"To carry this off, Li Yan, stick with a big wok!"
Poet Poe pens nonsense verse. "Plus...phun," puns Uly, "I disburse." Its gamut runs from spam to worse. The po'sy posted...? Poe's diverse -- most, postcards from his universe, replies to grudges he must nurse. My summary...? Let me be terse: a mitzva, mostly. (Not a curse.)
Thursday, October 10, 2019
Teddy Fare or Who'd Make Smooth (and Delicious) Fried Rice...? He'd Need Heed a Rough Rider's Advice (A Wok in Progress or Spooner on Steroids: You Decide)
President
Theodore Roosevelt's most-frequently
quoted maxim must surely be his famous, "Walk softly and carry a big
stick." Less widely known is his counsel to a young Chinese-American friend and
fellow hero of the charge up San Juan Hill which takes the form of his
advice regarding the successful preparation of what would become this
friend's --
indeed, this future White House chef's -signature
dish, Colonel Roo's Felt Chicken:
"To carry this off, Li Yan, stick with a big wok!"
"To carry this off, Li Yan, stick with a big wok!"
Pub Crawls / Pubs, Scrawl'd
Shall not snuggery sojourns and speakeasy spree/rambles
start with iambic pentameter preambles?
red lanterns, supper rooms, saloons, shebeens,
meyhanes, BYOs, pieds-a-hops
in all the urbs and ‘burbs about this ball,
why’d whetted whistles sing of these oases...?
Why these (trump’d-up tied bars and taverns all)...?
Why framed milieus...?
Why famed “who’s who”s,
feign’d views, stain’d loos,
fake wait-staff crews...?
Indeed, why choose
bent booze and brews
from fabricated places...?
The Angler's Rest in Wodehouse's Mulliner Nights
A Wodehouse roadhouse! There I’d first while hours
(“Miss
Postlethwaite: a half, please, of your best!”),
my Mild amid their Stouts and Lemon Sours.
In short, I’d hang (in shorts) at Angler’s Rest,
to savor sev’ral spells – ideally, dozens –
the silly stuff
(such guff, much, fluff;
such puff: much, bluff,
yet ne’er enough)
he claims they say and do.
Those two (Hello! You well know who they are)
distinguish Alpha’s geese from Alpha’s porter.
The first is Doyle’s PI; through clues he combs
to crimes from times before electric chairs.
He’s Doctor Watson’s Johnson, Sherlock Holmes!
One dick, one doc
and – drei – me nigh.
“But why...?” you’re asking.
“Why me...? Why...?”
It’s Holmes and Watson, bre’rs!
Let share their drafts who dares.
Now’s closing time…? Who cares!
Treasure Island, wherein single-leg’d
Jack Tars ‘n’ salts (some, cooks) brook mix’d successes.
There’s where I’d deign drop anchor, near Kitt’s Hole,
to, parch’d, partake of Hawkins’s strong rum...
and, perch’d before the fire, well-stok’d with coal,
taste tunes tenfold,
from sea dogs old,
of maps enfolding
secrets sold
for buried gold,
of “…heat and cold…
and all the old
romance retold…”
(including some concerning mould-
infected apples in the hold)
until my eardrum’s numb
(with sailor’s tales a-hum).
or maybe “Everybody comes to Rick’s,”
then scribble out, in verse, an alphabet or a
haiku, one penn’d best at Signor Ferreri’s,
abetting his Blue Parrot crew’s new tricks
to loot from Blaine Américain sans “sorry”s.
(You see how everyone does come to Rick’s...?)
I’d steal a Steinway, swipe a Sam to “Play it!”
(Did Ilsa say “…again…”? No, she did not,
Though Sascha…) But, alas! I could not stay. It
works out quite slick
for Lund and Vic,
but Lou and Rick
do exit schtick
and, what with visas none too thick,
those Nazi plots grow hot.
(Loike, a poisson could git shot.)
I’d drink. I’d wink. I’d warn (in cashier’s Czech)
of undercover snitch Bretschneider’s malice,
and hope, with this, my twist to Hasek’s tale,
no altered u’d occur, ordaining poor,
course Palivek to not sit out, in jail,
his war, nor Svejk
the eldertyke
to bike (not hike)
around the reich
start with iambic pentameter preambles?
Of
all the bogus bars, gin mills, canteens,
sakayas,
gay bars, brew pubs, cuca shops,red lanterns, supper rooms, saloons, shebeens,
meyhanes, BYOs, pieds-a-hops
in all the urbs and ‘burbs about this ball,
why’d whetted whistles sing of these oases...?
Why these (trump’d-up tied bars and taverns all)...?
Why framed milieus...?
Why famed “who’s who”s,
feign’d views, stain’d loos,
fake wait-staff crews...?
Indeed, why choose
bent booze and brews
from fabricated places...?
The Angler's Rest in Wodehouse's Mulliner Nights
A Wodehouse roadhouse! There I’d first while hours
my Mild amid their Stouts and Lemon Sours.
In short, I’d hang (in shorts) at Angler’s Rest,
to savor sev’ral spells – ideally, dozens –
with
Mulliner (that’s Mister M to
you)...
regaled
with tales of M’s amazing cousins:the silly stuff
(such guff, much, fluff;
such puff: much, bluff,
yet ne’er enough)
he claims they say and do.
The Alpha Inn in Conan Doyle's "The Adventure of the Blue Carbuncle"
The
Alpha Inn enjoys a parlour bar.
It’s
Windigate’s. I’d cue there, third to order.Those two (Hello! You well know who they are)
distinguish Alpha’s geese from Alpha’s porter.
The first is Doyle’s PI; through clues he combs
to crimes from times before electric chairs.
He’s Doctor Watson’s Johnson, Sherlock Holmes!
One dick, one doc
and – drei – me nigh.
“But why...?” you’re asking.
“Why me...? Why...?”
It’s Holmes and Watson, bre’rs!
Let share their drafts who dares.
Now’s closing time…? Who cares!
