Anagrampage: Dribs 'n' Drabs, Bards 'n' Birds

"In dribs and drabs do raindrops fall
to oceans far-flung swell." (Fine words.)
Ad-libs of bards in strains enthrall.
(They're swell when sung as well by birds.) 

Anagrampage: Ocean Canoe

Who'd cruise the ocean blue (would you...?)
could use a crew...and a BIG canoe.

  

More Locales Loca

Fifi LeFleur, known as "Vertigo Faye"
     (step-

daughter by marriage to Ferde Grofé),
     de-

spite the affliction that prompted her name,
     notes 

life atop pillars will garner her fame:

     "So: 

Sim'on Stylites, for thirty-odd years, 

     made a 

pedestal home -- to the cheers of his peers.
     More sty-

lites would follow; all welcom'd the test.
     Thus the 

'polesters' I'll meet...? 10s! (The best never rest!)" 

*   *   *   *   *

     "Just sup-

pose I were chosen Commander-in-chief

     of the 

shed at the head of this barrier reef,"

     fancies 

Perry de Paul, adding, "If so install'd,

     I'll be 

more than fired up; I'll be wholly enthrall'd..."

     "...yes, and 

soak'd to the foreskin, brined up to the eyes,"

     inter-

jects Perry's kin, "as all seven seas rise."

     "Fret ye 

not!" notes de Paul. "My appointment's no whim.

     Plus, each 

atoll inhabitant knows how to swim."

World Egg Tree

     Countless 

kalpas ago, before endless beginnings,

     be-

fore Zou Yan pioneer'd yangings 'n' yinings, 

     be-

fore antique Adams engaged early Eves,

     a great 

tree stood, festoon'd with gajillions of leaves.

     A tree-

mendous tree -- tall, tippee-top to taproot --

     ev'ry 

Fall Eggdrasil bore unusual fruit.

     Its 

trunk would sprout limbs while each limb would sprout branches.

     Each 

branch would sprout twigs in a burst of carte' blanches.

     Each 

twig would sprout leaves, whence was spott'd to drop,

     as each 

season roll'd 'round, a phenomenal crop:

     extra-

ordin'ry kernals encased in white shells.

     (What e-

merges when shells crack...? My doggerel tells.)

     What's this 

tree's hautest harvest...? Which fruitage had legs...?

     None more

primo than cream o' the crop Malcolm Eggs.

     Eggs would

teach; Eggs would preach; Eggs would boldly beseech.

     Eggs -- by

any means necess'ry -- freedom would reach.

     (a work in progress) 

Little Amal (For OCB)

Little Amal, Little Amal.

She's plainly a person; 

she's more than a doll,
and tho' her world and my world 

seem'd oceans apart,
I have since touch'd her hand 

and she's since touch'd my heart. 

Locale Loca; or, Different Spheres For Different Peers

Goody Goose spiels, "It proved balm for my soul

     once I 

took to my heels to keep house in a hole." 

     "Still," in-

sists her twin sister, "that's no place to dwell.

     Mineshafts, 

mostly, are mouldy...and hollows are hell."

     "Oh, the 

nonsense you natter!" states Goody to Sis.

     "Do I 

ever shun tunnels or give mines a miss...?

     This here  

well where I dwell is humidity free,

     plus, the  

people who live here are nice as can be." 

*   *   *   *   *

Nicholas Knopf has determin'd that he

     will be 

fa-a-a-a-ar better off now he lives in a tree.

     Nicky's 

playfellow Jules gives fair warning to him:

     "You shall 

ne'er replace moi when you're stuck on some limb."

     "Au con-

traire, mon young frère," Nick replies to his friend.

     "D'you sup-

pose I'll wax lonesome here...? Heaven forfend!

     This, my 

tree, don't you see, fills the span of the sky.

    With the 

legions herein I'll make friends by 'n' by."*

     *Here are a few of the friends, tree people all,

       who Nicholas anticipates making friends with:

St. David the Dendrite; 

eco-activist Julia Butterfly Hill; 

Kenya’s Njuguna Ng’ang’a;

purple-hair'd granny Shawnee Chasser;  

Collin Fenwick et al from Capote’s The Grass Harp;  

Cosimo di Rondo from Calvino’s The Baron in the Trees: 

Buile Shuibhne from Seamus Heaney’s take on the

medieval Irish tale he calls Sweeney Astray; 

the Galadrim people from Tolkein’s The Lord of the Rings

and Jose Arcadio in Gabriel Garcia Marquez’s

One Hundred Years of Solitude...not to mention

Jack of beanstalk fame.  

*   *   *   *   *

Fifi LeFleur, known as "Vertigo Faye"

     (who's a 

daughter by marriage to Ferde Grofé
     and de-

spite the affliction that prompted her name),
     feels a 

life atop pillars will garner her fame:
     "Did not 

Sim'on Stylites, for thirty-odd years, 
     made a 

pedestal home -- to the cheers of his peers...?
     More sty-

lites soon followed -- all welcomed the test.
     Thus the 

'polesters' I'll meet...? 10s! (The best never rest!)" 

*   *   *   *   *

     "Sup-

pose I were chosen Commander-in-chief

     of the 

shed at the head of this barrier reef,"

     fancies 

Perry de Paul, adding, "If so install'd,

     I'd be 

more than fired up; I'd be tot'lly enthrall'd..."

     "You'll be 

soak'd to the foreskin, brined up to the eyes,"

     inter-

jects's Perry's kin, "as all seven seas rise."

