An ABC...But Whose...?

B, C, D…? Like 'ea' in "freak."
H 'n' A…? Like 'ai' in "Spain."
E, G, P…? Like 'ee' in "geek."
J 'n' K …? Like 'ei' in "reign."

T, V, Z…? Like 'ea' in "speaks."
L, F, N…? Like 'e' in "hex."
I 'n' Y…? Like 'i' in "yikes!"
M, X, S…? Like 'e' in "sex." 

O…? Like 'o' in "overblown."
U 'n' Q…? Like 'ue' in "blue."
R…? Not unlike 'ar' in "fart."
W…? Like "trouble, nu…?” --
tho', why three syllables…? Mon dieu!
I simply have no clue. Do you…?

The Boorrownym: a New Poetic Form

A loaf of bread, a jug of wine and thou:
on sofa bed we snuggle, kleine frau.
Shall purse of silk we make from ear of sow...? 

Come, fill the cup, and in the fire of spring...
(Don't spill! Heads up, you pinhead: wire and string
won't help! First, set aside your teething ring!)

The Cheese Stands Alone (But Not Before Spilling the Beans)

Gautama the Buddha tells Pablo Neruda.
Neruda's narration clues Hebrews in Judah.
Judeans leave word with one very old Gouda.
The Gouda confesses to you.

The Mother of Jesus has words with a rhesus.
The rhesus reports to that chap who makes cheeses.
(What doesn't asphyxiate finally frees us.)
The cheeses reveal it to you. 

The Devil's boy Lucius advises Confucius.
Confucius makes mention to Lyndon LaRouche. (Is
it true that "LaRou," in a sequence of swooshes,
tells you…? Nope: it's roux who tells you!

The Madness of Gardeners

He thought he saw some Greenland ice which once he'd sought to thaw. 
He looked again and found it was a pound of flesh. "Oh, pshaw!
What's come to pass…?" he said. "Alas! I don't know what I saw."

He thought he saw Miss Garland singing, "Why, oh, why can't I…?"
He looked again and found it was reporter Nellie Bly.
Said he, "She'd trip by sailing ship, forgetting houses fly."

He thought he saw a big parade; it seemed to pass him by.
He looked again and found it was the fourteenth of July.
"There, but for me, go I," said he. "Nor care I where...nor why." 

He thought he saw three magi; bearing gifts, they'd travell’d far.
He looked again and found it was four months without an 'r.'
"No oysters fresh to fill my creche...? Then lose the babe and star!"

He thought he saw a basketball pass lightly through a hoop. 
He looked again and found it was some Cock-a-leekie soup.
I'll share," said he, "a bowl -- or three – ‘mongst my encounter group."

He thought he saw some Ws becoming Ps and Os.
He looked again and found they were three carrots up his nose.
"Were they," he said, "fresh leeks instead, I'd make a stew of those."

He thought he saw a universe adjacent to his own.
He looked again and found it was a stale un-buttered scone.
"At least," he said, "I'm neither dead nor am I all alone." 

He thought he saw a camel thrust its nose inside his tent.
He looked again and found it was his precious youth, mispent.
He said, "Tut, tut: no worries!" But that isn't what he meant.

He thought he saw the heavens part, revealing golden light:
He looked again and found it was a steaming pile o' shite.
"'Tis plain as hell," he said, "this fell from some enormous height." 

He thought he saw a farewell speech composed in cursive script:
He looked again and found it was a mummy in a crypt.
Said he, "Ol' Till'd* be with us thrill’d – had he been tighter lipp’d."    
     * Till Eulenspiegel, a trickster appearing in German folklore. 

He thought he saw a poker deck without a one-eyed Jack:
He looked again and found it was The Farmers' Almanac.
"What's there, "said he, "shall guarantee I hug the inside track." 

He thought he heard a justice cry, "This court doth stand adjourned":
He harked again and found it wasa crankie* being turned.
Said he," Amend I must the end, or else we'll all get burned!" 
     * A series of images on a panorama roll mounted inside a box and
scrolled across a viewing screen; the images often portray a story. 

He thought he saw a scientist denying climate change:
He looked again and found it was the New York Stock Exchange.
"That Wall Street guys should stoop to lies," said he. "I find that strange." 

He thought he saw the role of Hedwig in "...the Angry Inch":
He looked again and found it was, in fact, Ted Geisel's Grinch.
"Eccentrics both. Still, Seuss," he quoth, "shall suit me -- in a pinch!" 

He thought he saw the comet which had felled the dinosaurs.
He looked again and found it was a recipe for S'mores.
"'Tis clear," said he, "and plain to see that, when it rains, it pours." 