The Admiral Benbow Inn in Stevenson's Treasure Island
A
“pleasant-sittyated” grogshop, pegg’d
The
Adm’ral Benbow Inn in RLS’sTreasure Island, wherein single-leg’d
Jack Tars ‘n’ salts (some, cooks) brook mix’d successes.
There’s where I’d deign drop anchor, near Kitt’s Hole,
to, parch’d, partake of Hawkins’s strong rum...
and, perch’d before the fire, well-stok’d with coal,
taste tunes tenfold,
from sea dogs old,
of maps enfolding
secrets sold
for buried gold,
of “…heat and cold…
and all the old
romance retold…”
(including some concerning mould-
infected apples in the hold)
until my eardrum’s numb
(with sailor’s tales a-hum).
Rick's Cafe Americaine in Michael Curtiz's Casablanca*
I’d
pen a phrase for fans of classic flicks
like
“…all the bars in all the towns…(etcetera),”or maybe “Everybody comes to Rick’s,”
then scribble out, in verse, an alphabet or a
haiku, one penn’d best at Signor Ferreri’s,
abetting his Blue Parrot crew’s new tricks
to loot from Blaine Américain sans “sorry”s.
(You see how everyone does come to Rick’s...?)
I’d steal a Steinway, swipe a Sam to “Play it!”
(Did Ilsa say “…again…”? No, she did not,
Though Sascha…) But, alas! I could not stay. It
works out quite slick
for Lund and Vic,
but Lou and Rick
do exit schtick
and, what with visas none too thick,
those Nazi plots grow hot.
(Loike, a poisson could git shot.)
* Curtiz directed the film. The screenplay was based
on a play written by Murray Burnett and Joan Alison.
on a play written by Murray Burnett and Joan Alison.
The Chalice in Jaroslav Hasek's The Good Soldier Svejk
I’d
drink with Svejk a black from Palivek,
who,
with his wife, landlords it o’er The Chalice.I’d drink. I’d wink. I’d warn (in cashier’s Czech)
of undercover snitch Bretschneider’s malice,
and hope, with this, my twist to Hasek’s tale,
no altered u’d occur, ordaining poor,
course Palivek to not sit out, in jail,
his war, nor Svejk
the eldertyke
to bike (not hike)
around the reich
Battuta-like
on path and pike,
misfortunes
to explore.
Pseudo Goose
Hark! Mark!
Blue Dogs do bark
when caucuses come into town.
Industry flacks,
financ’d by their PACs,
will cut taxes: what’s up must come down.
Cy Simon met a meta-pieman going to a fair.
Said meta-pieman said to Cy, “Man! You’re displaced, but where?”
Said Cy said to said meta-pieman, “I’m here. What’s so funny...?”
Said meta-pieman, “Funny...? Nope. But can you cope with punny?”
Droll Mother Goose, when her wont was to squander,
would ring Rent-A-Reindeer, reserving a Donder.
Though no soul than me is of Claus faunae fonder,
I fear that, for years, she’s been bilk'd: Blitzen conn'd her!
Needles and pins! Believe me, you guys:
it’s zilch that a Lincoln or Washington buys.
A half Quarter Pounder with small drink and fries
will exhaust ev’ry purse. Frickin’ Mickey D lies.
Little Bo Peep has meep'd her sheep,
not seeming to care she’d malign'd them.
Leave ‘em alone. Recent research has shown.
as they grow, they’ll put Bo’s tales behind them.
Little Jack Horner, ne Jacques (he’s a fore’gner)
puts framboise and peche in his pie.
If he stuck in his thumb, pulling out (say) a plum,
there’d be none more bewilder'd than I.
Jack and Jill went up to Hill,
a bankrupt Benny. After
poor Jack fell down, that tapped-out clown
joined Jill in shrill, daft laughter.)
Ron McDonald’s bought the farm:
E, I, E, I, O.
Doctors warn, “Fools come to harm
when scarfing foodstuffs faux.
In McNuggets, there’s
fecal matter, hairs.
Ronald’s shtick...? Getting sick.
Wouldn’t touch a carrot stick.
Ron McDonald’s bought the farm:
Now he’s eating crow,
a gastronomic ‘ho.’
"The docs all told you so.
So: next time, listen, Bro!
You shoulda just said 'No!'
And now we're done in. Doh!"
Little Ms Muffet reads on her tuffet,
interpreting ‘curds’ and ‘whey.’
“I read ‘em because…well, they’re there. Still, why does
‘Jimmy Buffet’ not rhyme with ‘buffet’?”
Pete, organic pumpkin breeder,
sold his crop to Harris-Teeter.
Gourds this pricey I’ve not seen.
(It’s never easy bein' green.)
Blue Dogs do bark
when caucuses come into town.
Industry flacks,
financ’d by their PACs,
will cut taxes: what’s up must come down.
Cy Simon met a meta-pieman going to a fair.
Said meta-pieman said to Cy, “Man! You’re displaced, but where?”
Said Cy said to said meta-pieman, “I’m here. What’s so funny...?”
Said meta-pieman, “Funny...? Nope. But can you cope with punny?”
Droll Mother Goose, when her wont was to squander,
would ring Rent-A-Reindeer, reserving a Donder.
Though no soul than me is of Claus faunae fonder,
I fear that, for years, she’s been bilk'd: Blitzen conn'd her!
Needles and pins! Believe me, you guys:
it’s zilch that a Lincoln or Washington buys.
A half Quarter Pounder with small drink and fries
will exhaust ev’ry purse. Frickin’ Mickey D lies.
Little Bo Peep has meep'd her sheep,
not seeming to care she’d malign'd them.
Leave ‘em alone. Recent research has shown.
as they grow, they’ll put Bo’s tales behind them.
Little Jack Horner, ne Jacques (he’s a fore’gner)
puts framboise and peche in his pie.
If he stuck in his thumb, pulling out (say) a plum,
there’d be none more bewilder'd than I.
