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Tuesday, October 1, 2019

Sounds of the Season: a Preview

Xmastide! What fun to ride! 
Ye faithful hear 'adeste,'
while tots hear Nick shout 'Blitzen.' 
(No way’s Xmas second-best day!)
How sweet the sound of 'candy canes' 
eclipsing 'lic’rice whips,'
as 'dreidel,' although Jewish, 
slips (flips, drips) through Xian lips.
An 'elf'’s heard come December 
(far less frequently come June),
while 'French hen'’s sounded solely 
in that Partridge-Pear-Tree tune.

Is 'greensleeves' just an Xmas word…? 
Vaughn Williams never hinted.
Unheard is 'handbell' till 
the Xmas choral program’s printed.
An 'ivy'’s sung alongside 'holly.' 
Such a jolly pairing!
Nor’s 'jingle,' juxtaposed with 'bells,' 
held seasonally daring.
Noms Noël…? I’m hearing 'Kringle' 
even in the loo.
And 'lords a-leaping.' 
(Partridge-Pear-Tree-wise, we’re all all through.)

'Mistletoe,' unheard befo’e, 
runs wild midst mild Decembers.
'Nativity' trumps ev’ry child – 
September’s child, November’s…
Phrases feat’ring ‘O’s resound 
all ‘round our Xmas trees: “O Tannen-
baum...,” “O Little Town...,” “O Holy Night...” 
(I cite in threes).
'Poinsett’a' popcorns off the walls, 
and not just walls of florists,
while 'quismas' exits mouths of babes 
in other parts of forests.

As Autry croons his 'Rudolph' 
and Torme his 'Chestnuts' renders,
we check their noses: 
have those nuts and reindeer been on benders…?
Good folks forbid all talk of 'tinsel' 
till their trees they’re trimmin.’ 
Only outres utter 'unto us…' – 
not normal men and women.
Is 'Vixen' ever heard 
in vernal conversations…? Nope.
(Were 'Wenceslaus' heard ‘round our house, 
abandon’d be all hope.)

Is ‘krissmiss' meant or 'exmiss,' 
when you 'Merry Xmas' hear…?
Not 'exmiss,' surely!
'Krissmass' purely bursts upon the ear.
Those 'yule's you may encounter 
in October (linked to 'logs')
have less to do with Xmas 
than with tales of shaggy dogs.
'Zwarte Piet'…? It’s indiscreet: 
Dutch racialism, right…?
Now…Merry Xmas! Bless us everyone! 
To all: goodnight!

Yves Has At 'Em: a Riddle Rewrite

As Yves was mot'ring toward St. Ives,
he pass’d a guy with seven wives.
(Imagine what a Hausfrau drives.)
Each “better half” held seven hives
she'd subdivided, using knives.
Each bride had sliced those into fives --
the bees sent fleeing for their lives,
each executing seven dives
(if spook’d, an insect truly strives:
it’s how each at-risk hive survives.
In last analysis, it thrives)
each dive a writhe of seven jives,
set free, each, from confining gyves.
Gyves, jives, dives, lives,
fives, knives, hives, drives –
plus just one guy, though seven wives.
So: how few motor'd toward St. Ives...?

Monday, September 30, 2019

RLS Amp'd

The world is so full of a number of things –
of cedars and cypress’s annual rings;
of roads to Morocco with Dots, Bobs and Bings;
of governing folkmoots and Icelandic T'ings…

of jubilant feelings each holiday brings;
of Klingons aloof (and one Klingon who clings);
of Francis Sinatra’s “A-ring-ding-a-ding-ding!”s;
of Flashes and Zarkovs and Merciless Mings…

of Arkansas burghs like Fort Smith and Hot Springs;
of shortbodied mak'rel and long-bodied lings;
of Ning Jing and Ning Cheng and Ning Ying -- all Nings;
of yang-opposed yins which the naïve call yings...

of Irishmen’s ceilis and Scots’ Highland Flings;
of Brandy Manhattans and Singapore Slings;
of cymbals with sizzles and zithers with “zings”;
of southern fried chicken and barbecued wings…

of tuppence and wampum and cash that “ka-ching!”s;
of O rings and key rings and variant blings;
of Rolling Stones, Elton Johns, Beatles and Stings;
of black players – Sidneys and Denzels and Vings…

of Nipponese Yukis and Sino-Beijings;
of tom turkeys’ necks which my grandmother wrings…
No bull! It’s so full of a number of things
So: why aren’t we all more than happy as kings…?