     "Fret ye 

not!" notes de Paul. "My appointment's no whim.

     Plus, each 

atoll inhabitant knows how to swim." 

*   *   *   *   *

     What re-

moval might prove a preeminent boon...?

     Well, the 

Finklemans think 'twould be life on the Moon.

     All their 

earthbound associates put 'em on guard:

     "A de 

lune relocation...? Humongously hard!"

     Oi! But 

Shmuel 'n' Sadie have made up their minds

     since a 

prominent Moon-housing researcher finds

     that "a 

minimal gravity helps one lose weight,

     plus the 

people who people the Moon are first-rate." 

Haven't You Read...? Daddy Is Dead! or, Anticipatory R.I.P. II: another excerpt from "The Posthumous Papers of the Wigg'd Pig Club:

     CNN 9/20/23: Drumpf Jr.'s X account hacked. 

Bogus "Jr." reports father's death and his ("Jr's") 

plann'd presidential run in '24.

Daddy is dead! (Kraits* in Dad's bed...? 

     Shots to Dad's head...? Fatally bled...?)   

          *Venomous snakes

Daddy is dead. (Fiercely force-fed...? 

     Poison'd with lead...? Fox hasn't said.)

Daddy is dead. (Cadet* in Dad's bread...? 

     Snuff'd by the Fed...? Hung in the shed...?)   

          *Deadly herbicide

Dad's indeed dead! (Rent to a shred...? 

     Garrotted instead...? AIDS...? (Still it's widespread.))

Daddy is dead. (Clubb'd at Club Med 

     by hit men named Ned who, eventu'lly, fled...?) 

Daddy is dead. (Skipp'd his Phys Ed...? 

     Middle-age spread to Dad's suicide led...?)

It's said, Daddy's dead! (Books in the red...? 

     Plea deals Dad pled still hung by a thread...?)

Daddy is dead. (Did evils Dad bred -- 

     from alpha to zed -- bode prison ahead...?

Nope! Daddy is dead 'cuz Dad ran out o' cred. 

     That being said, now it's me you need dread.)

Days of Citrus

     One 

wonder if anyone living remembers the day

     that the 

Sons of September spent giving pink lemons away.

     'Midst a 

rumbling of voices, they sit, ur-obsess'd with dull knives.

     Though a 

rum thing, some boys may recall this the rest of their lives.

     What is 

more, live there any who haven't forgotten those times

     when the 

Daughters of August disposed of core-rotten Key limes...?

     Since their 

day, the demand for potassium citrate has dropp'd.

     (As for 

pink lemonade...? Drinking that has, effectively, stopp'd.)

Skate Free, Freight-Free; or, '45 in 24: another excerpt from "The Posthumous Papers of the Wigg'd Pig Club"

     Sung (and it's best rendered when sung) 

     to the tune of "My Daddy Lies -- Over and Over." 

"I'm running to stay out of prison. 

I'm running to steer clear of jail.
More evidence, recently risen, 

I hope to convict me will fail.

"I'm running to side-step the slammer. 

I'm running to ward off the nick.
I'm no way the nail; I'm the hammer! 

(At worst, I'll get pardon'd, like Dick.)

"Skate free, freight-free: 

Won't somebody help me skate free, freight-free...?
Skate free, freight-free: 

Send C-notes to help me skate free.

"I'm running to limit my lockup. 

I'm running to by-pass the brig.
This whole rigmarole's been a cockup: 

I never had need of this gig.

"I'm running to hold off the hoosegow. 

I'm running to fend off the joint.

Is the DJ's Smith wielding a noose now...? 

I'm guilty...but that's not the point.

"Skate free... (etc. as above)

"I'm running to outwit conviction. 

(Once POTUS, I'll pardon myself.)

I'm running to counter the fiction 

that my wealth comes from ill-gotten pelf.

"I run to short-circuit the big house. 

I run to stay out of the clink.

And until I'm as dead as a dormouse, 

I'll not be the first bloke to blink.

"Skate free..." (etc. as above)

Anticipatory R.I.P.: an excerpt from "The Posthumous Papers of the Wigg'd Pig Club"

     Note the stanzaic scheme, where the first numeral indicates the number of stresses in a line and the second the number of syllables, which number varies depending on the presence of upbeats and masculine or feminine endings; the letters, of course, represent discreet rhymes:

     3/5-6 A   3/6-7 B   3/5-6 A   4/7-8 C   4/7-8 C   3/6-7 B

Donald Drumpf's dropp'd dead!

(I love alliteration!)
Donald made his bed;
grand jurors made him lie in it.
He's through -- that losin,' lyin' shit.
Begin our celebration!

Donald Drumpf's deceased!
We've "renaissance"'d our nation.
Don's coif three Cor-Bons creased,
restyling Donald's swiney puss.
Sieg heil, you wasted, whiney wuss.
All cured's our constipation.

Donald's bit the dust!

(And finalized frustration.)

Mourn him if you must;

keen his soul (as if he'd got one).

Billionaire...? Seems Don was not one.

Curb your titillation!

Donald's kick'd the bucket!

What halted hesitation...?

Perhaps his "WTF! It

appears I'll not steer clear of jail

nor wife nor kids won't go my bail...

What's left...? Annihilation!"

Penn Cop Photo Op: a Questionnaire

Where's the need to snap a pic 

once coppers that escapee nick...?

Why not mount the guy atop 

your squad car for that photo op...?

Or hang the fellow by the knees, 

strung up like marlins in the Keys...?

When don't they show, each way they can, 

man's inhumanity to man...?