Jack and Jill went up to Hill,
a bankrupt Benny. After
poor Jack fell down, that tapped-out clown
joined Jill in shrill, daft laughter.)
Ron McDonald’s bought the farm:
E, I, E, I, O.
Doctors warn, “Fools come to harm
when scarfing foodstuffs faux.
In McNuggets, there’s
fecal matter, hairs.
Ronald’s shtick...? Getting sick.
Wouldn’t touch a carrot stick.
Ron McDonald’s bought the farm:
Now he’s eating crow,
a gastronomic ‘ho.’
"The docs all told you so.
So: next time, listen, Bro!
You shoulda just said 'No!'
And now we're done in. Doh!"
Little Ms Muffet reads on her tuffet,
interpreting ‘curds’ and ‘whey.’
“I read ‘em because…well, they’re there. Still, why does
‘Jimmy Buffet’ not rhyme with ‘buffet’?”
Pete, organic pumpkin breeder,
sold his crop to Harris-Teeter.
Gourds this pricey I’ve not seen.
(It’s never easy bein' green.)
Punday's Girl Children (Not to be Confused with Your Kids of Whatever Gender)
This one-month array of female rugrats et. al. can be read as two amplified fortnights, four eight-day weeks or an octave of hemiweeks. You decide!
Monday's child.* Her face looks great.
Of Tuesday's child be grace the fate...?**
* She's "fair of face" in the famous
fortune-telling nursery rhyme.
** The rhyme's lyric insists she's
full of it.
Wednesday's child needs armor plate.*
For Thursday's child, larks lurk in wait.**
* She is, after all, (or so states the
rhyme) "full of woe."
** Not unlike Pip in "Great
Expectations," this child has "far to go."
Friday's child does love create.
Saturday's child lifts loads o' weight.*
* Saturdays' child -- again according
to the rhyme -- must work for a living.
Sunday's child. (The ideal mate!)
"Monday, Monday..."* Trust...? Or hate...?
* Mamas and the Papas apparently
"...can't trust that day."
Tuesday Weld...?* She's Dobie's date.
Wednesday's kid: no sister Kate.
* Not to be confused with Ruby Tuesday,
that Tuesday** being Mick's date.
** "That Tuesday" isn't Fat Tuesday.
Neither Weld nor Ruby are in the least obese.
Thursday* tells of Syme's debate.
Friday...?** Crusoe's third estate.
* That's The Man Who Was Thursday
not Thursday Next, Jasper Fford's creation.
** Not to be confused with His Girl
Friday, the film featuring Rosalind Russell.
On Saturday she parties late.
At Sunday's,* ushers pass the plate.
* I.e., at the sermons of evangelist
Billy Sunday.
Monday's Montag's rough translate-...
...shun Daytona's figure eight.
Ain't Sheffield Wednesday's football great!
Floyd Thursby...? He be Sam Spade's bait.*
* In The Maltese Falcon
Her fried eggs perch upon her plate.
Still, sadder days may yet await!
Sun 'n' haze (no fog to date).
Mounties always get their...mate...?
Two stays snapp'd: who's overweight...?
When's Tey's* Miss Pym to meet her "fete"...?
* Mystery writer Josephine Tey's
character may or may not have earned
a celebration.
Thirsty...? Sure. (Tey'll take hers straight.)
Fright...? Tey…? Scared she is -- first date.
She'd sat a day...or six...or eight...
...and, someday, verbs she'll conjugate.
Monde de lui: c'est tres "oh fait."
Tooth decay's laid waste her gait.
Then, any Wednesday,* license plates...
...return her to the starting gate.**
* Not to be confused with Any
Wednesday, a film featuring a Fonda girl.
** Doing metal-shop piece work in an
Illinois prison facility leaves anybody so
occupied with hours aplenty in which to
count the days.
Monday's child.* Her face looks great.
Of Tuesday's child be grace the fate...?**
* She's "fair of face" in the famous
fortune-telling nursery rhyme.
** The rhyme's lyric insists she's
full of it.
Wednesday's child needs armor plate.*
For Thursday's child, larks lurk in wait.**
* She is, after all, (or so states the
rhyme) "full of woe."
** Not unlike Pip in "Great
Expectations," this child has "far to go."
Friday's child does love create.
Saturday's child lifts loads o' weight.*
* Saturdays' child -- again according
to the rhyme -- must work for a living.
Sunday's child. (The ideal mate!)
"Monday, Monday..."* Trust...? Or hate...?
* Mamas and the Papas apparently
"...can't trust that day."
Tuesday Weld...?* She's Dobie's date.
Wednesday's kid: no sister Kate.
* Not to be confused with Ruby Tuesday,
that Tuesday** being Mick's date.
** "That Tuesday" isn't Fat Tuesday.
Neither Weld nor Ruby are in the least obese.
Thursday* tells of Syme's debate.
Friday...?** Crusoe's third estate.
* That's The Man Who Was Thursday
not Thursday Next, Jasper Fford's creation.
** Not to be confused with His Girl
Friday, the film featuring Rosalind Russell.
On Saturday she parties late.
At Sunday's,* ushers pass the plate.
* I.e., at the sermons of evangelist
Billy Sunday.
Monday's Montag's rough translate-...
...shun Daytona's figure eight.
Ain't Sheffield Wednesday's football great!
Floyd Thursby...? He be Sam Spade's bait.*
* In The Maltese Falcon
Her fried eggs perch upon her plate.
Still, sadder days may yet await!
Sun 'n' haze (no fog to date).
Mounties always get their...mate...?
Two stays snapp'd: who's overweight...?
When's Tey's* Miss Pym to meet her "fete"...?
* Mystery writer Josephine Tey's
character may or may not have earned
a celebration.
Thirsty...? Sure. (Tey'll take hers straight.)
Fright...? Tey…? Scared she is -- first date.
She'd sat a day...or six...or eight...
...and, someday, verbs she'll conjugate.
Monde de lui: c'est tres "oh fait."
Tooth decay's laid waste her gait.