Sunday, September 29, 2019

Life Takes a Haiku & Adds an Envoi! or Twenty Six Skidoo

Aiding rods and cones, goggles boost my infared: life by night's agleam --
not unlike a dream.

Bend it Korbut-like, lest you tumble to the floor: life's a balance beam.
Olga dares to dream.

Curds' casein (sans whey), Cornish cows' milk, cottage cheese: life apes clotted cream...
just like in my dream.

Don't be so quick to abandon rivertown shacks: life is hard downstream...
so unlike my dream.

Ever been to Mars…? It's not unlike living here: life -- in the extreme.
(Careful what you dream.)

For Pete's sake, fellas! You've been caution’d: never spin! Life's not foosball, team!
(Much more like a dream.) 

"Gracias, Fidel! Hasta prontoUncle Sam!" Life's el Golfo's stream.
(Leave: go live your dream.)

Half-lives of sherries are measur’d in months, not years…Harvey's Bristol Cream:
good for life…? You dream!

I love Haagen-Dazs, Ben & Jerry's and Edy's: life's like good ice cream.
(Care to share my dream…?) 

Just Google him, man! It's just inconceivable (life without Joaquim).
(Oo-oo-oo...I doo meese heem.) 

"Keep the 'Alcindor'…?" "Nope! Try out 'Abdul-Jabbar.'" (Life with Lew Kareem:
a defender's nightmare. 

Long…? Nope! Focuss’d…? Nope! Amplifiable…? No way! Life's no laser beam:
life is, Bud, a dream.

Memento mori...just in case death's slipp’d your mind: life as metameme --
not just in a dream.

Never saw The Card; never saw The Seventh Sin: life per Ronald Neame.
(How that man could dream!)

Oscar Wilde was right: bad verse springs from true feeling. Life's odd, don't you deem…?
(O thought so, 'twould seem.)

Promptitude's a must; wait not for Nones to kick off: life begins at Prime;
later, you can dream.

Quiet flows the Don (though not when rowing upstream): life's a quinquereme.
(Please: abort this dream!) 

Riots in the streets; you're a cinch to your head. Life, in old regimes,
guillotines one’s dreams.

Somebody told me, "Wetter shaves are better shaves." Life, like shaving cream,
lubricates my dream. 

Throw...row...tow your boat: get through any way you can. Life's this poem's theme...
albeit a dream.

Under the boardwalk, or on top of the boardwalk: life's severe upstream.
(Nothing but a dream.) 

Vice-consul father; actress mom; at least four wives: Life with M. Vadim...? 
Nightmare vs dream.

Where's that guy who said, "Life's just a bowl of cherries"…? Life's just sour’d whipp'd cream! 
(Thank god it's a dream.)

X-rated sound track: you're the Grammy nominee. Life's the next Xan's Theme.
(Who can't hear you scream…?) 

Yellow, violet, black 'n' blue and black...and blue: life's your color scheme.
(But then: it's your dream.) 

Zero chance in ten of beating Mr. Death. Still...life's the zone supreme:
Who cares it's a dream…?!

Rhymes On Rough-to-Rhyme Rhymes

     [Re Rachel Maddow]
Who’s busy droppin' aitches...?
Some horse revealin' raches...?
Some cow concealin' naches...?
Nope. Maddow (i.e., Rache) is.

     [Re Michael Pollan]
Here’s Mike, findin' rhymes for
‘arugula.’
It seems Pollan's quite lavish. 
An' frugal, huh...?