He thought he saw the blaze which burned Old Tucson Studios:
He looked again and found it was a fungus 'twixt his toes.
Said he, "For sure, this force majeure shows: 'When it rains, it po's!'"

He thought he saw his face reflected in a silvered plate:
He looked again and found it was a soaring int'rest rate.
"I'd hoped," said he, "to earn a fee. I fear I’m wa-a-ay too late!" 

He thought he saw -- or, rather, heard -- the music of the spheres:
he looked again and found it was a jury of his peers.
"Each sentence passed," said he, "must last for ten and three score years!" 

He thought he saw an ikura-and-avocado roll:
he looked again and found it was his neighbor's barber pole.
"Such cylinders my wife prefers," said he. "I don't do 'droll'!" 

He thought he saw the Nazarene, his savior Jesus Christ: 
he looked again and found it was a taco, mildly spiced. 
"I must," he said, "distrust this bread: 'tis wildly overpriced!" 

He thought he saw a detainee, one force-fed through a hose:
he looked again and found it was the young Durante's nose.
"'It’s not, I know, Guantanamo," he said, "which none can close!"*
     * Several mss show "...still, thar' she blows!" here. 

He thought he saw a Ghibelline astride a jackalope:
he looked again and found it was Pope Joan without her cope.
Said he, "That Guelf shall hang herself, allowed sufficient rope!" 

He thought he saw Mahatma Gandhi spinning at his wheel:
he looked again and found 'twas a McDonald's Happy Meal.
"I'd s'pposed, said he, "the Chocol'te Sri to’ve proved the better deal!" 

He thought he saw three loaves of wine, two jugs of bread...enow:
he looked again and found it was a priceless purple sow.*
Said he: "Good grief! Are pigs and beef exchanging places now...?"
     * The line alludes to Burgess's wishfully disavowed purple cow.

He thought he saw a UFO with slime-green landing lights:
he looked again and found it was unread Miranda rights.
Said he, "Their stay's for fourteen days...but only thirteen nights!" 

He thought he saw a croque monsieur prepared with Edam cheese:
he looked again and found it was his mother's beard of bees.
"Of late," said he, "I seem to see few forests...and no trees!"    

Our Magnificent Medicine Chest: Letter A

     "Please to 
fetch me an 'A,'" whimper'd 
"Jim" Smithe-Magee. "Not a
wink for a week! Would I 
waked headache free!" So, 'tis
upstairs I fly to ful-
fill Jim's request: fetch an
'A' -- "Right away!" -- from our 
medicine chest.
    Rests this
chest in our loo; it's un-
usu'lly big. Deep in-
side it we hide the odd 
thingamajig -- one to
do -- Yes! It's true! -- with the 
goal of my quest: to ob-
tain Jim an 'A' from our 
medicine chest.
     But how's
one to be sure it's an 
asp'rin that's meant when on
urgent emergency 
errands one's sent...? I re-
hears'd Jim's instruction as 
lavwards I press'd: "Procure
Jimbo an 'A' from our 
medicine chest..."
     At half-
canter I enter the 
darken'd "pissoir," light the
lamp, eye the chest, note its 
door: "'Tis ajar! Who's ar-
rived here ahead of me, 
plunder'd our nest and made
off with all 'A's from the 
medicine chest...?"
     Gone (or
stolen!): all aardvarks, all 
anvils, all almanacs.
Missing: all air-to-air 
missiles and anoraks...
and all the asp'rins, Jim's 
pressing request. Is there
nowt with initial 'A' 
left in our chest...?
     Then I
spot what proves not an 
apothec'ry's glass but a
fabulous abacus, 
fashion'd of brass. "Any
asp'rins," weigh I, "run, at 
best, second-best to such
abaci kept in our 
medicine chest."
     Then post
haste (if not sooner) I 
hustle, I rush (never
pond'ring who 'twas who'd ne-
glected to flush) out the
door, down the stair, back to 
Smithe-Magee -- lest...Jimbo
not net his need from our 
medicine chest.
     "Oh...that
headache: it split. See...I'm 
no longer tired," says Jim.
"Time now for play -- with the 
'B' that's required. My ob-
session with 'A's...? Just my 
joke; just my jest. What I
now need's a 'B' from our 
medicine chest!"

(More forays to come: a work in progress)

All Mine to Sieve

I ‘A’s and ‘I’s 
(and sometimes ‘Y’s), 
with ‘E’s and ‘O’s 
and ‘U’s...
apace saute 
(with ‘je ne sais’) 
my consonant-
al stews.
‘B’s, ‘C’s, ‘D’s, ‘F’s, 
‘G’s, ‘H’s, ‘J’s, 
‘K’s, ‘L’s. ‘M’s, ‘N’s, 
‘P’s, ‘Q’s...
‘R’s, ‘S’s, ‘T’s, 
‘V’s, ‘X’s, ‘Z’s 
(as well as 
‘W’s)...
supply the parts 
I need as starts 
'n' ends to word 
ragouts.

