Runcible'd Spoonerisms and Nearspoons

The Gaza Strip: once holy lands.
The Stasi Grip hunts cold, mean hands.    
     Moral:
Loose lips closed don't get hosed!
When "Get a job!" you're task'd to do,
just jet a gob.* Then ask, "Says who...?"
     * To spurt, spout, gush or otherwise spit out 
a lump or blob of slimy or viscous substance -- 
in this case, a squirt of tobacco juice.
     Moral:
The unemploy'd seem so-o-o-o annoy'd.
The Borden Cow's now still'd her "Moo!"
The Corden Bow's when James gets through.
     Moral: (to come) 
  William, in the Norman Conquest,

crack'd the Saxon battlefront.

Harvey, in a Korman non-quest,

opted not to scavenge hunt.

     Moral:

Who'd vanquish England first must deem

to Plymouth rock and Bristol cream.
Cole Porter cribb'd Shakespeare 

to pen "Kiss Me Kate." 
Pole Courter wild women 
from Warsaw would date.
     Moral:
Taming shrews bests Venetian Jews.*
     * "Kiss Me Kate," based on the Bard's 
"The Taming of the Shrew," was Porter's 
longest-running show. "Shylock," a 1940 
Tamil-language musical adaptation of 
"The Merchant of Venice," failed com-
mercially. (Attention, film buffs: here's 
a film you'll never see on TCM.**)
     ** No prints of "Shylock" survive. 
Stephen Colbert hosts “The 
Late Show” on CBS. (He’s achieved 
household-word status already.)

Kyiv-in-Seoul Bear…? The Ukrainian Zoo
of Korea is home to the cutest darn teddy.

     Moral:
It's an Ursa made yer day.*
     * Suggested by GFH.
Pecos Bill, ol’ cowpokes say,

broke buckin’ broncs -- tye-yippee-yay! --

while Blake O’Spill gets thrown off bulls

at Lone Star cow-town tractor pulls.

     Moral:

No matter if your doggerel be solar or sublunar,

Do not let Herr Udishion run away with Rev’d Spooner!

Bunyan was the giant lumberjack

who ‘Paul’ was christen’d.

Pun-Yan, nicknamed “Bawl”…? 
The Chinese punster. (No one listen’d).

     Moral:

Pilgrim’s Progress…Giant’s Onions...

(Wait! Beware conflated Bunyans!)
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:
Ms. Warren ain't foreign!
Casey Jones…? A locomotive driver.

Crush’d! (Too graphic…?)

So: who sets out those orange thingies…?

J. C. Cones, from Traffic.

     Moral:
Stay in your lane 
or 'twill happen again.
Mister Clean – tough is the operative word --

kiss’d her mean. (Rough'd up his girlfriend, I heard.)

     Moral:

Baseboard, sink, tub and tile:

consummated. (With a smile.)
Vale of Tears…? A metaphor

for life’s distress. (Most dread it.) 

“Tale of Virs”…? A roman

‘bout the Roman men who tread it.*

     Moral:

Life before (and after!) death…?

‘Tis thought ’tis naught but shibboleth.

     * ‘It’ is intended to refer to the valley.

If that pronoun is heard as referring to

the metaphor, then the final line must be

amended to read “…men who spread it.”
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 are curious.

Bundren’s boys…? Un”sound. And furi”ous!

     * Darl Bundren eventually goes mad

in William Faulkner’s As I Lay Dying.

Cookin' with Consones

An A, an I -- 'n' (sometimes) Y – plus E 'n' O... 
'n' U
apace saute, with 'je ne sais, 'one's vocali-
zing stew.
B, C, D, F, G, H 'n' J, K, L, M, N, 
P, Q,
R, S 'n' T, V, X 'n' Z' – as well as doub-
l'-U –
provide that part one needs to start rhetorical 
ragout.

Mons/Tors & Mann's Terse...? Mung Stirs & M'ron's Tours: Numbers in a Series

Ominous '-Osity's Disguising Off-season Woolgathering or What Else Did In the Dinosaurs...?: #5 in a Series 

Curiosity kill’d the cat, 
her filaments shov'd in stuff whiskers ought shun.

How oft she'd been caution’d, “Don’t walk, Whiskers! Run!” 

(Inquisitive kittens are not where it’s at.)

Reciprocity drown’d the rat.
Abandoning ship as marines bilge-pump'd water
repaid one murine far less aid than it oughter.
(Should vermin, unnerv'd, skip the ol' "tit-for-tat"...?)

Luminosity nail’d the gnat.
Drawn toward the flame as was third cousin Moth,
these ticks' Icarus schtick leaves 'em lifeless. (And wroth!)
Their neognats may need a new rheostat.

Animosity off’d the plat.'
Dim Aussies duck-pecker'd uniques used to hunt,
nearly killing the lot of 'em -- may I be blunt...? --
claiming, "Platypode pelts make an all-the-rage hat."

