The Ballade of Barryman (Ne Lowe)

Barryman (ne
Lowe) -- he writes the
songs; he writes the 
songs... But  
me…? I write a-
bout a Knight whose
quest's unrighted 
wrongs... I    
further tell a-
bout a belle dubb’d
Wistful Nell; she 
longs... Yet  
folk still feel that
B's big deal's the  
songs.  

Barryman (ne
Lowe) -- he writes the
songs; he writes the 
songs... But  
me…? I sing a-
bout a king who
had a thing for 
thongs... I  
thereon add an 
extra tad a-
bout a lad with
bongs... Still,  
people parry: 
"B. Lowe's ware be 
songs."  

Barryman (ne
Lowe) -- he pens the
tunes; he pens the 
tunes... But  
me…? I scrawl a-
bout King Saul (a 
Juden) and his 
goons... I  
then embellish 
(with some relish) 
tales of hellish  
moons... Still,  
B. contends, "'Tis 
me who pens the 
tunes." 

Barryman (ne
Lowe) -- he pens the
tunes; he pens the  
tunes... But  
me…? I hum a-
bout a chum whose 
rants he raves in  
runes...and
then flesh out the 
part about which
B. Lowe never  
croons... Still  
B. Lowe’s friends in-
sist: "Lowe pens the 
tunes." 

Barryman (ne
Lowe) -- he inks the
airs; he inks the 
airs... But  
me…? I chant 'bout
Willy Brandt and
masks the Phantom 
wears... love's 
signs (so scant) and 
lines which pant o'er 
'mmanu'l Kant's af-
fairs. Still, 
B. Lowe thinks: "'Sno 
fair! I inks the  
airs."  

Barryman (ne
Lowe) -- he inks the
airs; he inks the  
airs... But 
me…? These hands shape 
master plans for 
fans' unanswer'd 
prayers...as-
cend the stair which
B. Lowe scares (stairs 
B Lowe rarely  
dares). Still, 
B. Lowe thinks it's 
him who inks the  
airs.  

     Who's 
Barryman (ne
Lowe) who inks the 
airs…? He stinks! (Who  
cares!) 
     Who's  
Barryman (ne
Lowe)…? He sends out 
tunes he pens to  
goons. 
     Hey, 
B. Lowe, man: hel-
lo-o-o-o! I pan your 
songs. They're shite! (So 
long!)  

Alphatulence

(Who'd, too, “discov-” the virtues of
vile vapors…? You…? You’ll pay per "Φ-e-e-ew!") 

Attend my dark Apartheid Φart. 
Beφriend nigh Starvin' Artist Φart. 
John Chapman bet
(the chap’s upset!)
The Applecart -- a φart).

Because The Clara Barton Φhart 

outsmarts The Bart 'n’ Lisa Φart, 
I list, post B
(mistakenly...?),
The Dickens/Sidney Carton Φart. 
(Plus Billy Barty's
Bach'lor Party
Boursin/Brie/Havarti Φart.)

(Napoleon...? He sold out:

Little Corp'ral couldn't hold out.
So, he dol'd out one,
he roll'd out one:
The Bonapart -- a φart).

Consider Magna Carta φarts,

Commedi-”a-h-h-h” Dell' Arte φarts.
Oui, Φrench Cheφ Child
pass’d gas (though mild):
Ms. Cuisineart -- she play'd her Φart.

Dig (do!) the DART (dans Dallas...?) Φart, 

the Dumas Pere's D'Artagnan Φart. 
Sad sackbut* Poo
dealt quite a "φe-e-e-ew"
(see D'Oyly Carte: the Φart)

     * Nanki-Poo famously assumes the

disguise of a second trombone.

Encounter gorp'd Encarta φarts.

Discount your warp'd ex parte φarts.
Note: daubs o' diar-
rhea court The A-
melia Earhart Φart.

Φast-Φreeze a Φannie Φarmer Φart...?

Just Φan Φran's Φan-... (I'd Φain not start!)
But, tho' it's Greek,
it's φar φrom chic:
The Φoul Φrat P(h)arty Φart.

Get Gertie's Star (& Garter) Φart; 

vet Bess's Porgie's Goatcart Φart:
one’s "gas passé." The other...? Hey!
An avant-gardy φart.

Plus, one Go Tell The Spartans Φart 

φells sev'ral Φartin' Dubya φarts.
And (tho' we’d pass at cribbin' classics) 
yet another Get Smart Φart.

Hark, Hark: Herr Hardy Krug'ry φarts.

Indeed, mark Harden'd Art'ry φarts.
One hears Bacall
aim'd aerosol
towards hubb' Humφ Bogart's φarts.
Φor you, a Horn & Hardart Φart. 
Φor me, a Howdy, Pardner! Φart. 
(And pardon me my askin': "How's your
Hubli-Dharwar Φart...?)

