"Take note: what's Potus fear the most...? An Open Letter to Drumpf or Events, My Dear...Events

(Though in fact never uttered by him, “Events, my dear boy, events” was UK PM Harold McMillan’s reported response when asked what would most likely blow his or any government off course.)  

Take note: what's Potus fear the most?
Misdeeds by dissidents?
Nope! Let's be clear: Drumpf’s greatest fear? 
Events, my dear...events. 
Need Drumpf beware the Koch-choked air
petroleum augments?
You heard it here: Drumpf’s greatest fear?
Events, my dear...events.

Apologize does Drumpf for lies,
for fake news he invents?
Nope! What's Drumpf do when day is through?
He vents! Mon Dieu: he vents: 
"So sad" (Drumpf says) “are Congress's
advises and consents."
Far worse than they? Drumpf’s feet of clay:
Events, okay? Events. 

Be Donald's bane some coup de main 
by ISIS malcontents?
Though bad, by fa-a-ar more fearful are
events, Akbar...events. 
What scares the pants off Donald? Rants
by former presidents?
Nope! Worse than those, Drumpf duly knows:
events, my bros...events.

What fans Drumpf’s fright 'round three at night?
The ninety-nine percents?
Them he can bear. More feared are their
events, mon freres...events. 
So: what must you do to undo
the trouble Drumpf foments?
This message send when you attend
events, my friend, events! 

The Message: 

Till Drumpf vamooses or relents, 
support all anti-Drumpf events!  

"Spent a snootiful day in the NATOhood..." The Artful Dodger's Stumping (sic) Grounds or Post-Summit Ally Quest: Looking for Love in All the Wrong Places

Spent a snootiful day in the NATOhood.
But I moot just with allies who’re great…so: could
Jong Un be mine?
(A goon? Nein! Nein!)

As my high jinks dehydrate the North Atlant-,
shall with Turks I empartner? Merks won't -- or can’t --
fall into line.
(Pal Pu’d be fine.)

We've not a thing to fear 
from Kim or Vladimir.
I’ve plumbed their eyes: each guy’s “so-o-o-o nize,” 
insisting he’s sincere.

Always “booty”ful, looting one’s neighbor’s ‘hood.
Trading treaties won’t do. Rattling sabers should.
So: Kim! So: Vlad! Emerge a lad!
And say you’ll be my neighbor!


Explication: 

Artful Dodger: a Dickens character, the Dodger leads a gang of child criminals
Snooty: showing arrogance or contempt
Moot: to raise a subject for discussion
North Atlant-: short for North Atlantic Treaty Organization (NATO to you) 
Turks: Turkey's president Erdogan. dictator. and his like-minded cronies 
Merks: German chancellor Angela Merkel, democratic leader
Pu: Russian president Vladimir Putin, autocratic dictator
Kim: North Korean leader Kim Jong Un, autocratic dictator
Plumb: to measure the depth of
"Booty"ful: profitable, especially in ill-gotten gains
Saber rattling: war mongering; the display of military force
Emerge a lad!: Be a guy! Be a pal!   

"Each night I sleep for days on end..." Doggerels (a Baker's Dozen and a Doublet), Many with Titles Debuting in D: Nonsense in Rhyme

A Dozing Doggerel

Each night I sleep for days on end;
through Friday, Thursday, Wednesday wend.
A "sunth o' Mondays," so to speak.
(I lose, through snooze, eight days a week!)

A Doppleganger Doggerel 

His all-so-readily vaunted analysis
is also Red, Ellie, Vaughn, Ted ‘n’ Alices. 


A Deli Doggerel

Said the latke to the latchkey, 
“I suspect those lox are salty.”
Said the latchkey to the latke, 
“Do not fret! These locks aren’t faulty.”


A Dog-Eat Doggerel

The Old Guard shuns Progressives.
(At shaming they are deft.)
Progressives curse the Right Wing.
The Right Wing loathes The Left. 

The Left detests the Moonies.
The Moonies hate the Jews.
The Jews despise the Sunnis.
The Sunnis dis the Druze.

The Druze -- plus all of the above
are sick to death of ISUL.
What’s more: as far as I can tell,
it’s ditto, versa visul.


A Doody Doggerel

What links Buffalo's "Say, kids! What 
time is it...?" crack
and the unmuzzl'd clown's "Goodbye, 
kids..." [fade to black]
has poor peanuts -- each juvenile 
Jilly and Jack --
pleading, "Ple-e-e-ease! Can we have our last 
thirteen years back?"


