Men of the Cloth (& One Material Girl)

This textile museum’s now open for biz.
It's hung its first show, call’d it “Men of the Cloth.”

Admission is free. Is it “must-see”…? It is.

You're never unwelcome – unless you’re a moth.

     Abraham Linen: he’ll tell you no lie--

tho' George Washantung might: he’s a whole ‘nother guy.

One left-leaning lib’ral with libertine habits...?
Angora Vidal: he's snow white, so like rabbits.
     Irk Mr. Teabag…? I’d not, were I you,
lest you hear said bloke quizzing you, “One lump or two…?”
Sexual predator…? That’s Pillow Reilly,
whose lewdness winds up insufficiently wily.
     Linguist Foam Chomsky's an activist, goad --
a philosopher, too. (Foam treks many a road.)
“Free, free at last…free from (bleck!) bathtub ring,”
sings a diff’rent Doc Martin, one call’d Loofah King.
     Shucks! Sarah Huckabee Sandpaper’s here.
Hark as verisimilitudes (truths) disappear.
Corduroy Orbison’s rind’s a wide wale --
wide – like his register. (Dark’s his white wail.)
     Israeli PM Netting-Yahoo has need
of the West Bank and Gaza like you need a Thneed.
John Linen remarks, “I’m more famous than Jesus,”
which comment one half of the planet displeases.
     Tell Denim Elliott (Brit through ‘n’ through),
“Do audition for black roles. You’re already blue.”
No cager’s more dauntless than Kevin Garr-Nett.
Is his NBA Hall of Fame stature…? You bet!
     The songs Burlap Ives sings (none coarse as his name)
tout, e.g., “…bitty tears”…,  “…jolly Xmas…” (They’re lame.)
They mock’d Tiny Tinfoil — falsetto and all.
But then Tiny play’d – live! – at the Roy’l Albert Hall.
     Was Crochet Guevara a chum of Fidel…?
He was…but that friendship did not serve him well. 
Fred Hoylecloth – that's he who'd be Sir Fred to you –
holds the Steady State, not the Big Bang Theory, true.
     Baron Von Trappestry’s draped in a tapestry
showing Maria bleed sap from a lapis tree.
Achtung!, America! Bernie Macrylic
shows colors the KKK deems “not idyllic.”

(A work in progress)

Adjectival Order or The Most Elegant Through-composed Six-stanza’d English Nonsense Verse Ever Penn’d

First, a determiner – ‘a,’ ‘an’ or ‘the.’

Then a number or quantity – e.g., ‘three’ (duh!).  

An opinion or quality’s next, (perhaps ‘beautiful’).   

Size and age follow – assuming one’s dutiful.

Shape and/or color succeed size and age.

The adjective proper takes up the next stage –

for example, ‘Italian’ or ‘Chinese’ or ‘Greek’ –

off’ring origins – that is, the tongues people speak.

A purpose or facet ensues (one of sport…?)

whereupon there’s presented a noun of some sort.

Of course, there are ‘and’s and ‘or’s enter’d piecemeal.  

The result…? Adjectivally order’d ideal.

A Tale of Textual Harrassment

Before the days of yester,

there dwelt due west of Leicester,

beyond its housing cluster,

a crone – an empty nester --

the locals label’d Hester.

This dame (no Lady Astor)

had wed the village barr’ster --

a mouthpiece name of Buster

(young Buster’d but to ask her)

and bore him sons call’d Fester,

MacAllister and Lester.

Young Fester, “Cal” and Lester,

moreover, had a sister

whom Hester christen’d Brewster

(a name-the-child disaster

no neighbor rose to foster).

Still, thus she introduced her

at matins ev’ry Easter.

But Buster proved a shyster.

That legal beagle diss’d her

and split for pastures vaster,

lands just southwest of Ulster

Thus, mistress lost her mister.

Yea, Buster play’d the jester.

Once marriage’d lost its luster,

this blister roundly cursed her,

and, donning toque and duster…

*   *   *   *   *

…he drove a roller coaster

misnamed “The Upper Cruster.”