     [Re Sancho and the Don]
I’m quizzin' Quixote,
“What rhymes, Don, with ‘purple’…?”
when suddenly, Sancho,
astride Dapple’s curple,
opines, “Ask him not.
His brain’s halt. He’ll just hirple.”
Adds Don: “Pace, Panza –
or suffer my nurple!”

     [Re Faegheh Atashin]
Googoosh, who’s rife with rhymes for
‘woman’
weighs her wage in Persian
toman.

     [Re William Inge]
I’ve said it before, Inge:
“There are rhymes for ‘orange.’”

     [Re Sir William Walton]
Search far 'n' wide, Will, fer
just one rhyme for ‘silver.’

     [Re A. A. Milne]
I’ve found no rhymes for ‘kiln.’
Does Pooh know any, Milne…?

     [Re Tom Brokaw]
Who would find a rhyme for ‘plankton
must quiz Brokaw: bloke's from Yankton.

     [Re Ark builder Noah and lexicographer Webster]
Pair the “rhymeless” word ‘midst’…?
Surely, Noah, thou didst.

     [Re Robert Moog]
If you're short of rhymes for ‘plinth,’
Bob can build one on his synth.

Saturday, September 28, 2019

Supple Mary: a Bananagram

Supple Mary! 
Supple Mary favors early pumps,
which shoes express key suppleness 
when dating pearly umps.

Supple Mary! 
Supple Mary lofts a lumpy spare
which flat fifth wheel destroys my peel’d banana…
plus my pear.

Supple Mary! 
Supple Mary’s maple syrup jams
she pours from tuns all over buns, 
cream tarts and purple yams.

Supple Mary ask'd a puma, 
“Why do critters die…?”
“Blame Pupy’s Realm, papyrus, elm,“ 
came puma’s (weird!) reply.

Take A Haiku

I lean to my left,
allign’d beneath the moonshine.
Next, nothing happens

Suns sit in blue trees.
I take a step. Another.
After that, it's dark.

And all through the house
it's the night before Christmas.
So...where's Mrs. Claus…?

Adrian Boyer
and Sebastian Boyer, too:
Both boys my grandsons.

Arma virumque:
If at first you don't succeed,
let my people go!

The Russians are coming!
Frankly, my dear, I don't give!
(Russians...? Still coming!)

Be-bop-a-lu-la!
Mares eat oats and does eat oats.
She's your baby now.

To be or not to be...?
Requiescat in pace!
Midsummer Knight's Dream.

When I fall in love,
it's the Japanese sandman.
Oh, Jane: See Dick run!

Edgar Allen Poe;
Flopsie, Mopsie, Cottontail;
Andre the Giant.

Mexico City.
Robert Louis Stevenson:
The bird was a word.

Waiting for Godot:
The few. The proud. The Marines.
Yabba-dabba-doo!

George W. Bush:
No runs, no hits. (No errors...?)
Going...going...gone.

Takes

Take It In Reverse!

Z, Y, X and W...
V, U, T and S, R, Q...
P, O, N plus M and L...
K, J, I, H (as in 'Hell')...
G, F, E, D, C, B, A.  
ABC, but backwards, eh…?  
(Demonstrate some flair, some flex
when next you read your ZYX!)

Take It From the Center!

M, N, L and O, K, P...
J, Q, I, R, H, S, G...
T, F, U and E, V, D...
W and C, X, B...
Y, A, Z. Some Linear B...?
Nope! Just a spiral’d ABC. 

Your Take It From Here!

C, B, A and E, D, J…
P, G, H and T, V, K…
M, N, I and S, X, Q…
F, K, Y and R, O, U…
Z, of course, and W:

___________________.
(What goes here…? One line from you.)

Take It Straight! Then Take It Snak’d!

Straight stroked: A, E, F, H, T...
straight, as well: K, L, V, Z...
straight, too: M, N, X, and I...
W’s straight. And ikewise Y. 
The rest -- B, C, D, G and U... 
plus J, O, P and R, S, Q -- 
contain one curvy stroke (at least). 
(With that, this ABC I've ceased.) 