I’ve let I Beg Your Pardon φarts,

met Ich Bin Ein Stuttgarter φarts,
set Ishtar φarts,
wet Invar φarts – 
yet still no I'm Impartial Φart.

The bold Jakarta Φart sets φree

ihe cold Jumpstarter Φart. Mais oui:
It's Φrench, it's mensch,
it's "exi'stench":
The John Paul Sartre Φart.

Kids kid with Kindergarten Φarts;

they've hid their Kenyon Martin Φarts. 
(This, too's, φor kids: the wrought-
by-Kulis, bought-by-
Kulaks K-Mart Φart.

Look: a Carole Lombard φart, 

see Rich the Lion-Hearted φart...
pluth thith one hath a Lithp,
Like Quentin Crithp:
The Li'nel Bart (a φart).

Mu'mmar's Islamic Martyr φarts.

Mais, More: Med'eval Chartres  φarts.
(Please, Amadeus,
pray don't spray us
with no Moldau'd Mozart φarts.)

Ma Nature knows six Noble Gases. 
Num'ro seite's when Φess* has his
Annu'l Bean Burrito Bake-Off. Φiends warn
φriends: "Play't saφe! Φlee! Take oφφ!"
Take a pass...? 
You bet your ass! 
The Not In My Back Yard! (a φart). 

     * That’s Φess Parker, who pioneer'd the

"Wild Φrontier Φart." 

Oh, One sees Objet D'Art: a Φart, 

sees O'er the Ramparts Watch'd We Φart. 
And one (a φart what's oφφ the chart:
The Oll'ver Norville Hardy Φart. 
(Or, EΦ. EΦ. Copolla's bete noir:
One Φrom The Heart (a major φart).

Please note: Ms Dolly Parton's φartin'

jolly (NOT!) Post-Partum Φarts.
Plus, steep'd in soys 'n'
sauces hoisin 
pose the Poison Darts (pair'd Φarts).

Quick! Quit that Latin Quarter Φart 

(that one's a Quadripartite φart).
Plus, when the perp's Apu,
we're dead; we're through:
The Quik-E-Mart: a Φart.

(Resolved: I stink (like Spam):

thereφore, I am
a Duelin' Descartes Φart.)

Sanction'd are Suharto's φarts,

Six street-smart Severn Darden φarts.
Of one "effluve" 
we disapprove:
The (Deadly) Silent Partner Φart.

There's (Ae!). the Highland Tartan Φart. 

Or, try that Topsy, Part II φart. 
Dean's spiel/rant/plea –
in R. sans C.*:
You're Tearin' Me: a φart! 

     * The film Rebel Without a Cause, in

which James Dean's character famously
cries to the so-called adults in the room,
"You're tearin' me apart!"

Up your's, Unruly Upstart Φart!

Voila! Your Silvie Vartan Φart. 
Your...(Why...?)...your global Wal-Mart Φart. 
Your Avis We Try Harder Φart.

X marks The X-Files' Carter Φarts...

Yes...in New Scotland Yard are φarts,
and...Zut! The Zart (in Deutsche, 'delicate'): Das
φine und φragile, φaintly φragrant,
φairly φrugal, plainly φlagrant...
φart.

&: AAAAAAAaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhh...

Ballade Of & For (Albeit Not By) Dave Eggers

If wishes were horses, would beggars then ride…?
Ten dishes (four courses!) ate Eggers…? Dave lied.
The knishes…? From sources Dave’s keggers can’t hide.
(“Defish” is Ms. Morse…? Is she preggers…? Whose bride…?)

Another Voyage 'Round Archaedia: Journey III

A is for Alma who’s alter’d her will. B is for Bob who is under the hill.
C is for Constance who voted for Hoover. D is for Den: neither shaker nor mover.
E is for Emma. Her race…? Almost run. F is for Fenton who’s purchased a gun.
G is for Grace who has good days and bad. H is for Hank: calls computers “a fad.”
I’s for Inez who's deflated her age. J is for Johann: dementia, third stage.
K is for Kathryn a petulant scold. L is for Lon whose great-granddaughter’s old.
M is for Max who’s developed a goiter. N is for Nan: claims the doorman “annoy’d” her.
O is for Oz: keeps a floozie in town. P is for Paula. Her toenails turned brown.
Q is for Quinn. Rose insists that he died. R is for Rose: claims the newspapers lied.
S is for Shirl: mixes hounds tooth with plaid. T is for Tim who pass’d. (Ulmer’s so sad.)
U is for Ulmer who’s taken up snuff. V is for Vaughn. “Vaughn! Get offa yer duff!”
W’s Walt who tells crude shaggy dogs. X is for Xavier's x-rated blogs.
Y is for Yasser. His room has no view. Z is for Zoë. Don’t know her. Do you…?