One day he grabb’d a sister.

(Of nuns he was a quester.)

He’d cased her. Then he’d cuss’d her,

though of cursing he’d accus’d her.

Into a car he cast her

(though not before he’d kiss’d her).

She fear'd he might molest her

so swiped from him the keys ter

the rusty Upper Cruster…

*  *  *  *  *

…then kick’d him in the keister.

(A work in progress on several fronts)

"Days of Xmas" Pageant Contestants (Not Pictured: d'Rumer S. DeRoumin and Lourdes-Lee Pinne)

10th: Piper Spighbin

  9th: Lady Stanzig

8th: Mae d'Zamilkin

7th: the Swanzas Women

6th: Keysha Laine

5th: Golde Rinques
4th: Callie ("Inga") Bertz

3rd: Fran Chence

2nd: "Tyrtle" Duffs
Tied for 1st: Anna Pahrte...
...Regina Peartree

"Days of Xmas" Pageant Contestants

In twelfth place is d'Rumer S. deRouxminn,
former nun.
In eleventh...? Lourdes-Lee Pinne:
"Twelfth's the best I've ever done." 
In tenth place…? Piper Spighbin. 
Just to enter’s been her prayer.
In ninth place…? Lady Stanzing.
She’s got somethin’ on the mayor.

In eighth place…? Mae d’Zamilkin. 
Mae’s placed ninth the last nine years.

In seventh place…? The Swanzas women.
(Just ignore the jeers!)

In sixth place…? Keysha Laine. 
Keysha’s such a pretty girl!

In fifth place…? Golde Rinques. 
She vow’d to “give the match a whirl.”

In fourth…? Cal (“Inga”) Bertz: 
“To be a nominee’s enough.”.

In third…? Fran Chence, 
who, this year, is competing in the buff.

In second place…? Ms. Tyrdle Duffs. 
And now, the env’lope, please…it’s Anna

Pahrt! Regina Peartree! Tied! 
All Xmas VIPs!*

     * Victors-In-Pageant

Donald Digs Dictatoheads

Impeachment Day, 12/18/19

I’m “Oh My God!” for you, Assad, though Adolf’s still my boy.

Signor’ Benito…? Neat! Though cats call’d Castro never cloy.
(Ceausescu…? You I’d rescue. Sure: my minions I’d deploy.)

I dig Duterte’s dastardlys and Erdogan’s eclat.

Francisco faded wa-a-a-a-ay to soon. I loved Gaddafi’s hat.
(I’m into hats: my hair’s a hat.) Hussein’s hat’s where it’s at.

I’m mad for Idi. Such a sweetie! Uncle Joe, as well.

The Jongs (-il, -un) and Kraprayoon: you boyos bang my bell.
Hey, Leonid! (I miss ya, kid – more since your big wall fell.)

My man Mugabe! (Hey, there, Bobby: keep Zimbabwe swingy!)

My pal Nikita’s senoritas let you grab their thingy!
The two Okellos…? Lovely fellows. (Putin…? Cute, but clingy.)

Nguyen Ai Quoc…? Hey, Doc: you rock! Say! Have you met Raul…?

Sese Seko’s on the take…? Oh, well: he’s no one’s fool.
Tafari (aka Selassie): that man’s born to rule.

The Urbans, Popes…? They weren't the dopes some made 'em out to be.

Vargas…? Win…? Good friends you’ve been – like mother’s milk to me.
Nor can I say too much today about my buddy Xi.

Yo! Yayah Kahn! Yeah, you’re “me mon.”  If you can’t do it, who…?

And Mao Zedong…? No, folks aren’t wrong: I cherish chairmen, too.
I'll so-o-o-o outdo ‘em all – and build that wall! – before I’m through! 

What's For Din? A Sound Poem

PORK…Pork…Pork Chop…(Porkahontas)…

pork chop…porkchop…(Pork pie hat)…

chop-chop…poke chop…(Porkatello,
Idaho is where it’s at)…

pokechop…po’kchop…(Po’ boys in
Poughrkeepsie)… poach…poke…(Porky Pig)…

oke…OK...okay…ok…ø…¢…c...
(Dessert…? Some fruit…? A fig…?)

