"There's asses and bottoms. there's cans and there's duffs..." Fundamentals: An Abecedarial Nonsense in Rhyme

There's asses and bottoms. There's cans and there's duffs. 
There's ends and there's fannies. There's glutei max.
There's heinies; il botto. There's Junk in the trunk.
There's keisters. Les tooshe (that's how Frenchies say 'cracks'). 

There’s matakos and new moons. There's onions and poopers.
There's quailtails and rumps and there's seats (in the rear). 
There's a tuchus. Une breech. A va-voom and a whoopie cake.
(X, Y, Z? Wa-a-a-a-a-a-y too exotic, my dear.)

Film-Flam or Brief Histories of Cinema Classics

 

     1939 The Wizard of Oz

In Oz, your monkeys soar, your wizards roar.

You’re not, young Dot, in Kansas anymore.

     1939 Gone with the Wind

More ante-bellum “bim-bam, thank you, ma’am!”

Quite frankly, Yankees just don’t give a damn.

     1941 Citizen Kane

What nonsense! “Rosebud!” signifies a sled?

To wit, Kane’s lit. “Rosé, Bud!”’s what he said.

     1942 Casablanca

Though famed for Bogart’s bid, “Again, Sam! Play it!”

the question bides: did Bogie even say it? 

     1950 All About Eve

A bitter Bette rides the stairs. (Takes flight…?)

“Make fast those belts. This bodes a bumpy night.”

     1954 On the Waterfront

Steiger’s Chas “The Gent,” while Cobb’s the jerk.

Mauldin’s priest goads Marlon’s brash Young Turk.

Saint, god knows, as good as goes berserk.

But who’s the dude who crows, “Let’s go to work!”?

     1979 Alien

“Aliens!!” cries poor Sigourney’s team.

(‘Tis space, my dear: they cannot hear you scream.)

The Death of Revelation or Zoroaster? Zero, Zilch, Zip!

So: spoke Zarathustra? No! 'Mum' was the word.
And since nada Z uttered, 'twas nada we heard.
Proving overly close-mouthed, as still as the grave,
Z vouchsafed us no greeting, not even a wave.

So: spoke Zarathuse-? Nope! I’d deemed the dude dumb.
Z turned tacitly tongue-tied: the word remained 'mum.'
Like his bouche (biding buttoned), his pie hole snapped shut.
All his channels of intercommunique? Cut!

So: spoke Zara-? Nossir! Not even a whisper
(preventing us learning if Z were a lisper).
Z's soundlessness smacked of the uber-laconic:
no sonorous speeches; no spiels ultrasonic. 

So: heard we Z sounding the word of God? Nein!
Nor no word of man neither. We'd nothing, in fine,
to show for our harking, our straining of ears.
Zoroastrianism's gone soft, it appears.

Getting to 'Yes!'

Than old Noah was nobody nobler.
(Weren’t the man's middle name not 'Noblesse'?)
So: wherever he'd go through a world known for ‘No!’
he'd forever endeavor toward ‘Yes!’

As blue crews of the Jews chanted nocturnes,
noodles nodding -- for nocturnes depress --
his no-nonsense noels (unaccomp'nied by bells)
squired his drive to arrive at some ‘Yes!’

Nofretete, no nonagenarian
(was her noggin not dress'd to impress?)
knew near nothing of Noh, but gave Aten a go
while, like Noah, advancing toward ‘Yes!’

Nofretete was shy, never noIsy.
Still, "No justice, no peace!" was her mess-
age, a message she'd sown with a Nokia phone,
reaching out to touch someone with ‘Yes!’

Crying "Noli me tangere," Nannerl,
nominee, once, for Nome's mayoress,
Nome's avant vote to get, starr'd in No, No, Nanette.
(How low some folk will go for a ‘Yes!’)

Near Nan's neighborhood, none talked of nooses.
(To each noose Nan’d say ‘No!’ -- more or less.)

Like the Noquet of old, Nan prov'd nowt if not bold
in her effort at getting to ‘Yes!’

All too soon, ‘No!’s became the new normal,
nor'd no friend try to end that fine mess.
Was Nostromo the one? ("Nos” was second to none
in his noteworthy reaches toward ‘Yes!’)