Hypervelocity snuff’d the ‘skrat.
Elevation of pulse culminated in stroke:
muskrat love tapp'd while tangoing's never a joke.
'Skrats be better off caged. Or engaged in a chat.

Numerosity whack'd the bat.
They've roosted in numbers to stagger the mind
or they've "vampired till ready." We've not dug their kind
and, in no hazy terms, said goodbye to all that.

Grandiosity slew the sprat.
Plas-excessive ambition -- precocity plus --
leads to fisherfolk flingin' 'em under the bus.
Can't you still hear that Gatling gun's "rat-a-tat-tat"...?

So: will virtuosity zap the Nat...?
MVP candidate Rendon's the guy. 
Unrestricted free agency's part of the pie.
To which dugout might Anthony throw in his hat...?* 

     * My source, long a Nats follower, informs me that 
Rendon "threw his hat into the California Angels dugout 
Dec. 11, 2019, to the tune of $245 million for seven years -- 
and finished third in the MVP voting." 

Buyer’s Remorse (December 2020 Episode): #4 in a Series

Here he comes to save the day:

“Those responsible shall pay!”

He claims, with circumstance and pomp,

he'll drain that greasy D.C. swamp.

“I will eliminate,” states he,

“all income inequality….

…and introduce health care for all,”

he adds. (This guy's a SuperPol!)

"Where's climate change on my agenda...?

Right up top! But wait! Addenda:

racial issues, free tuitions,

gay rights, greenhouse gas emissions,

judges, gerrymandering...

Why, I'll be fixin' everything!"

(He got my vote November 3^rd.
Since then, I haven’t heard a word.)

Bai Ze: #1 in a Series 

Are this thing’s eyes chartreuse…

...or blue…?

Do those eyes number nine…

...or two…?

Be it ensconced in scales…

...or hair…?

Be that hair sprouting here…

...or there…?

Its shoulders: have they arms…

...or wings…?

D'you wonder if it speaks…

...or sings…?

Does it discourse in sense…

...or rot…?

Observe you a Bai Ze…

...or not…?



SuperSomethin': #2 in a Series

It isn’t a bird. 
It isn’t a plane.

It isn’t a Kurd 

in a sokutai train.

It doesn't come masked. 

It doesn't come caped.

It doesn't come torus- 

or cylinder-shaped.

It doesn't go shoeless. 

It doesn't go shod.

(It hasn't a foot, 

so that isn't so odd.)

It isn't a plainsong. 

It's not Larry Bird.

(Is it something for which 

there's yet no human word...?) 


He No Longer Rings At All (Oscar Night Edition): #3 in a Series

Postmen.
Postwomen.
Postal employees.
Whatever your gender,
the aid you all render
propels me to my knees.
     My wish to purchase postage stamps
and eyeball all on offer
your acrimony upwards ramps
to out your inner scoffer.
     Postmen.
Postwomen.
Postal employees.
I give you a toast: all
I ask…? Don’t go postal!
Just give me...the envelope, please!

(More "Monsters" to come: a work in progress)

Accidentals & Homonyms: a Clinically Unsound Sound Poem

     A♭/G♯

Arrived: 
French Phnom 
Penh pal, 
short friend
long lost 
in thyme --
if, in 
the en,'
jihad 
knot (ben')
a non-
four-scene
la Lille 
Est-il...? 
Quelle Heureist.


     A♯/B♭

Arrived: 
my freak
wend fli-
er miles.

So: I've 
two Sikh, 
"Whence Scil-
ly Isles...?"

Go pack 
me pack!
Lo: I'm 
the Ac-...
the Ac-
cident-
al Tourist.
     

     C♯/D♭

Arrived: 
my Jew'l

redo
tea no-
tice. I've 
to her-

he t'un-
seat PO-
TUS...? Give 
me facts,

tho' I'm 
the Acc-...
the Acc-
ident-
al Jurist.


     D♭/C♯ 

Arrived: 
my sunn'd --
Hey! -- Gnu 
Yoke Thyme.
Where be 
the adze
to wring 
me chyme...?
Finance...? 
One glance.
Indeed! 
I'm Lance,
the Chance 
Roto-
gravureist.

    F♯/G♭

Arrived: 
stretch'd Cannes
vas, or-
der'd by
your stoo-
lie...and --
fab! -- fab-
ric dye.
So: Tin-
tin black...?
Sho'! He's 
an Ac-...
an Ac-
cident-
al Purist. 

     
     E♯/F

Arrived: 
Nouveau 
Bistro 
Francais.

Me...? Go 
with Starr-
Tours of 
the day...?

Off course 
I went! 

I'm Ac-
cident,

bent len-
til Soup 
de Jourist.


(a work in progress)

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…?)