Sha Na Nansense

Tolstoy’s AnNa-Na KareniNa-Na
Chicquita BaNaNa-Na
Tex Avery’s “Uncle Tom’s CabaÑa-Ña”
Princess DiaNa-Na
Chesapeake Bay EpifauNa-Na
Ireland’s County FermaNagh-Nagh
Motorsport’s GymkhaNha-Nha
Angel Gabriel’s HosanNa-Na!
Tennessee Williams’s The Night of the IguaNa-Na!
JoNah-Nah and the Whale
Hurricane KatriNa-Na
Slovenia’s LjubljaNa-Na!
Peggy Lee’s MañaNa-Na!
Buddha’s NirvaNa-Na
Richie Valens’s "O, DonNa-Na!" 
Amazon PiraNha-Nha!
Manuel Jose QuintaNa-Na!
Russia’s RoxaNNa-NNa-NNa!
The Riverboat SultaNa-Na!
Mexico’s TijuaNa-Na!
U of I's Champagne/UrbaNa-Na!
Peruvian VicuÑa-Ña!
Judd Sister WynonNa-nNa
XeNa-Na, Warrior Princess
Yerba BueNa-Na
New York Hamlet ZeNa-Na-Na!

The Death of Richard Shawn

‘Twas the twentieth century, decade the eighth,
when occurr’d scenes absurd, as arose Richard’s wraith.
‘Twas a fortnight plus two after April the first (!),
this bizarre au revoir Richard hadn’t rehears’d.

In performance at U of C’s Mandeville Hall,

Richard utter’d these words while portraying a pol:
“If elected, I’ll never lay down on the job,”
whereon Richard Shawn started to stagger and bob.

In a twinkling he’d toppled face-down on the stage.

Was it part of Dick’s act…? This the crowd couldn’t gauge.
He lay motionless; more than two minutes pass’d by.
Then a stagehand, examining him, cried, “Oh, my!

“Can it be there’s a medical man in the house…?

Our poor Dick may be sick; we all know he’s no souse.
Please initiate CPR, somebody, quick.”
But his audience sat, saying, “We love Dick’s schtick.”

When they finally leave, still unsure what they’ve seen,

each inquires. “Was it real or just comic routine…?”
All the newspapers noted the following day:
“Richard Schulefand aka Shawn’s pass’d away.”

Richard died of a heart attack. Ironic, that,
as he’d guest hosted Carson, providing the chat
the night TV its last cigarette advert air’d.
‘Tis a mad, mad, mad, world…nor is anyone spared.

Thises 'n' Thats

Oliver and Oliver: a Hardy and a dragon.
A Remus and a Remus: one’s an uncle; one found Rome.
An A(a)ron and an Aaron: one’s OT and one’s a Trask.
Bert and Bert: a Muppet…and a Bobbsey, when he's home.

Castor and/or Castor: one’s medic’nal; one’s a brother.
Dum and Dumb: a Tweedle and a cinematic fuck.
George and George: the one’s a Founding Father; one’s a Weasley.
A Huey and a Huey: one’s a rock star; one’s a duck.

(More to come: a work in progress) 

Arrays

Alejandro and Alvino Rey – 
be they not Reys…?
Also, Aldo Ray and Alan Mobray:
ain't they Rays…?

Braided B'yonce's braying
backs bourées. (Be 'rées' not ‘ray’...?)
Blacken’d blues be belted hues 
brought off by grey’d blade Brother Ray.

Charo's charr’d: charcoal-corroded.
Robert Cray's Crayola-coated.
Cool-J's choler’s color-coded,
'splay’d by cathode rays.

Desdemona’s dreaming, doe-eyed.
(Dewy-…? Yes, though often "sloe-eyed.")
Slinging (slanging) ‘dhese ‘n’ dhose’…?
A dozing Desiree.

Earl entrés with silver’d tray.
(Served…? Hot cross buns and cold Earl Grey.)
Fauré's five fingers flail;
four, fin'lly, fail, forthwith, to play. 

Sing, singers! Sing solfege, we pray:
"...la-la-ti-la...sol-sol-la-sol... 
fa-fa-sol-fa...mi-mi-fa-mi... 
re-re-mi-re...? ("...mi-re"'s not 'ray'...?)

Gram's gamma rays, as they decay,
turn Gram's beret Marengol grey. 
Herr Hitler's home; Herr's here to stay.
(Herr's hit the hay…? Hip! Hip hoo-ray!)

In love I be, with Ina Ray.*
In re, I say: "Into the fray!"
I join John Ray and Jules Maigret
in jamboree (not jamboraye)!
     * Ms. Hutton was born Odessa Cowan.
Even so...