Note his nous: Nos all ‘No!’s put on notice.
"'No!”'s be kid stuff," notes Nos, "to outguess.
I'll reach ‘Yes!’ or I'll bust! I'm no novice: I'll just
make my mind up to wind up at ‘Yes!’

But...till ‘No!’s are no longer so noxious,
I shall press on nor not acquiesce,
till from Noyon to Perth, all across Mother Earth,
the whole world drops its anchor at ‘Yes!’

I shall stab all the ‘No!'s. I shall grab up a hose; 
with its nozzle I'll, fin'lly, suppress
all the ‘No!'s. Only then, when I’ve heard Earth’s "Amen!"
shall I waken (that taken as ‘Yes!’)

All the World Really Needs Is...a Cat in a Hat

  

The world, too much with us, hurls headlong towards hell –

o’er-seeded, oe’r-heated and, once again, flat.

What’s needed to save us? Some critter du jour?

No, what’s actu’lly needed’s a cat in a hat.

No afghans in caftans. No bluejays in PJs.

No cock in a frock. No cravat-adorned rat.

No doe dans chapeau. No dugongs in sarongs.

Not one ewe in J. Crew. Just a cat in a hat.

For the super-sized storm, formed as oceans wax warm,

can’t be calmed by some nattily jacketed sprat.

Nor is strife in Beirut rooted out by some coot

In a coat – though it could be: think “cat in a hat.”

Not a flea in a T. No gazelle in Chanel.

Not a wig-wearin’ heron in Karan – not that.

Not wild Irish setters in styled Irish sweaters.

Not jays in berets. Just a cat in a hat.

For to regulate guns run by Nazis and Huns

can’t get done by some outerwear-outfitted gnat.

Nor can car-coated larks prevent racist remarks.

That can only be done by a cat in a hat.

Not some coy kangaroos wearing sensible shoes.

Not a lamb in a tam – there’s just no call for that.

Not some white marmosets in too-tight farmerettes.

Not some newts wearing boots. Just a cat in a hat.

For the plight of the poor won’t be given “what for’

by some eels in high heels or some bonneted bats.

Nor can views fundamental be rendered more gentle

by foxes in socks. Just by top-hatted cats.

No giraffe-like okapis in Spanish serapes.

No pythons in nylons: those aren’t where it’s at.

Not a quail in chain mail. Not some rabbits in sabots.

No shad clad in plaid. Just a cat in a hat.

For while healthcare for all seems an order too tall

for a fruit fly in drip-dry supplied by his frat

or a lemur-like lynx draped in ermines and minks,

it’s as easy as pie for a cat in a hat.

Neither turtles in girdles, ukaris in saris

nor voles dressed in stoles – these would all leave us flat.

Not a whale in a veil nor a Harris-tweed xerus.

No yak in a mac. Just a cat in a hat.

For no pederast priest can be curbed by a beast

in a fleece that’s pre-creased – after all: tit for tat.

Nor are worm cans debugged by some slugs rya-rugged.

All’s best left, in the end, to a cat in a hat.

(Might a gussied-up zorse try to save us? Of course.

But that zorse and his ilk lack the needed “eclat.”

“Neither goose, mouse nor moose is required,” observes Seuss.

“All we actu’lly need is a cat in a hat.”)

Rock Paper Scissors: A Caveat

Y’all’s paper smothers rock? Y’all asphyxiate y’all’s neighbor!
Y’all’s rock dismantles scissors? Y’all claim vic’try for y’all’s labor.
Y’alls scissors severs paper? Y’all’s one parchment-shreddin' sabre.

But, lest y’all’d assure all’s “mutuy'all!” destruction, bite y’all’s caber!

"There's antique fuchsia, android green, There's mocha amd Morello..." Yoke Book: An Abecedarial Monochrome Chapbook in Rhyme

There’s antique fuchsia, android green. There’s mocha and Morello.
Still, look around! Gold hues abound. Beyond the sun, what’s yellow?

Well…there’s yellow angel, alabaster, aureolin yellow.
There’s Yellow-book, -boy, butter, -belly, bright banana yellow.

There’s chrome, canary, cadmium, chalk, citronella yellow.
There’s yellow dogs and yellow days, dal, dun, dark duck-wing yellow.