A Dogpatch Doggerel

Duple d's display Moonbeam's de-
lusional daydreams.
Still fine, Ms. McSwine ain't re-
lyin' on face creams.


A Dog-Tag Doggerel

Their tags? They wear 'em next their hearts,
nor's none so brave as Pvt. Paartz.

Save those whom Paartz in harm's way sent:
I speak of Cpl. Punnisch-Mehnt.

Or him who wields the swagger stick:
I give you Sgt. Sfleeantic.

Or him, that master of intrigue:
say "Roger that!" to Maj. Leeg.

Or him to whom's allegiance sworn: 
presenting Col. "Pop" Inkhorn.

Or him who prowls the quarterdeck: 
I mean Cdr. Dee Sreespeck.

Or him who signs those dread-fill'd orders: 
introducing Gen. Kwarders.

What's their game? It’s "Pass the Buck." 
You've re-enlisted? What the fuck!


A Dame Doggerel

Not unpleasant to know: Lady Florence.*
A new flick** Flo's fame's quickly enhancing.
From her throat soar sour notes tot'ling torrents, 
sung to scores spoofing sores someone's lancing.
She'd outgrabe*** e'en Arabian Lawrence. 
(Apropos, this film shows Hugh Grant dancing!)
"I did sing," sighs the fly Lady Florence,
"even tho' doubters crow how I can't sing."****
     * Florence Foster Jenkins was a famously awful soprano.

     ** "Florence Foster Jenkins" is a recent film featuring Meryl Streep in the title role.
     *** To outgribe (past tense: outgrabe) is to emit a strange noise, or so insists Lewis Carroll.
     **** A remark Lady Florence is said to have made near the end of her life.


A Salty Doggerel 

Said the porpoise to the dolphin,
"Hello, sailor: Come here olphin?"
"Don't be snide," replied the porpoise.
"What's your schtick? Delicti corpoise?"

Said the porpoise to the dolphin,
"What's with you? No prick and all phin?"
Said the dolphin to the porpoise,
"Tunes you croon won't soon absorb oise."


A Quick Brown Fox And A Lazy Doggerel

Who'll dare predict? An auger’ill 
(or, as herein, a blogger'll):
"A quick fox and a jogger’ill 
jump o'er a lazy doggerel."


An Attack Doggerel

"And once more, dear friends, unto the breach!" 
(Holy cow: how Hal* handled that speech!) 
"Go!" "Geronimo!" "Charge!" 
"Ho!" "Remember the Sarge!"**
(Alvin York agrees: "War bes "a beetch"!) 
     * Henry V in Shakespeare's entertainment of the same name. 
     **Ala "Remember the Alamo!", "...the Maine!" and "...the Titans!" 


A Bird Doggerel 

Shuffle those cardinals! Scramble those egrets! 
Quick: pick a parakeet! (“Tweet!”)
Honor thy godwit and color your heron! 
Then crack me a nuthatch! (Dutch treat!)

Lower your orioles! Take a few puffins! 
Braid up that raven...!* (How sweet!)
Then bowl me a sparrow and gulp down a swallow!
(And lather and rinse and repeat!)
     * An alternate version of Gilbert & Sullivan's "Braid the Raven Hair."


A Wiener Doggerel 

I ain't tryin' to sell ya; I ain't no schlemiel.
Still, I've seen 'er, I tell ya: the wienermobile.
Made with...? Nope, not lean beef, juicy pork, tender veal,
but with orange and yellow vanadium steel.

Painted yellow and orange (not turquiose or teal:
teal and turquoise ain't tints folks think go with a meal);
yet what wouldn't I give to grab hold of her wheel
and go peelin' 'cross country! How cool would that feel!


A Daydream Doggerel

Some dreams of thee 
seethe themes of brie:
each teeming, see,
with cream...or ghee.

Some dreams foresee
extremes of glee:
No screams; no plea;
no Neame's* ennui. 

     * Director Ronald, responsible for 
"The Man Who Never Was" and other films.

Some? "Beams"* Deri-
da deems 'em. Oui!
Their schemes? P.C.**
(Psych teams agree.) 

     * "Emitters of light," insists French 
deconstructionist Jacques.  

    ** Psychopolitically correct if a tad 
Pollyannaesque

Some dreams of thee,
it seems to me,
from streams* are free. 
Be memes their key? 