Then, any Wednesday,* license plates...
...return her to the starting gate.**
* Not to be confused with Any
Wednesday, a film featuring a Fonda girl.
** Doing metal-shop piece work in an
Illinois prison facility leaves anybody so
occupied with hours aplenty in which to
count the days.
Wednesday, October 9, 2019
Q&A...&A
Might A be Anna's arabesque
augmenting half Alf's partners desk...?
Nope, A be Alfie's amphigory
airbrush'd in Ann's lavatory.
(Also -- view'd through Pink's pink prism --
A's an Attic witticism.)
Might B be Baby's badinage
begun while boxing Bubb's corsage...?
Nope, B be Bubba's balderdash
begat while brushing Babe's mustache...
unless B's baked in Boursin cheese:
in that case, B’s a bald betise.
Might C be Caesar's* calembours
contrived behind closed cellar doors...?
Nope, C be Coca's** coups de plume
concocted in Sid's coke-fill'd room,
except when cow'ring in Sid's ditch:
in that case, C's a carrawitch.
* Sid Caesar ** Imogene Coca
Might D be Dodgson's* dunciad
discover'd in some deacon's pad...?
Nope, D be D'Indy's doubl'-entente
deliver'd dans Drood's Restaurant,
unless D's deem'd cajolery:
in that case D's (duh!) drollery.
* Charles Lutwidge Dodgson
Might E be Edward's escapades
engaged in with three upstairs maids...?
Nope, E be Eddie's equivokes,
whose end line rhymes, "Take heart, Joe Doakes!"
Unless at eight pence to the pound
E's priced. Then, E's an empty sound.
If F's for Fifi's foolishness
fomented from Flo's olive press,
F's not, for fun, her flummeries
(film footage offers summaries),
unless said film be conterfeit:
in that case, F's a flash o' wit.
Might G be "Godot"'s gobbl'ygook
grok'd graven in Gott's grading book...?
Nope, G be Garbo's "gallicisms" --
Greta's anti-Semitisms...(?)
Garnering gefiltefish,
this G's Ed Gorey's gibberish.
Might H be Hugh's hyperbole
hatched mute -- i.e., nonverbally..?
Oh, no, H be Hef's hebetude --
what attitude! -- his hips half nude,
unless Hef's Hoovers halt their raids.
Then, H be Hefner's harl'quinades.
Might I be Idi's "idi-"'-cies
inflicted on Ike's tse-tse’s knees...?
Nope, I be Ireland's Irish bulls --
in Innishfree, they’ve firkinfuls;
still, inside Iceland's bourgeoisie,
there I's an imbecility.
Might J be Jean-Jacques' jabberwockies
jotted down while sipping sakis...?
Nope, J's Joseph's jeu d'esprit --
jejune, like J. J.'s jamboree,
unless Joe's jokes be quid pro quo.
Then, J's jests...? Just junk jeu de mots.
Might K be Keith's kid's kakapoo
as squawk'd (hawk'd...?) through Ken's bass kazoo...?
Nope, K be "Krazee Kinkajou,"
that kids'-show host (KQFU).
And what if K. K. -- kidnapp'd -- dies...?
Then, K be Krazee's kaddish, guys.
Might L be Lisle's light levity
co-linking length with brevity...?
Nope, L be Lulu's lunacy
(illegal in Altoona, si...?)...
unless that L will prove legit:
in that case, L's your lack o' wit.
M maybe mimics merriments
made up by Mali's malcontents...?
Mais non, M's Mommie's mots pour rire
(though neither's music to mine ear),
unless Mom's 'nom de mime' be "Mick."
In that case, M's Ma's monkey trick.
Might N be Norns' nugacity
nuancing one Butch Cassidy...?
Nope, N's a nugae canorae
announced when 'noshing rhubarb pie,
though not when watching "Frasier," see...?
Then, N is Niles' niaiserie.
Ought O be for our oddities
occurring in these ABCs...?
Nope, O's for one obscurum per
obscurius (one can but stare).
(Throughout Ontario today,
Os be for our oui dires, eh...?
Might P be peoples' poppy-cock
(pronounced as "ph'ah'q" in Languedoc)...?
Nope, P be Popi's persiflage
perform'd while "perping" Pip's "massage,"
unless Pop's prattle's rife with surds.
Then, P's a pun -- a play on words.
Might Q be Queequeg's quid pro quo...?
(I'd quite concur if Q said, "No.")
"No, Q be quite the quiddity,"
quoth you, with queer acidity...
unless said quipper fires point-blank.
Then, Q's Quixote's quip 'n' crank."
Are Rs for Ryder's raillery
recounted 'round Red's Whalery...?
Nope, R's for Ringo's repartee.
His "co-Starr" (retrogressively)
is Belle: Rick's arse feels "rather droll."
(Perhaps his R's for rigmarole.)
Is (was...?) Ms Suze's silliness
subscribed to sporting fancy dress...?
Nope, S is Stu's stultiloquence
suggested o'er Soc's stockade fence...
'cept Sunday week: 'Tis Hallowmas!
Then, S shows Salman's sounding brass.
Might T be Trigve's thing'majig
translated whilst Trot trims Trig's wig...?
Not! T be Trot's tomfoolery.
(Trot tripp'd whilst thieving jewelry.)
And if the true thief's less than nimble,
this T's, then, a tinkling cymbal.
Might U be your ultravagance
unleashed while mugging nonchalance...?
No, U be unintelligence
intoned while burning frankincense...
unless you misquote Watson-Crick:
then, U's an urban ledjend (sic).
Might V be Vernon's verbal quirks...?
(He visits 'em on var'ous jerks.)
Vay, no: V's vox et praet'rae ni'l,
voiced softly, 'neath Vin's windowsill.
We've felt, however, V's vibrations.
So-o-o-o...V be vermiculations.
Why's W a waggishness
express'd whilst weeding watercress
when W's more witticism...?
(Mum's the word: no criticism!)