These Times They Are...Superlative

Now’s the best and worst of times. Indeed, the blest and curs'd of times.
The William Randolph Hearst of I'ms: the best and worst of times.
Now’s the worst and best of times. The empty feather'd nest of times.
The faulty litmus test of limes: the worst and best of times.

Ein Deutches Currywurst of times. The tot'lly unrehears'd of times.
The never reimburs'd of dimes: the best and worst of times.
The second-best (at best) of times. I.e., the anapest of rhymes.
The jester (overdress'd) of mimes: the worst and best of times.

The tots and kids eat first of times. The binged until I burst of times.
My wallet’s gone! Unpurs'd! of dimes: the best and worst of times.
Oyez, de woist 'n' best o' times. The how d’you like my breast...? of times.
Come up and see Mae West sometimes: the worst and best of times.

The craven rave and thirst of times. The durst I...? 'Deed, I durst! of times.
The yet again, coerced of thymes: the best and worst of times.
Quixote’s gloried quest of times. Go West, young man! Go West! of times.
The Halt! You’re und’rarrest! of climes: the worst and best of times.

At freedom’s breast we’re nurs'd of times. The see Amer’ca first! of times.
Once more, my bubble’s burst! of climbs: the best and worst of times.
The uninvited guest of times. The vests remain unpress'd of times.
Is this some kind of jest...? of rhymes: the worst and best of times.

The dead, embalm'd and hears'd of times. The poorly prosed or vers'd of times.
En fin, the Fanny Hurst of primes: the best and worst of times.
The stress'd from being ‘Yes-s-s-s'd’ of times. The get it off your chest of times.
The dead but unconfess'd of crimes. The worst and best of times.

Ein Deutsche 'eben erst' of times. The Bellhop of Amherst of times.
The bought and paid-for jur’st of slimes. the best and worst of times. 
The totally immers'd of times. The ple-e-e-e-e-ease give this a rest! of times. 
The bleedin' best and worst...and best...and worst and best of times.

The Punn'd Cliche as Q&A

Won’t this age of anxiety sap all sobriety…?
Not if society practices piety.

Who'd dare say that y’all ain’t the belle of the ball…?
I know no one at all with the requisite gall.

Why’s the cream of the crop rarely land at the top…?
Though some may make that stop, most eventually drop.

Is one foolish to wed on the Day of the Dead…?
Nonsense! Somewhere I read: “Even stiffs scruples shed.”

Looms the edge of the end just beyond yonder bend…?
If so, heaven forefend: we’re in deep doodoo, friend.

Knows the meaning of ‘poor’ ev’ry father of four…?
Yep! It’s budget’ry war keeping wolves from the door.

Might great gaggles of geese pull the plug on world peace…?
Sure, so text the police: “Make the ‘gak-gak-gak’ cease!”

Do the Analects tell of the Harr’wing of Hell…?
They do not. Still, don’t yell: they Zen Buddhists treat well.

Can the Island of Io sustain, in its bayou (Hey! This ain’t Ohio) a crane with one eye…?
Oh.

D’you suppose you could cram Mason jars of (say) jam into cyclotrons, ma’am…?
Yes, if less than a dram.

Might the King of the Khyber, with help from his “nighbor,” untangle this fiber…?
Nope! King’s an imbiber.

Let a mandolin band play Loew’s “Lay o' the Land”…?
Yes…unless they’re so bland that their luthier's been cann’d.

“Holy Mother of Mercy!” exclaim'd Walker Percy. “What’s happened to Circe…?
(She’d moved to New Jerce.)

His question, though haute, is quite short (and I quote): “What’s afloat in the moat…?”
(Quotha! Nothin' of note.)

If her next oath of office she takes with a cough, thus: “A-h-h-h-hem!” – who’s pissed off…? Us…?
Nix! Get off the scoff bus!

Has Vern of Versailles earn'd a piece of the pie…?
Sure. (And there but for “Why can’t the English…?” go I.)

Who’s Quixote of Queens…?
Don’s that Don, by all means, stashing billions of beans into taper-fit jeans.

Which new rules of the road disallow being tow'd eating pie a la mode…?
None in binary code.

What think Freudian shrinks of the smile of the Sphinx…?
Most draw psychical links to this story: it drinks.

Tell me: who takes the crown as the talk of the town…?
Ethel Isadore Browne. She'll take nowt lyin' down.

Why’s the U S of A always wind up this way…?
Though I rue the cliché: ‘cuz its feet are of clay.