     * I.e., stream(s) of consciousness

A Druthers Doggerel

Twins Cellobash and Callabone
has each a different mother!

Both be, if't please, anomalies:
i.e., not t'other's brother.

By each, in fact, each’d be attacked 
with speech -- lacked each his druther.*

     * That druther being, in the case of both brothers, to attack his respective, if disrespectful, "alter egg" with whatever larkspur limb or lapis-lazuli'd lodestone might come readily to hand.

"My home town, Levelplayingfield, Maine..." Metatheses or A Spoonerville Folly: Nonsense in Rhyme

My home town, Levelplayingfield, Maine,
follows Isaacnewtonian rules
(“Ev’ry act prompts an equal and opposite one”),
held in libraries, courtrooms and schools.

We’ve got rest’rants which run in the black
‘cuz their chefs relish cooking the books.
Still, what’s up winds up down (Lev’field’s that kind of town):
Lately, cops have been booking the cooks.

We’ve a truck farmer, potting his plants.
There’s no flora this fella ain’t got.
But our drug laws be changing, and now he's engaging
in happy hours planting his pot.

Our asylum hires men in white coats, 
employed padding the cells of the mad.
Now, in order to amp up the occupancy,
there’s a sales team who’s selling the pad.

Town's hearths are kept spotless by sweeps.
They do windows as well, and sweep floors.
Still, the pittance they’re paid (no paid leave, I’m afraid)
goes to floor the poor sweeps. (Zut alors!)

Our locale boasts its fair share of gamblers
who forever are hedging their bets.
There are some who are addicts, who wager their attics,
and lawns, betting hedges and pets.

We’ve a gym: boxers punching the bag,
partners sparring, palookas – the bunch.
Plus, we’ve one ex-contender who’s been on a bender.
(I tell him, "Hey, Joe: bag the punch!")

At our ballpark, the pitchers fan batters.
This I’ve watched -- season seats! -- from the stands,
where I’ve witnessed, as well (such a sad tale to tell),
horrid hooligans batt’ring the fans.

And, of course, we’ve a local Don Juan.
who would buss every miss that he could.
But, though urged to leave town, this Lothariol clown
opts to miss ev’ry bus out the ‘hood.

We’ve a pest-control service as well. 
At espying out rats they're first rate.
We’ve the Lev’field Security Agency, too:
Good for ratting out spies. (Finks we hate.)

I to all who’d hold office in Lev’field:
"Toss your tam in the ring! Weigh a run!"
(Although all those who do, once elected (too true!)
run away with our treasury mon.)

We’ve a theater: I edit scripts,
play some parts, break a leg with the cast.
And a graveyard, okay? ‘Cuz departing the play
is the exit all must make at last.

Levelplayingfield, Maine -- my home town.
Under Isaacnewtonian Law,
ev’ry yin yields its yang. Yet, excuse my harangue:
one such backass burg never you saw!

"Rush ish sush a dishgrashe..." Limbaugh, Limbaugh, Limbaugh Like He!

     "Rush ish 
sush a dishgrashe," opin’sh pissh'd Princhessh Grashe.*
"To be put in hish plashe: who’sh to shoulder that cashe?
‘Tish a tashk for Anne Heche."
     * The former Ms Kelly, late of the royal family of Monaco 

     "Brother
Rush ish a douche," whin'sh a wan John Beleush.
"Look here, Rush: hush yer mush! Frickin’ ferme yer bouche…
‘fore I phone Clare Boothe Lushe* -- her or Bullwinkle Moosh."**
     * Wife of Time publisher Hank Luce 
     ** Sidekick of flying squirrel Rock E.

      “Rush ish 
all ‘bout the cash," aversh Alda* from M.A.S.H.
"Rushster's act (and it be one) be shtrictly low classh. 
Who concursh? Ogden Nash.” 
     * Actor Alan

      “’Deed I
do: Rush mush hush. After spoutin' hish gush
Rush refushesh to flush. (I’ve informed Johnny Cash…
who’sh hipp'd J. Carroll Naish).”

    “Mister
Rush ish not neish,” blurtsh a blunt Robert Reich.
"He’sh located hish niche: it’s amongsht nouveau riche.
Even Reagan (called “Dutsch”) would urge Rushster to shutsh.”