Yet...when whale meat warms Wim's dim sum,
W'd be want o' wisdom.
Might X be texts --"Xanthippe's Tirades,"
ex. grat. -- penn'd by Marxist mermaids...?
Nope, X be xylarity
(though, spelt with 'x,' a rarity)...
unless said X relaxes us:
then, X be my xyphopagus.
Might Y be all that yettering
you've vetted at Sloan-Kettering...?
Yes...No! Y be your yap 'n' yammer
yell'd while editing my grammar.
Yet, if you don't give a darn,
in that case, Y's some navvy's yarn.
Might Z be zazen zanyism
zoned to hone post-modernism...?
No way! Z's Zeke's slow-paced zizz
(though paradox Zeke's zephyr is).
If those zeds bring semantic fits,
then (zounds!)...this Z's for Zasu Pitts!
augmenting half Alf's partners desk...?
Nope, A be Alfie's amphigory
airbrush'd in Ann's lavatory.
(Also -- view'd through Pink's pink prism --
A's an Attic witticism.)
Might B be Baby's badinage
begun while boxing Bubb's corsage...?
Nope, B be Bubba's balderdash
begat while brushing Babe's mustache...
unless B's baked in Boursin cheese:
in that case, B’s a bald betise.
Might C be Caesar's* calembours
contrived behind closed cellar doors...?
Nope, C be Coca's** coups de plume
concocted in Sid's coke-fill'd room,
except when cow'ring in Sid's ditch:
in that case, C's a carrawitch.
* Sid Caesar ** Imogene Coca
Might D be Dodgson's* dunciad
discover'd in some deacon's pad...?
Nope, D be D'Indy's doubl'-entente
deliver'd dans Drood's Restaurant,
unless D's deem'd cajolery:
in that case D's (duh!) drollery.
* Charles Lutwidge Dodgson
Might E be Edward's escapades
engaged in with three upstairs maids...?
Nope, E be Eddie's equivokes,
whose end line rhymes, "Take heart, Joe Doakes!"
Unless at eight pence to the pound
E's priced. Then, E's an empty sound.
If F's for Fifi's foolishness
fomented from Flo's olive press,
F's not, for fun, her flummeries
(film footage offers summaries),
unless said film be conterfeit:
in that case, F's a flash o' wit.
Might G be "Godot"'s gobbl'ygook
grok'd graven in Gott's grading book...?
Nope, G be Garbo's "gallicisms" --
Greta's anti-Semitisms...(?)
Garnering gefiltefish,
this G's Ed Gorey's gibberish.
Might H be Hugh's hyperbole
hatched mute -- i.e., nonverbally..?
Oh, no, H be Hef's hebetude --
what attitude! -- his hips half nude,
unless Hef's Hoovers halt their raids.
Then, H be Hefner's harl'quinades.
Might I be Idi's "idi-"'-cies
inflicted on Ike's tse-tse’s knees...?
Nope, I be Ireland's Irish bulls --
in Innishfree, they’ve firkinfuls;
still, inside Iceland's bourgeoisie,
there I's an imbecility.
Might J be Jean-Jacques' jabberwockies
jotted down while sipping sakis...?
Nope, J's Joseph's jeu d'esprit --
jejune, like J. J.'s jamboree,
unless Joe's jokes be quid pro quo.
Then, J's jests...? Just junk jeu de mots.
Might K be Keith's kid's kakapoo
as squawk'd (hawk'd...?) through Ken's bass kazoo...?
Nope, K be "Krazee Kinkajou,"
that kids'-show host (KQFU).
And what if K. K. -- kidnapp'd -- dies...?
Then, K be Krazee's kaddish, guys.
Might L be Lisle's light levity
co-linking length with brevity...?
Nope, L be Lulu's lunacy
(illegal in Altoona, si...?)...
unless that L will prove legit:
in that case, L's your lack o' wit.
M maybe mimics merriments
made up by Mali's malcontents...?
Mais non, M's Mommie's mots pour rire
(though neither's music to mine ear),
unless Mom's 'nom de mime' be "Mick."
In that case, M's Ma's monkey trick.
Might N be Norns' nugacity
nuancing one Butch Cassidy...?
Nope, N's a nugae canorae
announced when 'noshing rhubarb pie,
though not when watching "Frasier," see...?
Then, N is Niles' niaiserie.
Ought O be for our oddities
occurring in these ABCs...?
Nope, O's for one obscurum per
obscurius (one can but stare).
(Throughout Ontario today,
Os be for our oui dires, eh...?
Might P be peoples' poppy-cock
(pronounced as "ph'ah'q" in Languedoc)...?
Nope, P be Popi's persiflage
perform'd while "perping" Pip's "massage,"
unless Pop's prattle's rife with surds.
Then, P's a pun -- a play on words.
Might Q be Queequeg's quid pro quo...?
(I'd quite concur if Q said, "No.")
"No, Q be quite the quiddity,"
quoth you, with queer acidity...
unless said quipper fires point-blank.
Then, Q's Quixote's quip 'n' crank."
Are Rs for Ryder's raillery
recounted 'round Red's Whalery...?
Nope, R's for Ringo's repartee.
His "co-Starr" (retrogressively)
is Belle: Rick's arse feels "rather droll."
(Perhaps his R's for rigmarole.)
Is (was...?) Ms Suze's silliness
subscribed to sporting fancy dress...?
Nope, S is Stu's stultiloquence
suggested o'er Soc's stockade fence...
'cept Sunday week: 'Tis Hallowmas!
Then, S shows Salman's sounding brass.
Might T be Trigve's thing'majig
translated whilst Trot trims Trig's wig...?
Not! T be Trot's tomfoolery.
(Trot tripp'd whilst thieving jewelry.)
And if the true thief's less than nimble,
this T's, then, a tinkling cymbal.
Might U be your ultravagance
unleashed while mugging nonchalance...?
No, U be unintelligence
intoned while burning frankincense...
unless you misquote Watson-Crick:
then, U's an urban ledjend (sic).