Which – this vat of Vouvray or my café au lait – contains vitamin K…?
Neither, to my dismay.

Once the flags get unfurl’d, do the diatribes hurl’d leave one’s hair firmly curl’d...?
‘Tis the way of the world.

Where’s the Xyst of Xi’an..? Where’s the Yak of Yaiku…? Where’s the Zorse of Zagreb…?
Not in any known zoo.

The Disappeareds or Without a Trace: a Gashlycrumb Prequel

(...and they were never heard of again.) 

A is for Aidan: apprenticed to Amish.
B is for Bette: bought by brokers Islamish.
C is for Carl: caught, caged: coop’d in a cote.
D is for David: devour’d table d’hote.
E is for Edward: ensconced in an egg.
F is for Fran: force-fed figs. (Fran’s fate’s vague).
G is for Geoffrey: gone grey from gangrene.
H is for Hans: Help! Last heard from in Wein.
I is for Ike: hid on Innisfree Island.
J is for Jake: join’d a jazz band in Thailand.
K is for Kai: kill’d by klansmen in Kansas.
L is for Lon: lost – like luggage. (Lufthansa’s…?)
M is for Max: made to move east of Maine.
N is for Niles: no more! (Nooners his bane.)
O is for Oona: she’s out on her own.
P’s for Pauline: pull’d an Eva Peron.
Q is for Quinn: quarantined in a quarry.
R is for Reg: raped while rowing with Rory.
S is for Shel: sunk at sea on a charter.
T is for Ted: tends to trip, for a starter.
U is for Ulmer: undone by Ulysses.
V is for Van: voted “Viscount de Sissies.”
W…? Wendell: his way West he wended.
X is for Xeno: his xysts all upended.
Y is for Yuri: yelled “Yid!” at the Y.
Z is for Zeb: was our zoo’s zebu guy.

The Language Poet's Final Four

O    N    C    E
D    A    Y    S 
G    R    O   W
L    E     S    S 
T    H    A    N
L    O    N    G,   

W   H   O’    D
M    A    K    E 
T    H    E    M  
E    A    C    H
M   O    R    E  
F    U    L     L

N    E    E   D
K    N    O  W 
W   H    A   T
W   O    R   D, 
W   H    A   T 
S    O   N   G 

T    H    A   T, 
S    U   N   G,
N    E   T    S 
T    I    M   E
L    E    S   S
N   U    L    L.

Doin' the Spellcheck Shimmy

Whence heroes de yore, like The Right Stuff's Chuck Yigger…?
Who cheers while the U.S. files climate's hair trigger…?
Who's praising the Christian while razing the Uigher…?
Amer'ca! (At least we no longer say 'xigger.')

Who black-listed Zero Mostel and Pete Sigger…? 
Who back’d Michelle Bachmann and blog’d "How we dig ‘er!"…?
Who’s cast beaucoup ballots for Palin…? Go figger!
Amer'ca! (At least we no longer say 'chthigger.')

Who neighs to his neighbor, "My handgun's w-a-a-ay bigger"…? 
Who drives after drinking way, tres too much ligger…? 
Who feels Donald Trump is in need of a wigger…? 
Amer'ca! (At least we no longer say 'djigger.')

On steroids, Team USA's cyclists prov'd quigger, 
though using’s destroy’d more than one Major Ligger, 
while folks who should know better chortle and snigger.
Amer'ca! (At least we no longer say 'kkknigger.')

Who cannabis bans but puffs a big cigger...?
Who boozes by gallon and not by the jigger…?
Who  flaunts G. I. Joe, dissing Eeyore and Tigger…?
Amer'ca! (At least we no longer say 'thmigger.')

Who "pooh!"s his genetics but calls Mendel 'Grigger'…?
Thinks H'waii'ns by saucer came, not by out-rigger…?
And who doesn’t realize Drumpf’s an intriguer…?
Amer'ca! (At least we no longer say 'houyigger.')

Who adores and defers to the Founders with vigor,
insisting all immigrants weather the rigor
of Homeland Security's brutal buttkigger…?
Amer'ca! (At least we no longer say 'sphligger.')

When promises made to the farm-produce piggers
deserve follow-through, who are A-one renegers…?
A hint: who's hellbent -- neither zaggers nor ziggers...?
Amer'ca! (At least we no longer say 'tschiggers.')

Extraordin'ry: some black folks call themselves 'squiggers,'
whose ancestors came as slaves, stuff’d in square-riggers,
whose kin, nonetheless, are all Anti-Def Liggers.
Why would folks -- black, white -- ever call others 'thiggers'…?
Because they're Amer'cans…? Just facts, ma'am...just figgers!
(Amer'ca! In time we’ll forget we said 'mniggers.')