WoLaLys For Dummies: A Tutorial

(Various new poetic forms -- i.e., the woLaLy, the to-’n’-froLaly, the mageek, the prosopogostichs, the bananagraffe and its split variant, the borrownym, the fauxmophone, the fifteener, the botchuLit, the haikucento, the runcibl'd spoonerism, the NightM.A.R.E. and the eclipsogram -- will be explained in a series of tutorials beginning with the one for the woLaLy appearing below.) 

* * * * *

 
The woLaLy aka the word ladder lyric begins with the construction of a word ladder string. A word ladder is a sequence of words in which each word changes a single letter to form the word following it and in which the first and the last word have some interesting semantic relationship.  For the woLaLy a sequence is selected for having as many as possible if not all of its items rhyming pairs (or triplets), or one allowing such pairs (or triplets) to be constructed.

An example

REAL>>>FAKE 
 
REAL>SEAL>SEAS>SETS>METS>MATS>

MATE>SATE>SAME>LAME>LAKE>FAKE

real seal (seas) 

sets Mets

(mats) mate sate
same lame
lake fake

After selecting a word ladder sequence, a poem is composed in rhyming couplets (or triolets). Those words having no accompanying rhymes shall be incorporated into the interior of one line or another that positions them between the two items they fall between in the original string.

 
Another example

     Real Fake 

I favor animals who're real --
the manatee, the leopard seal --
who swim the seas in matching sets 
but won't bat cleanup for the Mets
or steal the mats of someone's mate,
their mattress hankerings to sate.
I hope my readers feel the same,
nor don't construe my notions lame.
(The animal whose home's a lake
I don't consider real, but fake.)  

Body Cam Blues

What's the need to snap a pic
once coppers some escapees nick...?
Just mount 'em, trophy-buck style, 'top
a squad car for the photo op.
Or hang them fellows by the knees,
strung up like marlins in the Keys...?
When won't cops show, all ways they can,
man's inhumanity to man...? 

Bard's Cards; or, Shakespeare: The Hallmark Years

Britain's greatest dramatist honed his writing chops by 

penning quatrains for wry Elizabethan epistolarians. 

     Baby shower / new mom 

Love looks not with the eye but with the mind.

That diaper's full: Bambo thy bairn's behind!

     Sympathy / cellmate  

The better part of valor is discretion.

Consider my lips sealed re thy obsession.   

     Nth invoice / chronic deadbeat 
Neither a borrower nor a lender be. 
The final nail: now, forthwith, mail my fee! 

     Breakup / unisex 

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day...? 

Thou lazy, hazy, crazy art, okay...?

    Prenup congrats / sister-in-law 

Soft! what light through yonder window breaks...? 

Thou art engaged...? Let's hope this time it takes.

     Get well / favorite aunt 

To be, or not to be, that is the question.

Thy cancer diagnosis...? Indigestion. 

      Merry Xmas / juvenile

Once more unto the breach, dear friend, once more. 

I hope Claus gifts thee all thou bargain'd for. 

     Retirement / office colleague 

Methinks I am a prophet new inspired. 

Thy job's offshore...? Give thanks thou art retired. 

     Belated birthday / nephew 

Make me a willow cabin at your gate

so next year's gift buck won't arrive so late.      

     Pre-op wish / ex-spouse 

The quality of mercy is not strain'd.

Thou'll breathe far better with thy sinus drain'd. 

     Ash Wednesday / former pastor 

Now's the winter of our discontent.

I would thee reap a more repentant Lent. 

     New Year's / MAGA uncle 

Is this a dagger which I see before me...?

Happy New Year! (Hope next term's less stormy.)

Mum

Use silent 'a' when spelling 'bread.'

(Though ought it not be 'bred' instead...? 

And, as a rule, with bred come crumbs, 

tho' one's deem'd "fool" who spells 'em 'crums.')

     A pair of sissors -- sans a 'c'-- 

should snip as surely, seems to me,

on Wenesday as the day before.

(This seems a take on "Less Is More.")

     'Lov' fares fine without an 'e' --

though Indiana'd* disagree.

(I can no silent-'f' words find.

To further search I'm disinclined.)

     *"Love" series pop artist Robert Indiana

Now We Are Big: The Adult Fates of Some Childhood Mates

Little Black Sambo

Li'l Abner Yokum

Little Red Riding Hood

Little Miss Muffet

Little Nemo

Little Toot

Little Eva 

 

No longer little -- 

though still undeniably black -- 

and eschewing the moniker 'Sambo,' 

believing it wack,

Sam is now Abul-qasim Abwan, 

after turning his back

on McComb, Mississippi 

and heading for Basra, Iraq.