Take My Order!

First: A, E, I, O,
(and sometimes Y): 
each one's a vowel -- on 
that you can rely. 
And all the rest -- B, C, 
D, F and G...
plus H, J, K, L, M...? 
Plus N and P... 
and Q, R, S, T,
plus X and Z... 
(plus W, the one 
anomaly)…? 
They're consonants. So: now 
your ABC
you know, from vow'ls through con-
sonants. Agree...? 

Friday, September 27, 2019

Runcibl'd Spooner (Lore & Legend Edition)

     I.
Native princess Pocahontas. 
John Rolfe loved her. (So did Disney.)
Drumpf derides and mocks this woman. 
(Lay’n’ a Hoax Upon Us…isn’ he…?)

     Moral: 
The House of Repre-
sentatives
is right now pondering,
"What gives!?"

     II.
Pecos Bill, ol’ cowpokes say,
broke buckin’ broncs -- tye-yippee-yay! --
while Blake O’Spill gets thrown from bulls
at Lone Star cow-town tractor pulls.
     Moral:
No matter if your nonsense 
be galactic or sublunar,
do not let Herr U'dish'ion 
run away with Rev’d 'Spoon'er!

      III. 
Bunyan...? Giant North Woods lumberjack
who ‘Paul’ was christen’d.
Pun-Yan, nicknamed “Bawl”…? Brash Sino-punster.
(No one listen’d).
     Moral:
Pilgrim’s Progress
Giant’s Onions...
Wait! Beware 
conflated Bunyans!

     IV.

Casey Jones...? A locomotive driver. 
Crushed! (Too graphic...?)
So: who sets out those orange thingies...? 
J. C. Cones, from Traffic.
     Moral: 
Stay 'tween the cones! 
Stay on the tracks!
'Twill spare you falling 
through the cracks.

     V. 
Hopalong Cassidy: cowpoke on 
horse.
The cop along has a D...? A police officer -- the one 
accompanying me in my squad car -- displays his 
performance report card, noting -- a bit too gleefully, 
if you ask me -- how he narrowly avoided receiving 
a failing grade in this quarter's racial sensitivity
course.
     Moral:
Some Spoonerisms
call for more
than rhyming couplets --
that's for shore. 

     VI. 
Elvis Presley (RIP): 
polemicist in denim tights.
Pelvis S. (like Robert E.): 
supremacist re southern whites. 
     Moral:
To diff'rent drummers do your dance --
nor never do Ulysses Grant's. 

    VII.

Preston Sturges hollers, “Roll!”
Ten thousand ducks (or so ‘twere bill’d),
don hats. Then down they Sunset stroll.
(That screwball’s Stetson Purchase kill’d.)
     Moral:
To win an Oscar now and then
may well depend on gallons ten.

Next up: 

Davy Crockett & K-V'd Rocket 
Watson's Jim & Jots 'n' Whim 
Natty Bumppo & Batty Numppo 
Ichabod Crane & Kick a Bad Reign 
Sweeney Todd & Teenie's Wad 
Rip Van Winkle & Whip Fan Rinkle
Joe Magarac & Moe Jagger...ack!
Old Black Joe & Bold Jack Hoe
Br'er Rabbit & Rare Babbit
Hiawatha & Why A Hatha?
Sam Bass & Ba'am's Ass
Finn Mac Cool & Kin McFool
 

Thursday, September 26, 2019

Teas: a Demi-tasse (A thru M)

     Breathe 
scant more cheerful, few'r as quick, 
none readier than me: 
     I eat fast 
food (who'd not ♥ Happy Meals!). 
I sip Alakra Tea.

     Art's 
Sandwich Shoppe...? I'd best not stop: 
no breakfast break for me. 
     Just 
shortcakes -- two -- wash'd down with 
demi-tasse of Brevah Tea.

     Ma's 
off her nut. Don't scoff: we but 
agree to disagree. 
     There is no 
reason why we two can't try 
lukewarm Çevilla Tea.