    “Rush? He
sure ain’t my dish.” laughsh Msh Lillian Gish.
“Who shall shettle hish hash? Perhapsh June Carter Cash.
Or get Glinda the Wish.”*
     * In the merry ol’ Land of Oz, a southern wish -- and a good one

    “Rush ish
mucho tres gauche,"  ‘nota ben’s Nina Foch.
“He’sh an addict, a lush (oh, yesh: isn’t he jush!).
What’sh the Marshal* not get 'bout a phrashe like 'bum’s Rush'?”
      * WWI Allied Supreme Commander Marshal Foch

      “It’s pro-
tected free speesh,” chimesh in Chong and chum Cheesh,*
“or sho Rushster inshishts, ash, indeed, doesh John Tesh.
And yet pray we still musht, that the shilly ol' assh
shall shoon hush…Oh? He'sh her?...? We -- adieu! -- gotta dash.”
      * Comics Sammy and Mr Marin

      “Re:
Rush? Omigosh,” dithersh Dubya Bush.
“Rush provid'sh GOPshtersh a partishan push
via broadcashtsh to Tulsha and Oshkosh, b’gosh.
Plush we hear that Ann Coutler hash susch a big crush...
and it'sh not on Pete Tosh. So, then: what'sh all the fussh?

"How be this for one lime-juice-soak'd sight...? A Limerick 'n' Lime for Elton John

Did you know that Sir Elton was born Reginald Kenneth Dwight? Now you do. 

How be this for one lime-juice-soak'd sight?
Chinese chefs kidnap John late one night.
As they stuff Elton in-
to a pie-making tin,
we all watch while two Wongs bake a Dwight.

"At the first sign of thirst,,," Apprentice the Menace or What Do You Do?

At the first sign of thirst, true friends pour you a brew.
But when tyrants let fly rants, then what do you do?

Predawn, when you're yawning, you count sheep: "One...two..."
When Big Bully's brain's woolly, then what do you do?

When red states reach dead states, you reboot in blue.
But when votin's verboten, then what do you do?

Your pol you recall when he/she has no clew.
When Herr "Hairdo"'s a ne'er-do-well, what do you do?

The air's grown unbearable? Pink slip The Pru!
When Big Babies spread scabies, then what do you do?

(More to come: a work in progress)

When Cap Capon's a moron, then what do you do?

When His Hairness cou'n't care less, then what do you do?

When Der Ruler's a fool, er...then what do you do?

But when thugs lie like rugs, then...then what do you do? 

But when Don J.'s Chief Con A., then what do you do?

"Those EPA's backs? Lackin' spine..." Scott's Gone But Frackenstein Lives: A Reposting with Update

Those EPA's backs?
Lackin' spine.
They fail to beat back
Frackenstein,
a freakin’ fiend – the
frackin’ kind.
Whose freakin’ field’s Frack
frackin’? Mine!


No matter how I
tack ‘n’ whine,
Scott’s lackies back him
(claque o’ swine!).
Those hacks attack. Their
knacks? Refined:
my taps drip frappes of
blacken'd brine.


Still, do I plan to 
slacken? Nein!
“What hey!” say they. “Re-
lax! Some wine…?”
But when I fight...or 
crack 'n' pine,
I’m smacked -- redacted
back in line.

(All's gone to ru’n 'n’
wrack, in fine.)

"Forfend! Forfend! Who'd play the friend to Lady Mondegreen...?" Some Friends of Lady Mondegreen: Constrained Nonsense in Rhyme

Forfend! Forfend! Who’d play the friend to 
Lady Mondegreen?

This woman slew me kangaroo, then 
laid 'im on de green.

And yet this gal’s had sev’ral pals: one’s 
Thomas, Lord DeBoome,
that fellow who employed me gnu. Then 
Thomas low'r'd de boom.

When sometimes seen (the thought's obscene) with
Viscount Hugh Biehayve,
she'll purr to Hugh, "You devil you. Oh,
vhy cahn't you behave?"

Another mate she’s made of late is 
Dr. Juan Muntz-Wayjez.
Doc fired me cat. On top of that, he 
dock'd 'er one month’s wages.

Some say, I'm told, the lady's strolled with 
Elder Downen-Gropeter.
The man’s a rake. He stalked me snake, then 
'eld 'er down 'n' groped 'er.

(More Friends to come: a work in progress)

"Astele Astaire attempts an ara and a sarabande..." Trebled Terpsichoreans or Look who's Dancing! A constrained Nonsense Alphabet in Rhyme

Astele Astaire attempts a sarabande, an ara and...
as Amos and amigo Andy ace an allemande.