No longer 'Li'l' -- 

although growing disturbingly vocal

in his rants against use 

of the libelous epithet 'yokel' --

Abner's shutter'd his shack 

and resign'd from the bed testers local.

(Will such turnabouts alter him...? 

Betcha a week in New Yo'k'll.) 

 

Grown, although still looking chic 

in her signature hood,

Red no longer haunts Grandmama's Forest, 

nor feels that she should.

"I'm so finished with canines 'n' crones, now. 

Is that understood...?"

rages Red as she shoulders her basket. 

"I'm leaving for good."

Grown, though still prone 

to evade ev'ry maid-stalking spider,

Muff's now ask'd a famed arachnologist colleague 

to guide her.

From their cheese curd and whey food truck, 

marketing crab-apple cider,

they report that no insect of any ilk

even has eyed her.

No longer little, 

nor keen on some Slumberland visit,

preferring Las Vegas 

(which sure ain't no Slumberland, is it...?),

our Nemo now wanders the Strip ev'ry night,

while in lieu

of pajamas he sports used fatigues --

and a pith helmet, too. 

No longer little 

nor up to his old full-time duty,

and ignoring his fellow tugs'

use of the moniker 'Toot,' he,

as "Captain N. Route,"  

ferries immigrants here to the States,

N. Route so-o-o-o-o Emma Lazarus loves.

(Stephen Miller he hates.) 

With Uncle Tom granted 

his freedom at last, and she grown,

Eva leaves the plantation 

to live in Atlanta, alone.

Selling paperback Bibles, 

she does fairly well on her own,

till last May when she dies,

having choked on a porbeagle bone. 

The 12 'Chair-'s; or, 'Sit' Happens

To chair is human; to forgive, divan. 

                                                    -- GFH 

   Chairless, three Chairokees 

charily squat on their mounds.

ev'ry Aniyunwyan breathes deep 

as the pipe makes its rounds.

   Chairs at Chairnobyl 

stay runaway radioactive;

thus taking one's seat there 

continues, at best, unattractive. 

   Morning-room chairs 

at chez Sonny & Chair are of wicker.

(Rattan, willow...reed...? Bamboo, raffia...? 

Ple-e-e-ease, must we bicker...?)

   "Chairberus...Sit! Sit, boy!" 

demi-god Heracles said.

Then the Greek hero, sniggering, 

smack'd that beast upside the head.

 

   The rock shoal Chairibdis 

sits churning the Strait of Messina  

while Scylla sits opposite, 

howling like Dante's hyena.

   The Chairiff of Nottingham 

sits in his queen chair, adoze,

as Robin sashays in behind him 

and strikes off his nose.

   A Davenport oozes chairisma. 

A Chesterfield, too.

A couch and the sofa, however, 

ooze none. (Sad but true.) 

   Tourists who sit in Chairassic Park 

risk being ate

by this megalosaurid Eustreptospondyle...

or its mate.

   Upon chairs in this chaircuterie 

sits the posh carriage trade

sampling buffalo jerky 

while watching how sausage is made.

   One Chairubim skips today's Nones, 

flits thru' heaven's three zones.

Like her fellows the Thrones, 

she, for Him, sports a sizeable jones.

   In upstate New Chairsey it sits -- 

Chairsey City by name.

Not as blatant as Hoboken, true; 

yet deserving of fame.

   Meet young Chaired Cushioner 

("Whoopee!" to both of his friends).

May he soon take his seat in Gehenna! 

(My curse my verse ends.) 

More "How Do You Who's Whos Hold Your Hooch...?"

     Much depends on the meaning of 'hold.' 

     I

"Be your rotgut rums or Ripples,

how d'you pooh-bahs tote your tipples...?"

Here's a man in black. Let's ask 

the haut-hydrated Johnny Cask:

     "Be your sauce, John, Schlitz or 'Scootch,' 

how do you Who's Whos hold your hootch...?

And might you moonshine render sterile...?"

Answers John: "Quiz Yogi Barrel."

     II

"However judgments you deduce, 

how do you jurists lug your juice...?"

"You, Sam...?" "A liter." "'lena...?" "Kegs." 

"You, Amy...?" "Ponies -- brims to dregs." 

     (More to come; a work in progress) 

The Gardener's Toolshed From Guest Blogger JB: Grass Knuckles

 

The Garden Hose Nozzle Sprayer 

helps keep lawns midsummer green 

while delivering a KO to those pesky weeds.

Even More Cuisine Art From Guest Blogger JB: Carpenter's Level Flatware

 

It's never been easier to make sure

your family's meals are well-balanced.

Still More Cuisine Art From Guest Blogger JB: The Can-Can Opener

 

Yes It Can-Can

!

More Cuisine Art From Guest Blogger JB: The Taco Holder