There’s yellow eel, egg, Yellow Emperor. There’s ecru yellow.
There’s Yellow Fever, fustic, Yellow Fir, fire, Foxglove Yellow,

There’s Giallo Yellow, Golden Girl. There’s Granadilla Yellow.
There’s hornets, honeysuckle, Yellow Hercules, high yellow.

There’s iv’ry, iris, yellowish. There’s ice. There’s Injun Yellow.
There’s jaundice, -jackets, Juden, yellow journalism, Jello.

There’s khaki, Yellow kid, King Christian IX, Kasseri yellow.
There’s lemon yellow, Yellow Lake, legumes, Limburger yellow.

There’s mustard, madder, mozzarella , maize, mush, Mellow Yellow.
There’s Yellow Newtown, Yellow Nightshade, Nec-plus-Ultra yellow.

There’s ochre, oxeye, orpiment, oil, oleander yellow.
There’s primrose, yellow press, pee, yellow plush. There’s Peril, Yellow.

There’s Quaker Green, quince, quinoline, Quechua, quartz, quasi-yellow.
There’s yellow ribbon, Yellow Rose of Texas, Raclette Yellow.

There’s saffron, Yellow Sally, sandalwood, soft sepia yellow.
There’s turmeric, -tail, tartrazine. There’s tan. There’s Tilset yellow.

There’s urine yellow, urochrome. There’s Urobilin yellow.
There’s Valencay, Vachino, vomit. There’s vanilla yellow.

There’s Yellow Warbler, Yellow Wu, -ware, whey, Wurzburger yellow.
There’s xanthene, xanthone, xenia. There’s Xanthoseph’lus Yellow.

There’s yeast, yolk, yam, young fustic, Yangtao, Ypsilanti Yellow.
There’s Yellow Zonkers, Zinfandel, Zabaglione yellow.

(There is, withal, a mx of gall and pancreatic juice:

It’s yellow, too, not cobalt blue – and certainly not puce.)

You'd Chase Nice Views?

  
You'd chase nice views of northern lights? 

Aurora Borealphabet.

You'd waste one -- two? -- licentious nights? 

Explore the Bacchanalphabet.


An ABC with sage brush in its hair? 

Hi, Chaparralphabet!

An eighteenth-cent'ry-age salonnière 

you'd tap? De Staëlphabet.


Who’d brave an ABC with cheese 

needs taste test Ermanthaalphabet.

Who craves a futh of females? He's 

obsessed! (La Femme Fatal'phabet)


This ABC shows war is hell: ye

gads! Guadalcanalphabet!

View Abie's Seafood Smorgas/Deli? 

Say: “Kogod's Halalphabet.”


Armenian; Cyrillic; Greek?

In Internationalphabet.

A Montreal Québécois geek 

employs a joyful Joualphabet.


Where letters flourish under stress 

one finds Kilopascalphabet.

Where letters nourish one, repress-

sing calories? Lo-calphabet.


Where’s “Para toda mal y para toda bien!"? 

Mezcalphabet.*

This proto-ABC's from way-back-when: 

Neanderthalphabet.

     * The Mezcalphabet translates its motto as follows:

"Tis good when things are goin' great and good when

things are not first rate."


Its E's for 'Earp.' Its D's for 'Doc.' Its O's? 

OK Corralphabet.

"Outstanding...and they're mild..." -- 'cept up your nose: 

the vile Pall Mallphabet.


You favor glyphs o'er runes and letters? Quetzalcoatlphabet.

You savor stiffs who moon their betters? Have a go at Ralphabet!

For barnacles and salps...and oysters, too? Sublittoralphabet.

South Africans? Alas, there's but one choice for you: Transvaalphabet.



Type 'h, t, t, p, colon, double slash...' Get URLphabet.

If you love knights, round tables, singing swords, you’ll love the 'Val'phabet!

Mmm...mmm...an ABC in cans of Campbell's soup? Warholphabet.

Oh-oh! Another -- in Iran's "encounter group": Xalaalphabet.


In southern climes, y’all take yer time 'n' all...to drawl y’all’s Y'allphabet.

An ABC for Jerry, Izzy...all the Zals? The Zalphabet.

Dopplebuchstabenwortengedichten

     As you 
haul coals to Newcastle, 
might you, pour moi, 
     amass 
aardvarks to sell in 
Abel Beth Maacah...?*
     * The Hebrew Bible refers to the site
and a wise woman who lives there but makes 
no mention of a live animal market.  