Might V be Vernon's verbal quirks...?
(He visits 'em on var'ous jerks.)
Vay, no: V's vox et praet'rae ni'l,
voiced softly, 'neath Vin's windowsill.
We've felt, however, V's vibrations.
So-o-o-o...V be vermiculations.
Why's W a waggishness
express'd whilst weeding watercress
when W's more witticism...?
(Mum's the word: no criticism!)
Yet...when whale meat warms Wim's dim sum,
W'd be want o' wisdom.
Might X be texts --"Xanthippe's Tirades,"
ex. grat. -- penn'd by Marxist mermaids...?
Nope, X be xylarity
(though, spelt with 'x,' a rarity)...
unless said X relaxes us:
then, X be my xyphopagus.
Might Y be all that yettering
you've vetted at Sloan-Kettering...?
Yes...No! Y be your yap 'n' yammer
yell'd while editing my grammar.
Yet, if you don't give a darn,
in that case, Y's some navvy's yarn.
Might Z be zazen zanyism
zoned to hone post-modernism...?
No way! Z's Zeke's slow-paced zizz
(though paradox Zeke's zephyr is).
If those zeds bring semantic fits,
then (zounds!)...this Z's for Zasu Pitts!
Qs&NoAs
Flamingos...? Skinks...? Koala bears...?
Full houses...? Royal flushes...? Pairs...?
Secur'd investments...? Stocks 'n' shares...?
Who...?s...? When...?s...? Wha-a-azzup…?s...? How...?s...? Why...?s...? Where...?s...?
Mary Shelleys...? Dumas peres...?
Stiltons…? Emmentals…? Gruyeres...?
What the...?s...? So what!s...? C'est la guerres...?
When...?s...? How...?s...? Wha-a-azzup...?s...? Who...?s...? Why...?s...? Where...?s...?
Foxes...? Fun Furs...? Human hairs...?
Pantries...? Attics...? Cellar stairs...?
Cancers...? Ear aches...? Mal de meres...?
How...?s...? Who...?s...? Wha-a-azzup..?s...? Why...?s...? When...?s...? Where...?s...?
Stems...? Corsages...? Boutonnieres...?
Cryptic crosswords...? Truth or Dares...?
Uncirculateds…? Mint states...? Rares…?
When...?s...? How...?s...? Wha-a-azzup…?s...? Who...?s...? what...?s...? Where...?s...?
Tuesday, October 8, 2019
Quotes Within Quotes
I read where it said,
"She wrote (and we quote),
'They sang without pang:
"We think you ALL stink!" ' "
"She wrote (and we quote),
'They sang without pang:
"We think you ALL stink!" ' "
Requiem for a Featherweight
Remember the drinking bird heat engine toy?
You may have called yours the insatiable birdie
or the dunking bird or the dipping bird or even
(incorrectly, of course) the dinky bird perpetual
motion machine. Whatever you called it, I can
assure you it was nothing at all like mine.
Say “slainte!” to me Drinkin’ Bird.
(His cocktails…? Shaken, never stirr’d.)
Propose a toast! Me clinkin’ bird
will belt his next, throw down a third,
a fourth, a…”’Nuf! Tha’s sinkin,’ Bird.
Tha face be flush’d. Tha speech be slurr’d.”
(Me Drinkin’ Birds’s one stinkin’ bird.)
(At home I calls ‘im “Winkin’ Bird”;
four floaters leave his pupils blurr’d.
But dons he specs…? Not Blinkin’ Bird.
His fear…? Folks finger him a nerd.
(Me Drinkin’ Bird’s no thinkin’ bird.)
Reminds me, does me Drinkin' Bird,
of authors' fashionin's through word.
There's Whitman's thrush.* (Walt's "Lincoln bird"...?)
There's Nod and Wynken (Blynken's third;
I once knew Field's verse** word-for-word).
There's Ary Hoffman's shrinkin' bird.***
(Though climate change has spawn'd a herd,
still activists bide, undeterr'd.)
* Footnotes to come
Play’d Steinways, did me Drinkin’ bird.
Like Liberace, Bird play’d furr’d
(all ermin’d up: no Minkin’ bird)
and swann’d about like hell, I’ve heard.
He oft were bill’d “Ye Plinkin’ Bird.”
(A memoir’s due. ‘Tis too absurd:
this turd’s become an inkin’ bird.)
“Yet ars runs longa, Drinkin’ bird.
Tha’s denoument’s too long deferr’d.
No longer be tha ‘Brink’in’ Bird.
Tha’s due to be in hearse chauffeur’d.
In zinc-lined urn shall Zincin’ Bird,
ex-drinkin’ buddy, be interr’d.
(En fin, me friend’s a Finkin’ Bird.)
You may have called yours the insatiable birdie
or the dunking bird or the dipping bird or even
(incorrectly, of course) the dinky bird perpetual
motion machine. Whatever you called it, I can
assure you it was nothing at all like mine.
Say “slainte!” to me Drinkin’ Bird.
(His cocktails…? Shaken, never stirr’d.)
Propose a toast! Me clinkin’ bird
will belt his next, throw down a third,
a fourth, a…”’Nuf! Tha’s sinkin,’ Bird.
Tha face be flush’d. Tha speech be slurr’d.”
(Me Drinkin’ Birds’s one stinkin’ bird.)
“Tha’ll lose thy eyesight, Drinkin’
Bird,
if tha’s glaucoma goes uncur’d.”(At home I calls ‘im “Winkin’ Bird”;
four floaters leave his pupils blurr’d.
But dons he specs…? Not Blinkin’ Bird.
His fear…? Folks finger him a nerd.
(Me Drinkin’ Bird’s no thinkin’ bird.)
Reminds me, does me Drinkin' Bird,
of authors' fashionin's through word.
There's Whitman's thrush.* (Walt's "Lincoln bird"...?)
There's Nod and Wynken (Blynken's third;
I once knew Field's verse** word-for-word).
