Only The Best People

The Kennedy Center 

has crown'd a new boss --

a gain for Vulgarity.

(Quality's loss.)

Now, Donald shall sever 

the cream from the dross.

Attention, America! 

Cock an ear, please, 

as the Center's golf-shoe-licking
board of trustees 
introduces with pride 

this year's five honorees: 

"Applaud Florence Foster 

(Ms. Jenkins to you)!

It's Flo whose ascents 

lesser divas dar'n't do. 

(Her F above high C's

a tour de force, nu...?)"

"Awardee Ed Wood, 

film director first-class!

Edward's "Plan 9 from Outer Space": 

who'll e'er surpass...? 

(Mr. Wood can't be with us 

this ev'ning, alas.)" 

Amanda McKittrick Ros, novelist... 

William Topaz McGonagall, poet... 

Donald J. Drumpf, polycultural icon....

(a work in progress) 

Curse For Bully POTUS

Today's verses created by guest blogger GFH -- with a few small edits from Uly. 

Trump must get Atomic Wedgies
And be forced to eat his veggies.

Lots of Noogies and Pink Bellies;

No appearances on tellies.

Dutch Rubs and a Tittie Twister 

Need be meted to this blister.

Don't, as well, neglect the Swirly --

Very often...very early.

Dog Day Doggerel

The ruby-eyed cicadas call'd 
the locust's second cousin. 

They surface during summer months, 

when soil's no longer fruzzen. 

Then, eggs and nymphs no more,

adult cicadas be a-buzzin.' 

(If you think borer bees be loud, 

you really ain't heard nuzzin.' 

I thought I heard a wasp one day;

as things turned out, it wasn.')

And tho' all old cicadas die, 

strange new ones have arusin.' 
They're ev'rywhere. They're in my hair. 
(I've swallow'd sev'ral dozen.) 

The moral of this verse...? 

There's many call'd, far fewer chussen.

Forever Young (The War, You Know)

I, 

in 1942, 

am born 

(of all the luck!) a Jew. 
The odds predict 

I'll not survive. 

(Indeed, I'm dead

by '45.) 

In '43, 

in Tokyo, 

I'm born -- in wartime,

don't ya know. 

By '45, 

I, too, am toast --

at barely two years old, 

a ghost.

Korea,

Fall of '53. 
An Incheon infant...

Hey: that's me!

At last they're 

drawing down the War. 

(Alas! I'm dead 

by '54.) 

Viet Nam,

1964. 

I'm born amidst 

more Asian war. 

Remember, please, 

this place and date. 

I die at Hue 

in '68.

(A work in progress)

Casa Verde

Preppin' for the Protests: Stand With Ukraine Edition

Nuoem: 

Go Home! 

End Trump's 

ICEcapades! 

No More 

ICE Ages!

MAINTAIN UKRAINE! 

BEAT the RUSH: 

BEAT the RUSSIANS!

DON'T GIVE UP: 

STAND UP! 

DON'T SHUT UP: 

SPEAK UP! 

DON'T DROP OUT: 

SPEAK OUT! 

MAKE GOOD NOISE! 

GIVE A DAMN! 

WE'RE HERE. 

WHERE ARE YOU...? 

SUSTAIN UKRAINE! 

HOOT the POOT! 
MUTE the POOT!
NEUT' the POOT! 
BOOT the POOT! 
(SHOOT the POOT...?) 

Resistance Protest Signs: Number 17 in a Series

 

Hope; or, Like All Foul Gas, This Too Shall Pass (A Repost)

Drumpf glowers. And glowers. 

For hours and hours. And hours.

Der Fuhrer's fasc Drumpf scours.

(This lad ain’t Adenauer’s.) 

Unlike most Eisenhowers, 

Drumpf stacks of Macs* devours, 

and now, as then (and how!), errs

in plying POTUS powers.

Erecting new Trump Towers, 

Drumpf cries, “Trump never cowers!”

But, fin’lly, Drumpf's Tao sours

The People cry, “Enowers!**

That Hun’s no son of ours. 

Drumpf splits and hits the showers.

The GOP sends flowers.

And Drumpf no longer towers. 

     *Big Macs with lots -- lots! -- of extra cheese.

     **A poetic term -- a portmanteau pairing the Rubaiyat's 'enow,' meaning  'enough,' with the suffix '-ers' from the British slang which turns 'pregnant' to 'preggers' -- the combination meaning "E-freakin-nough, already!"

Chant for Chas.

(With a tip of the Uly Poe turban to Mr Dickens.) 

Note gestes by festive mimes 

whose crest shows zest of limes, 

undress'd -- in jest, it's  guess'd -- 

thrice bless'd (id est: three times!), 

express'd as "Test of Bimes: 

a Spooner'd Nest of Rhymes" 

abreast the vestry chimes 

whilst Heston, vested, climbs 

a chest in quest of dimes.

Out west, twin pests betimes 

(both slimes) confess'd their crimes. 

[The rest's just mess'd-up primes.] 

MAGAlligators All Around

(With a tip o' the toque to Mr Sendak.)

I smelt swamp stench. 

I sens'd strange sound.
I search'd about. 

'Twas then I found

our ship of state 

had run aground. 

The captain, mates 'n' crew...? 

All drown'd:

MAGAlligators 

all around. 

Their eyelids...? Shadow'd. 

Noses...? Brown'd. 

Intentions...? 

Evil, I'll be bound. 

A failed poseur

we thought just clown'd...? 

That narcissist 

their king they crown'd. 

In golden robes 

this thing they gown'd. 

More MAGA'gators 

gather'd 'round. 

They immigrants 

harass 'n' hound. 

They kids 

illegally impound. 

Our Constitution 

they've unwound. 

MAGAlligators 

ALL around!

Imagined Medievals

Alcuin of York 

used talons from a stork 

to help him chew 

his bar-be-cue: 

"'Tis helpful eating pork." 

Venerable Bede, 
a bookman built for speed, 
penn'd tomes in reams -- 
though now it seems
this Briton couldn't read. 

Carolus the Bald 

was hairless falsely call'd. 

Who'd on him pin

"King Head-'o-Skin" 

would see Carolus gall'd.