Br'er Bubbles bops. Buck Bunny Hops. Bold Busby Berkeley scenes...
boast borscht-belt buddies Bloom and Bialystock beginning brisk beguines.

Cut, Cyd Charisse! Chic Czardas cease! (Can-cans can't clock Cerocs!)...
Cor! Cunegonde and crush Candide can’t cut cute Castle Walks.

Dim Donald rants, “Damn Dragon dance!” (Don’s done: dropped, dumped, de-jobbed!)...
Don't Doc and Dopey (Doc’s disciple) disco -- Danse Macabr’d?

Each East Coast Swing by Elvis earns a 10 in Tennessee...
e-e-eas'ly edging Edie and “Eed”’s escort Ernie’s Estampie.

Fie, Frug! Flee, Fly! Le Freak? Bye-bye! Fads fail – so: fade already!
(Though Frick and famed familiar Frack effect one frabjous Freddie.)

The Gerdts’ Gavotte blows cold 'n' hot. Their Galliard’s frankly fair...
But Gomer's goofy gofer Goob's “got game.” Great Grizzly Bear!

How Han and Baka’s hearty Haka – hopped to karaoke –
hammers Hengest and his homey Horsa’s halting Hokie-Pokie!

I’m (like), “I like Ike’s Ike Dance. Its coequal? Nowt comes close!
It’s like (like) Ishmael’s infat’ate Isaac’s Ikar’otikos!”

John’s gentle Jewish Jesus jogs just jigs; he cuts few rugs... 
just as Jorinde and Joringel, jailmates, jive few Jitterbugs.

The Khons of Kottar’kara’s kin (in K’rala, ‘burb of Bali)
cause young Kipling’s cooked-up creature Kim to craft crack Kathakali.

Last For One’s Lambadas lead to lots of agitprop
but lambaste Lena and late lover Lennie’s listless Lindy Hop.

Martha Graham’s manic mayhem mimics mad tornadoes,
making Mork and main-squeeze Mindy’s Mambo more like mashed potatoes.

Nijinski’s Numa Numas? Nyet! They’re nada. Next, his Jotas
‘nable Nora and naff near-‘n’-dearest Nick to nail nine Notas.

Olga (“Pre’brazhensk’a owns the One Step!” -- Dance Tbilisi)
outdoes Ozma and her old man Oz’s onerous Odissi.

Pavanes by Powell provoke a howl (Pachanga Parties rule!),
thus prompting Pantagruel’s – please: pace, Panurge! – plodding “Pas de Duel.”

“Quicksteps…and hurry!” Arthur Murray’s queering his Quadrille.
So Quixote’s “quid/quo” Quackenbush quips, “Try an Irish Reel!”

Rogers (Ginger)! Risking injury, her Reggae ‘numba’
ruins Rusty and (R-r-ruff!) right hand Rin-tin-tin’s recumbent Rhumba.

Sof’ane Sylve’s Single Swing sinks Shearer’s Sevillanas.
So Sebastian’s second self Sebastien soft shoes Sardanas.

T. Tharp’s atop Tune, Tommy’s harp. Tall Tommy trots his Two-Step.
Another Tom, with teammate Tuppence, Twists – a tried ‘n’ true step.

Upa urges Upa-Habaneras – not a new dance –
until Umar and his umbra Uthman undertake their U-dance.

Voltas by Travolta, vintage Vals by Valentino
vie with Victor’s vis-à-vis Victoria’s Vamp – vamp’d stamping vino).

Wendy Whalen’s Waltz (Wend’s wailin’!) wins a first for poor dance.
Wilding whistler, with his wingman Wilde, whips up one wicked Wardance.

The fourteenth Louie’s Texas Tom turns Maxixes to Xangos,
ush’ring X-Man and his xerox X-Gal toward X-rated Tangos.

Yoshida’s YMCA’s yucky…much like her Yabolchko.
Yet, young Yin and yokemate/”Yes”man Yang’s Yang Ge still takes top taco.

Zakharova’s Zydeco zaps Zorba’s Zorba dance.
(As for Zeisberger and zweister Zinzendorf? Zounds! Mesall’ance!)

"Paul's pal Paul plus post-doc Peter..." Pauline Paul or Metadoggerel: A Constrained Nonsense

Paul's pal Paul plus post-doc Peter
(rhyme, alliteration, meter):
Both be fine with thyme on lime
(meter, assonance and rhyme).