Kol Nidrei calls for gnosh outré: 
McKippers!* (Kroc's the fast-fare Ray.)
Let eel (lamprey), with seal -- (say) grey…? – 
beside us kneel. Now: Let us pray! 
     * Ideal for Yom Kippur (aka Yum! Kippers)

'Ray's…? Manta ray, Man Ray's moray,
Marin Marais and Martha Raye,
Nanette Fabray and Nadia Gray,
plus Rayner (Ray)* and Marvel Ray.**
     * Chicago kids' TV staple.    
     ** Ina Ray's mother -- cf above.

Omar works or prays: no play. 
His life’s "orar' et labore."
(Oh-oh: he's "Om-m-m-m-m"'d his day away.)
"Phil Harmony is Paul Paray," 
prates Paul's 'paraymate' M. Dupre.*
     * Organist and childhood pal of Paray's.

Quaere verum -- seek what's vrai!
(It's quickly queue or quit the fray!) 
Rachel Ray's not Robert Cray. 
(Is Rainer Rilke Cray…? No way!)

Sugar Ray, with Spalding Gray,
San-Luis-Rey-way stray'd one day.
'Tis too tres tres, that tea-tray trey:
try trading two. (Then, traipse away.)

UV (ultravi'let) rays
from Uranus upset my days.
Van Gogh voudrait to vault (oy, vay!)  
from Vezelay to Vau. (C'est vrai!)

No! Wardell Gray is not Faye Wray: 
Wray's wigwam's waxing warmer, eh...?

X-ray's Charles G. Barcla*…? 
Famed for forays in re: rays!
(Whereas Chuck Barkley, reigning as Sir Charles…?
He's famed for_____ -- has been for days!)
     * Brit C. G. Barcla won the '17 Nobel in Physics
for work in x-ray spectroscopy.

Delay your visit to Ypres. 
You're young yet. Pray: you'll yield one day.
Meanwhile, Z. Ray Wakeman may 
pull stunts in films...or so they* say.  
     * 'They,' in this case, being the folks –
several named Ray, it's safe to say -- who amass
and post content for Google’s search engine.

Rain of Tariffs

We trek through tariffying times.
Such times shout out for sheriffs.
Sometimes, such times drum up a Drumpf, 
one handy with his tariffs,
a Drumpf who sees economies 
through isolation’s prism,
who feels it’s fine to fall in line 
with home-grown tariffism.
But don’t forget: 
a helping hand is not an iron fist.
One voter’s chosen one 
is yet another’s tariffist.

Word Ladder Lyric: From Open > Shut

When pies, like cases, open: that’s when birds begin to sing.
Once pies go in the oven, then those birds cannot take wing.
When pies are mere ideas, even then I pooh-pooh cakes.
Not every lad and lass can boast an Uncle Sven who bakes.
If Sven won’t don his apron, then your Sten you’ll need to arm.
No doubt you’ll need to stun Sven only – not do lethal harm.
When piemen choose to shun their duties, you’ve no option but…
to force the guy to make a pie. (With that, this case is shut.)

Is Ellen Barkin'...?

Oliver...? Hearty.
(Was Eliott ghoul’d…?)
They say Ben was blue.
Orville…? Wilbur…? Both right!
What is Jeanne…? D’Arc…and light,
while Olivia’s wild.
Oscar…? Wild as well. Barney…? Frank.
(Barry’s not white.)

Betty’s white. Joel's gone grey.

Went Felicia too far…?
With whom’s Debra been messing…?
(I know Roslyn’s kind.)
People ask, “Will Jim back us…?”
Dame May…? Always witty.
(That Jack was no lemon
most researchers find.) 

Immanuel can’t,

though I've learn'd that James can.
I’ve seen Christopher walkin,’
scratch'd PDQ’s back.
Plus, I’m told that George went,
and that Kevin’s still spacey.
(Proactive celebrities…?
Hardly a lack.)

I’m assur'd Ron’s not silver.

(Was Lorne ever green…?)
John and William both hurt.
One can see Sharon’s small.
Irene…? Done. Edna…? Best.
But how crabby was Buster…?
How wooly was Monte…?
(Lucille was no ball.)

Natalie would, although 
Coach Morgan wouldn.’

And Michael J….? Fox'd!
Was Sir David not lean…?
As for Grange, Grooms and Schoendienst…
not one of ‘em’s red...
while I think Pink is pink…
if you know what I mean.

Cesar’s frank, Kwami’s brown,

although Dawn isn’t French.
Jack and Lewis aren’t black,
nor does Gabriel burn.
I know Judith is light.
Folks claim Buddy is rich,
and I’m sure Fred is friendly…
But now it’s your turn.