And Juno."
Point? You can't have it all. Folks will call you...(well, you know).

Q's for "The Quack Frog: A Fable."
First, Docteur: thyself cure! Or deserve your 'quack' label.

R? "The Irrational Raven."
Change of scene doesn't mean that you'll glean all you're cravin.'

S? For "The Stag at the Pool."
Don't write off that which oft proves a life-saving tool.

T's for "The Thieves and the Cock."
Your belief that a thief won't undo you's a crock.

U? "The Four Oxen United."
Graze alone, on your own? Quick demise you've invited.

V's for "The Vine and the Goat."
Break your fast: who'll laugh last when lays open your throat?

W? "The Wolf and the Kid."
Acting smart ain't no art when one's cautiously hid.

X is for Xanthus, my master.
Were slave not Aesop's lot, would've pastures proved vaster?

Y's for "A Youth and His Mother."
Raise your child to run wild; watch him wind up no other.

Z's for "The Zephyr/Sol War."
What beats force? Well, of course, exhortations do. Or...

Another Hesitation Waltz (A Nonsense Rhyme)

  

I run the clock. I bide my time. The Great Procrastinator I’m.

I hesitate (although not lost). I drag my feet at any cost.

I shilly-shally, I defer. I play the waiting game, for sure.

I stall. I drag. I temporize. I’m one of those “retarded” guys.

I’m quite the goldbrick, I’ll be bound. I give all work the runaround.

Each place I go’s a waiting room. “NosSlomo” is my nom de plume.

I loiter. I put off. I pause. I filibuster – all because, 

inevitably, I postpone. My goodness: how the time has flown!

Animal Metaphors (A Nonsense ABC)

The animals-as-metaphors 
my constant reader runs across

include (your butt you bet, of course) 
Sam Coleridge’s Albatross.
No African American, 
tagg'd Black Sheep of the Family,
whom Miss Anne moves to marry, 
dares succumb, lynch'd Alabamaly.
Concerning Cats Let Out of Bags, 
one needs but note: they spill the beans.
Remember: feline fealty lags -- 
plus, whistle blowing’s in their genes.
Of all my nonsense verses blogg'd 
since late July of 2010,
there’s one, about the Dead Horse Flogg'd, 
I repost ev’ry now and then.
Though try one might, one can’t ignore 
the Elephant Within the Room,
nor show beasts of this ilk the door. 
(It smells, that pachydermal fume.)
The Fish out of Water. The Fly on the Wall. 
The Canaries They Carry Down Mines.
One’s as awkward as hell. One’s a spy, truth to tell. 
And the bird chirps, despite her confines.
Let the challenge go forth: 
“Catch the Pig Who’s Been Greased!”
Bubba zigs south, then north. 
Cletus veers west, then east.
Goober zags east, then west. 
Gomer sheers north -- oops: south.
(Will that pig ‘e’er get serv'd 
with some fruit in its mouth...?)
The Horse a Diff’rent Color of...?
His coloring's a cut above. 
His hue's a whole new ball of wax. 
He ordinary tincture lacks. 
Consider Monkeys Infinitum 
(some intrigue folks; others bite ‘em):
team'd with reams of Olivettis, 
they’ll type, “…dinghies...? Near the jetties…”*
     * "You will find the dinghy by the jetty" 
is a line written for Bea Lillie to deliver -- 
as she does famously -- in the classic film 
"On Approval."
The Shark, once Jump'd...? No longer needed. 
Nor should shark jumps be repeated.
Dumping Dolphins...? Unrecorded. 
Humping Whales...? Considered sordid.
Kid Care ala Kangaroo 
puts nurse and nursling skin-to-skin.
Marsupials know what to do: 
the bottle’s out; the boob is in.
The ‘L’ in ‘Lame Duck’ holds the key 
to reading weaken'd destiny.
Most reckon Duck a flightless bird. 
Delete one ‘L’: meet Fightless Bird.
Monkey One, who Sees No Evil, 
turns aside from sights medieval.
Monkey Two, who Hears No Evil, 
risks a troublesome upheaval.
Monkey Three, who Speaks No Evil, 
mispronounces ‘Evel Knievel.’
Monkey Four...? He Smells No Evil. 
(Not an ape, his mom’s a weevil.)
The Jaybird, Naked – birthday-suited bawd 
or bare-skinned bel esprit –
appears to be a creature flaw'd: 
sans down, sans gown, sans savoir vi.’
The boys and girls who’re Dumb as Oxen 
all embrace the art of boxin'
so’s to beat on bullies who 
forget they’re Strong as Oxen, too.
“Elephants who’re Pink of hue 
are GOP pro-lifer gals,”
quipp'd VP prospect Sarah P, 
referring to herself and pals.
Clement Moore chose Quiet Mouse 
to haunt his silent Yuletide house.
It’s why one now but rarely hears, 
“No creatures stirr'd, not even steers.”
“You Dirty Rat!” (a Cagney quote 
James never really made, please note)
resembles Banksy’s Moorfields art. 
Can we not take this boy to heart...?
Replace a Sacrificial Lamb 
with Cherrystone or Pismo clam...?
Don’t do it, dude: take my advice! 
They’ll disallow your sacrifice.
They all cite Alligator Tears – 
Will Shakespeare, Spenser and their peers
who scribbl'd in the British Isles 
(though theirs were shed by crocodiles).
I keep an Eastern Cricket Frog. 
I’ve yet to see The Underdog.
Beneath the underdog...? Not hard: 
that’s bassist Charley’s calling card.
“The Cunning Little Vixen Game” 
(Janacek its designer’s name)...?
It’s play'd with feral metaphors. 
[Game not available in stores.]
“Thou damnéd bleachéd Beachéd Whale,” 
one hears vindictive Ahab wail.
“But Moby never hits the beach,” 
might mournful morbid Mapple preach...?
Although they can’t be eighty-sixed, 
the X Ray metaphors seem mixed.
As medic’lly insightful fish, 
each substitutes for God. (I wish.)
The “You Have Two Cows” parable 
as teaching tool proves terrible.
This metaphor for economics...? 
Milk'd by departmental comics.
One mark of Zorros seems to be 
to steer clear of humanity.
Of human friends they’ve fairly few. 
(They do as I would wish to do.)