     Be these 
t(hr)owers of babble...? 
Blame (sob!) my bum habit, 
     my 
culpa! But Boudreau’s* a 
borderline babbit!”
     * Abbie or Victor? The verses don't say.

Encore, Jorge Luis Borges! 
Cor de l'Argentine eez Jor: "Heez 
accidence enhances stories 
cached een Chechen Cacci'tores!"

     Once 
AM added Daddy-O,*
droll DJ, to my "rahd-i-o," 
     they 
proved: extending feelers 
yields emcees, instead of spielers.
     * Chicago radio personality 
Holmes Daylie (1920-2003)

Affairs of the fart felt in 
far-off terrains risk ripe 
redolence – and barely 
visible stains.

Giggl’ing, one Googles “three 
gaggles o' geese,” crying, 
"Larry* 'n' Sergey*: ple-e-ease 
leave me in peace!"
     * Larry Page and Servey Brin, 
founders of Google

     ‘High-
hat,’ ‘high-hand,’ ‘high-
horse,’ ‘high holy days...’ 
     'high-'…
HAH! (A case of 
“damn'd with tainted phrase”...?)

     In-
voking my μους-, I (non-
Greek) sue for news: “Ανδρα 
μαλαπολλ' εννεπα 
μοι…” 
     Show A-
chilles...? No! Showies 'n' 
tellies show Hellene Elle 
Ilii* (Helen of 
Troy).
     * Genitive singular of 'Ilium.'

     My me-
nage during haj during 
Raj (just for fun) 
     stanch'd my 
stutter: of "...jej-jej...jej-
june..." pals heard none.

    Don’t 
vote to tax Ni-
cola’s Delft or Spode. 
    Do 
kick Nic’s knickknacks' 
taxes down the road. 

     Aboard the 
good ship Lolly-
pop, all’s good. (Such 
sacch'rin smarm's the 
stuff of songs of 
Shirl's.) 
     Still, suckers: 
cease! Please stop such 
Sucker Suck-Ins! 
Sucking leaves o-
bese, balloon-like 
girls.

Your pharaoh dies, befriends my goat -- 
the pair grows fairly chummy. 
Then Nurse and Momma make a film: 
"The Nanny Meeps The Mummy."

A fool shall not for mongeese vouch, 
but cobras choose -- so odd, so...OUCH!

Dr...Sergeant...chili...pot... 
please stop! Put in more pepper...Not! 

     Quick! Go 
east on the Qarghaliq-
Qaraqum Trail:* 
     eat fair 
Bar-B-Q Coq...and great 
Bar-B-Q Quail.
     * The direction travelled -- more ENE -- 
between these two Chinese cuisine hotspots

All at sea in Seas Sargasso, 
sailors soon request a lasso. 
Sassafras's gas shall pass, 
but schlusselfiedels…? "Such a ass!"*
     * Pacé, Mr. Dickens. 

     Kitt's 
kit...? That pattern’s known as 
tattersall. 
     But 
I’ve left torn these knit togs -- 
tatters, all.

     I'd 
figured I'd bagg'd me a 
gnu, up until I'd looked 
under the fur and found 
you, Uncle Phil!

"Vav-vav-...vav...a vav-...va-v-...vavoom!" 
(Hear, hear, this stutter! But from whom...? 
'Tis Dr. D-cup, I presume -- 
she of the fabulous ba-zoom.)

     Would you know 
who...? 'Twas Woodrow 
Wilson's widow. 
Where...? Near Wicklow 
West. What...? Dead.
     Now...
when...? Which clews were 
found state Sunday. 
Whew! (We won't learn 
why.) How...? Bled.

Mix xanthoma with rosacea! 
What results...? A skin disease. 
It's what -- when six xiphopagi 
repaint the xerox room -- one sees.

To marry your mother 
so many years back...? 
My mistake (don't talk back!): 
blame my yackety yak!

     They sang 
"Zizzi-zizzi-...!" yesterday and 
"...boom-boom-aay!" today. 
     So: what 
song shall zyzzogetons* sing to-
morrow...? Hard to say.
     * The very last word, in South American 
leaf hoppers and in my pocket dictionary. (And
the near-to-last word in this doggerel.)