There's Ary Hoffman's shrinkin' bird.***
(Though climate change has spawn'd a herd,
still activists bide, undeterr'd.)
* Footnotes to come
Play’d Steinways, did me Drinkin’ bird.
Like Liberace, Bird play’d furr’d
(all ermin’d up: no Minkin’ bird)
and swann’d about like hell, I’ve heard.
He oft were bill’d “Ye Plinkin’ Bird.”
(A memoir’s due. ‘Tis too absurd:
this turd’s become an inkin’ bird.)
“Yet ars runs longa, Drinkin’ bird.
Tha’s denoument’s too long deferr’d.
No longer be tha ‘Brink’in’ Bird.
Tha’s due to be in hearse chauffeur’d.
In zinc-lined urn shall Zincin’ Bird,
ex-drinkin’ buddy, be interr’d.
(En fin, me friend’s a Finkin’ Bird.)
Monday, October 7, 2019
Rewrite
At night, cliches drawn through the day
I deign to frame another way --
e.g., "To be or not to be...?"
becomes "Is suicide for me...?"
"A jug of wine, a loaf of bread..."
I hear as "Rye...on rye!" instead.
At night, the lines I’ve run across
I recompose with no great loss.
What reads "A stitch in time saves nine"
now reads, "That tatter'd sleeve…? Not mine!"
"It was a dark and stormy night"
becomes "The weather suck'd. Alright...?"
At night, I rewrite news (today's)
in nuanc’d, neat and novel ways --
now "Climate change is here to stay"
reads "Hey! How hot it feels today!"
What was "I'm Socially Secure!"
is now "Quit working…? Premature!"
At night, the tales I heard when young
sound different, like a foreign tongue.
Now, "Once upon a time there was..."
is "That can't happen here because'..."
while "ever after" has become
"your sell-by date's expir’d, ol’ chum."
I deign to frame another way --
e.g., "To be or not to be...?"
becomes "Is suicide for me...?"
"A jug of wine, a loaf of bread..."
I hear as "Rye...on rye!" instead.
At night, the lines I’ve run across
I recompose with no great loss.
What reads "A stitch in time saves nine"
now reads, "That tatter'd sleeve…? Not mine!"
"It was a dark and stormy night"
becomes "The weather suck'd. Alright...?"
At night, I rewrite news (today's)
in nuanc’d, neat and novel ways --
now "Climate change is here to stay"
reads "Hey! How hot it feels today!"
What was "I'm Socially Secure!"
is now "Quit working…? Premature!"
At night, the tales I heard when young
sound different, like a foreign tongue.
Now, "Once upon a time there was..."
is "That can't happen here because'..."
while "ever after" has become
"your sell-by date's expir’d, ol’ chum."
Rhymes with 'Fourth'
Pascal et. al. (no others…?) shall not perish from the earth
till men, with mirth, head north to Firth o’ Forth (or Forth o’ Firth),
till men of girth and noble birth, set sail and sally forth…
[Next adding I’m one visu’l rhyme: not ‘fourth’ but, rather, ‘worth.’]
till men, with mirth, head north to Firth o’ Forth (or Forth o’ Firth),
till men of girth and noble birth, set sail and sally forth…
[Next adding I’m one visu’l rhyme: not ‘fourth’ but, rather, ‘worth.’]
Rhymes with "Tom O'Nimble, Homonymbol"
...Abe
Lincoln...
'A,' blinkin'...
ape-link kin...
hey, Blynkin...?*
(Now,
what must a linguist like Chomsky be thinkin'...?
* Partner in Wynkin/Nod & Associates
...be-
lievers...
'B' levers...
Bea'll leave hers...
Beale! Heave furs!
More
issues unbroach'd by Ricardos* or Cleavers...?**
* Ricky & Lucy ** Ward & June
...sees the
Sargasso Sea...
seize cigar gas, hose 'C'!
(Both would
go unremark'd, were things left up to me.)
...comedy...
comma'd 'D,'...
calm Midi...
Colm...? Meet Dhee!
Each you've examin'd, though few do you see.
...a
treaty...
a treed 'E'...
Hut Tree Tea...
Hud, 3-D!
In-
telligent...? Nope. Apropos...? Yes, indeedy...!
...the
stone-deaf...
the stoned 'F'...
the stone Nef*...
thus toned, eff-______...
No
messages, Hugh...? Why has nobody phoned, Hef...?)
* The famous Nefertiti limestone bust
...the
genome...
the 'G' gnome...
the Jean Home...
thug Gene Holme…
Four
exiles! For decades they've not even seen home...
...old
age...
holed 'H'...
hold, Daitche!
Whole day...? Je-_____...
Each
savant a jester; each joker a sage...
...the
ice axe...
the 'I' sax...
the eye's sacks...
thee, I, zacs...
My
software she -- not once, not twice, but three times -- hacks...!
...a
jailhouse...
a 'J' louse...
hutch/alehouse...
Hudge, eh...? (Louse!)
Live
embers one must with one's firefighter's pail douse...
...Auntie
Kay...
antique 'K'...
an' teak...? Hey!
And: decay...
As do
Marlowe and Huxley, we note antic hay...
...a mo-
tel...
a moat...? Hell!
'la mode 'L'...
amo d'El _____...
So...which
tale will to Curly and Larry Mo tell...?
...diadem...
dyad 'M'...
Dye-A-Dem...
"Die, Haddem!"
Each brings one luck. (Have no truck with no triad 'M'...)
...be-
hold: 'N'!
Bea, holdin'...
bee hole/den...
be whole, Den!
Four
homonym'd phrases (that third one is golden)...
...billed: the
Sky Pilot 'O'...
build the Skype pile o' dough...
Jammin'
cats in pajamas scat, "Voh-dee-oh-doh...!"
...four
canapes...
for can o' 'P's...
fork Kanna peas...
for Kahn: hope, peace...
Who'd
can a man from Pakistan you cannot stand -- but can appease...?