     The 
bitch what's in my kitchenette 
(a banjo on her knee): 
     she lip-syncs 
"Dinah," scarfing Dinah's s'mores* 
and downing Dinah's Tea.
     * Some mss show 'dinosaurs'; some, 
'Dinah's sores.' (One 'Dinah Shores.') Does 
each reveal a different but no less true 
nonsensiosity...? Of course, of course.

     Trade 
unions fought. 'Twas dearly bought, 
the tea-break...and the pee-. 
     ‘Taint 
wrong to ask, "How long a task 
to steep Etournah Tea...?"

     Steel'd 
rush-week frats wield cricket bats 
with such sadistic glee, 
     then ask which 
brother dumps how many lumps 
in whose Fra Turna Tea...?

     "Do 
bowels not move...? Brew Grahva, love," 
growls Arthur G to me. 
     Its 
pow'r's for real. Just drink: you'll feel 
the force of Grahva Tea.

     The 
joke about the priest, the rabbi 
and the manatee 
     is printed 
on each bag -- to view each time 
you brew  "Heil, Herr!” A Tea.

     Half-
lives of crime, from time to time, 
may've led to Reading G.* 
     What 
lands Brit pricks -- bang! -- in their nicks...? 
The kick...in Iqua Tea. 
     Be 
Jon** some modish son of god, 
some neo-deity...? 
     His drinkin's 
pass'd the stinkin' stage: 
wa-a-a-a-ay too much Jove E. Allah Tea.
     * Reading Gaol, the period Brit nick.
     ** Jon Bon Jove E Allah, perhaps...?

     Doin' 
martial sports of sundry sorts, 
I soak my judo gi  
     when 
hot, with puce ju-jitsu juice; 
when not, with Karr (hot!) Tea.
     'Tweren't 
no black buyers, 'cepting Myers,* 
in that CDP.** 
     The 
Levitt shack...? She took it black: 
both town and Levitt Tea.
     * Daisy Myers, hailed as "The Rosa Parks of the 
North," in 1957 became Levittown, PA's first African-
American family when she and her husband purchased 
a home not from Levitt & Sons, who refused to 
sell to African Americans, but from a European-
American family who already owned a home there. 
     ** Census-designated place -- Levittown is 
one such.

     Thom's 
Magic Mount's no tragic fount -- 
unless Hans Castorp's spree 
     does 
symbolize the reckless rise 
of Herr Männ's Straße Tea.

Naughty

Oddity

Paucity

Quality

Reality

Serendipity

Trinity

University

Velocity

Warrantee

eXentricity

Yazoo City 

Zesty 

A Tattle of Ts: Mr. Wishfulthink's Tell-All in re a Trump Abdication


Tintin tells Tutu...Tutu tells Tonto. 
Tonto tells Tito (I’m tellin’ the trut’).
Tito tells Toto...Toto tells Totie. 
Totie tells Tolstoy – who tells Little Toot.

Tintoretto tells Tootsie who tells Tiny Tim 
who tells Tommie 'n' Tuppence who’re tellin' Tartuffe.
Tartuffe's tellin' Tristram who tells Ratatouille 
who tells Tina Turner (for this tale, thin proof).

Ted Turner tells Titus who tells Tia Tabitha. 
Who tells Tess Trueheart…? 'Tis Toni Tennile --
tantamount to catastrophe, Tim Tyler thinks: 
"How shall Tubby the Tuba and Tommy Tune feel...?"

Tut tells the Titans...Tik-Tok tells Tantalus. 
Telling the Toltec...? 'Tis Tristan the Pict,
who is tellin' Tom Tolbert who’s tellin' a tsetse 
who – three times! – tells Trump. (Who then tells us, “I’m licked!”)

Litany Chanted Over Schrödinger's Box

Is he dead yet...? 'Yes' or 'No'...?  All'd 'God Bless!' if 'Yes,' you know.  Is he dead yet...? Don...