Just Say It! A New Sound Poem to Read Aloud

Who’d urge all brewers: "Post your ABVs!”
must just say "Know!"
Who’d dote on music dramas Japanese
must just say "Noh."

Who keeps a wildebeest despite its slime
must just say "Gnu."
Who, as he sings, "So, sue me!" Nathan mimes,
must just say "Nu…?" 
     * Nathan Detroit, one of the main guys in 
Broadway’s Guys and Dolls.

You’d freak for Speaker Gingrich (like Callista)…?
Just say "Newt"!
You’d "rah!" for Rochne ("Call me ‘Coach,’ not 'Mistah'!")…?
Just say “Knute"! 

Who’s sick of genders masc and genders fem
must, then, say "neut."
Who’s picking candidates who'd "End the Dem!"
again says "Newt."

You’d choose to move, to leave the Bering Straits…?
You’d just say "Nome." 
You'd post stone dwarves inside your garden gates…?
You’d just say "gnome."

You’d shout out to the dowager of Jordan…?
Just say "Noor."
You know that lightship in the Thames you're boardin'…?
Just say "Nore."

Ask’d where -- when JFK got shot -- grew grass,
you’d just say "knoll."
Ask’d who was ("Vey!") Prince Sihanouk's top brass,
you’d just say "Nol."

You're hacking Mommie…? Type her maiden name.
Then just say "nee."
Who cracks up over knights of Python fame…?
They just say 'Ni-."

You'd "friend" the ten Hebraic Patriarchs…?
You’d just say "Noah."
Give oceanic scientists top marks…?
You’d just say "NOAA."

Some Scottish nihilists (redundant, si…?):
they just say "nae."
Some other Scotish nihilists…? Let's see...
they just say "Na." 

A comic star whose folks haled from the shtetl…?
Just say "Nye."*
Atomic number 28! (It’s metal.)
Just say "Ni." 
     * I.e., sketch comedy maestro Louis 
(pronounced 'Louie').

Famed Caesar/Harbach comic flick…?
Just say "No, No, Nanette."
You'd do your Robin Williams schtick…?
Say "Na-nu"! (Don't forget.) 

The gnostics know, though all don't always say:
some just say “gnosis."
Most antiquaries love their Linear A:
they just say 'Knossos."

Rock's Jocko M…? Rock's Donny York…?
They just say "Sha-na-na."
Your feminists…? They just say "NOW."
(They're so-o-o-o-o petit bourgeoise.)

John Sununu…? 
Nonsense! (Who knew…?)

A Spoonerism ("Vale of Tears...?")

Vale of Tears…? A metaphor 
for life’s distress. (Most dread it.)  
"Tale of Virs"…? A roman 
of the Roman men who tread it.*

     Moral:

Life before (and after!) death...?
'Tis thought 'tis naught but shibboleth. 

     * The ‘it’ appearing at the end of the 
last line of verse is intended to refer to 
the valley. If that pronoun is heard as 
referring to the metaphor, then the final 
line should be amended to read “…men 
who spread it.”

A Spoonerism ("Charles Dickens...")

Charles Dickens crafts a “Carol”
mending Scrooge, once landlord feral.
Darl’s* chickens…? Fancied birds
acknowledged not in Faulkner’s words.

     Moral:

Charles’s cranks and spooks...? Just curious.
Bundren’s boy…? Unsound and furious!

     * Darl Bundren eventually goes mad in 
William Faulkner’s As I Lay Dying. No Bundrens

appear in the same author's The Sound and 
the Fury -- as far as this editor is aware.

A Limerick ("Charles Ollier's son....")

Charles Ollier's boy Bill, for his sins,
insists ‘fish’ with 'laugh''s ‘g-h’ begins.
Its 'i'...? ‘O’ -- as in ‘women.’
('Sh'...? 'Potion' I’m skimmin’.)
En ghin, tiall such ghotigholk tied ghons…? *

     * Or, en fin, shall such fishfolk shed fins...?