...the
"I'll hike 'Q'"...
the jai alai queue...
the aisle I cue...
thee "Heil," Ike...You!!
For
I, like you, don't like haiku, although -- no lie! -- I'd (sigh) like to...
...the
hard Hardy 'R'...
the heart-hearty "Arrr-r-r-r-r-r-rrr...!"
The
heart ER's hard at work...? Har-dee-har-har...
...shares
morning recess
as Cher's mourning Reese Hess!
(De ré-
sistance…? She's futile --
oui, even pièces…)
...duty
calls....
dude...? 'T' galls...
due: Tea (Gauls'...?)...
dew'd teak halls...
These be
homonyms rude -- but not too rude...Ee-ee-ee-eek! (Balls!)
...Isle of
'U'...
I'll off Hugh...
Eyloff Ewe...
"Heil!" (a few)...
I love
you...? Best to use these three: 'aisle,' 'huff' 'n' 'hue...'
...hel-
lo, VIPS...
(No...?)
Hell: 'O'/'V' eyepiece...
Ring the
Royal Canadian Mounted Police...!
...double
you...
dub Bull "Hugh"...
double-U..
double hue...
Fooled us
twice, Dubya, did. (Was it much trouble to...?)
...the
Second Sex...
the second's 'X'...
thus Hec conn'd Dex...
the secant's hex...
The
dueler's Burr: my cousin dates his second ex. (His second's Tex...)
...though,
why not...?...
thou whine, Ott...
the 'Y' knot...
the Wynotte.
Which
homonym...? You choose. (Just don't serve the wine hot...)
...a
zebra...
a Z bra...
ass/zebra...
I seep -- rah!
A-
bove, so below. (Just don't go with no libra!)
Lincoln...
'A,' blinkin'...
ape-link kin...
hey, Blynkin...?*
(Now,
what must a linguist like Chomsky be thinkin'...?
* Partner in Wynkin/Nod & Associates
...be-
lievers...
'B' levers...
Bea'll leave hers...
Beale! Heave furs!
More
issues unbroach'd by Ricardos* or Cleavers...?**
* Ricky & Lucy ** Ward & June
...sees the
Sargasso Sea...
seize cigar gas, hose 'C'!
(Both would
go unremark'd, were things left up to me.)
...comedy...
comma'd 'D,'...
calm Midi...
Colm...? Meet Dhee!
Each you've examin'd, though few do you see.
...a
treaty...
a treed 'E'...
Hut Tree Tea...
Hud, 3-D!
In-
telligent...? Nope. Apropos...? Yes, indeedy...!
...the
stone-deaf...
the stoned 'F'...
the stone Nef*...
thus toned, eff-______...
No
messages, Hugh...? Why has nobody phoned, Hef...?)
* The famous Nefertiti limestone bust
...the
genome...
the 'G' gnome...
the Jean Home...
thug Gene Holme…
Four
exiles! For decades they've not even seen home...
...old
age...
holed 'H'...
hold, Daitche!
Whole day...? Je-_____...
Each
savant a jester; each joker a sage...
...the
ice axe...
the 'I' sax...
the eye's sacks...
thee, I, zacs...
My
software she -- not once, not twice, but three times -- hacks...!
...a
jailhouse...
a 'J' louse...
hutch/alehouse...
Hudge, eh...? (Louse!)
Live
embers one must with one's firefighter's pail douse...
...Auntie
Kay...
antique 'K'...
an' teak...? Hey!
And: decay...
As do
Marlowe and Huxley, we note antic hay...
...a mo-
tel...
a moat...? Hell!
'la mode 'L'...
amo d'El _____...
So...which
tale will to Curly and Larry Mo tell...?
...diadem...
dyad 'M'...
Dye-A-Dem...
"Die, Haddem!"
Each brings one luck. (Have no truck with no triad 'M'...)
...be-
hold: 'N'!
Bea, holdin'...
bee hole/den...
be whole, Den!
Four
homonym'd phrases (that third one is golden)...
...billed: the
Sky Pilot 'O'...
build the Skype pile o' dough...
Jammin'
cats in pajamas scat, "Voh-dee-oh-doh...!"
...four
canapes...
for can o' 'P's...
fork Kanna peas...
for Kahn: hope, peace...
Who'd
can a man from Pakistan you cannot stand -- but can appease...?
...the
"I'll hike 'Q'"...
the jai alai queue...
the aisle I cue...
thee "Heil," Ike...You!!
For
I, like you, don't like haiku, although -- no lie! -- I'd (sigh) like to...
...the
hard Hardy 'R'...
the heart-hearty "Arrr-r-r-r-r-r-rrr...!"
The
heart ER's hard at work...? Har-dee-har-har...
...shares
morning recess
as Cher's mourning Reese Hess!
(De ré-
sistance…? She's futile --
oui, even pièces…)
...duty
calls....
dude...? 'T' galls...
due: Tea (Gauls'...?)...
dew'd teak halls...
These be
homonyms rude -- but not too rude...Ee-ee-ee-eek! (Balls!)
...Isle of
'U'...
I'll off Hugh...
Eyloff Ewe...
"Heil!" (a few)...
I love
you...? Best to use these three: 'aisle,' 'huff' 'n' 'hue...'
...hel-
lo, VIPS...
(No...?)
Hell: 'O'/'V' eyepiece...
Ring the
Royal Canadian Mounted Police...!
...double
you...
dub Bull "Hugh"...
double-U..
double hue...
Fooled us
twice, Dubya, did. (Was it much trouble to...?)
...the
Second Sex...
the second's 'X'...
thus Hec conn'd Dex...
the secant's hex...
The
dueler's Burr: my cousin dates his second ex. (His second's Tex...)
...though,
why not...?...
thou whine, Ott...
the 'Y' knot...
the Wynotte.
Which
homonym...? You choose. (Just don't serve the wine hot...)
...a
zebra...
a Z bra...
ass/zebra...
I seep -- rah!
A-
bove, so below. (Just don't go with no libra!)
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