801

Send in the Clowns

Isn't it rich?
Are we a pair?
Me here at last on the ground,
You in mid-air..
Where are the clowns?

Isn't it bliss?
Don't you approve?
One who keeps tearing around,
One who can't move...
Where are the clowns?
Send in the clowns.

Just when I'd stopped opening doors,
Finally knowing the one that I wanted was yours.
Making my entrance again with my usual flair
Sure of my lines...
No one is there.

Don't you love farce?
My fault, I fear.
I thought that you'd want what I want...
Sorry, my dear!
And where are the clowns
Send in the clowns
Don't bother, they're here.

Isn't it rich?
Isn't it queer?
Losing my timing this late in my career.
And where are the clowns?
There ought to be clowns...
Well, maybe next year.

Stephen Sondheim

Draw The Cartoons

Charlie Hebdo
We mourn your loss.
Pens are mightier than the swords.
Charbonnier
Drew the cartoons

'I'm not afraid
Of retaliation
I'd rather die standing
Than live on my knees.'
Draw the cartoons
Keep penning cartoons.

Yes, we love truth,
Yet we want fun.
Entertainment
Has enemies with a gun.
We should limit this nonsense
They will need cheering up.
Charlie Hebdo
Keep penning cartoons.

Why, why, why, why?
Mohammed is game.
Egg them on with wit,
Please draw cartoons.
We need cartoons -
Only funny,
Pithy, worthy.

An eye for an eye
(In Maori it's 'utu')
Quixotic tilting at windmills.
Nurture seventeen.
Who will draw the cartoons?
There should be cartoons...
Yes, they're essential!

Snafu I'll Jot

802

A STRANGE WILD SONG
By
Lewis Carroll

He thought he saw an Elephant
That practised on a fife:
He looked again, and found it was
A letter from his wife.
'At length I realize,' he said,
'The bitterness of life! '

He thought he saw a Buffalo
Upon the chimney-piece:
He looked again, and found it was
His Sister's Husband's Niece.
'Unless you leave this house,' he said,
'I'll send for the police! '

He thought he saw a Rattlesnake
That questioned him in Greek:
He looked again, and found it was
The Middle of Next Week.
'The one thing I regret,' he said,
'Is that it cannot speak! '

He thought he saw a Banker's Clerk
Descending from the bus:
He looked again, and found it was
A Hippopotamus.
'If this should stay to dine,' he said,
'There won't be much for us! '

He thought he saw a Kangaroo
That worked a Coffee-mill:
He looked again, and found it was
A Vegetable-Pill.
'Were I to swallow this,' he said,
'I should be very ill! '

He thought he saw a Coach-and-Four
That stood beside his bed:
He looked again, and found it was
A Bear without a Head.
'Poor thing,' he said, 'poor silly thing!
It's waiting to be fed! '

He thought he saw an Albatross
That fluttered round the lamp:
He looked again, and found it was
A Penny-Postage Stamp.
'You'd best be getting home,' he said:
'The nights are very damp! '

He thought he saw a Garden-Door
That opened with a key:
He looked again, and found it was
A Double Rule of Three:
'And all its mystery,' he said,
'Is clear as day to me! '

He thought he saw a Argument
That proved he was the Pope:
He looked again, and found it was
A Bar of Mottled Soap.
'A fact so dread,' he faintly said,
'Extinguishes all hope!

FINAL LEG

He thought he saw a peach that was
The same size as a truck
He looked again and found that it
Was Kim Kardashian's butt!
'I've never seen a peach,' he said,
'That's had a nip and tuck!'

He thought he saw a tiger shark
Perched there upon the stair,
He looked again and found it was
The wide-mouthed Cherie Blair.
'It's not a pretty sight,' he said,
'Thank God she isn't bare!'

He thought he saw a turtle on
Its hind-legs eating pie,
He looked again and found it was
The dreadful Stephen Fry.
'I do not like the guy.' he said,
'No matter how I try.'

He thought he saw some plasticine
Formed into something bland,
He looked again and found it was
The bug-eyed Miliband.
'If Ed should come to tea,' he said,
'Are bacon sarnies planned?'

He thought he saw a slab of meat
Draped round a pair of breasts,
He looked again and found that it
Was Lady Ga Ga's dress.
'Is that the Queen of Pop?' he said,
'She looks a bloody mess!'

He thought he saw a waxwork it
Was really very foul,
He looked again and found it was
A fading Simon Cowell.
'I see your Botox cream,' he said,
'Was laid on with a trowel!'

He thought he heard the Bee Gees
Sing falsetto in the night,
He looked again and found his under-
Pants were on too tight
'Get help!' he yelped, 'It feels as if
'Both balls are in a vice!'

He thought he saw a pop star dude
Who felt he was so cool,
But looked again and found it was
The wilful Bieber fool.
'I'll get a cop to cart him off,'
He yelled, 'the boy's a tool.'

He thought he saw a puffin
Down in Memphis, Tennesee
He looked again and found that it
Was Elvis up a tree.
'Though it's a ruddy noise,' he said,
'At least it's all for free!'

803

From you have I been absent in the spring,
When proud-pied April dress'd in all his trim
Hath put a spirit of youth in every thing,
That heavy Saturn laugh'd and leap'd with him.
Yet nor the lays of birds nor the sweet smell
Of different flowers in odor and in hue
Could make me any summer's story tell,
Or from their proud lap pluck them where they grew;
Nor did I wonder at the lily's white,
Nor praise the deep vermilion in the rose;
They were but sweet, but figures of delight,
Drawn after you, you pattern of all those.
Yet seem'd it winter still, and, you away,
As with your shadow I with these did play.

A TIMELY SONNET

Sweet spring is in the air this time of year;
Pink flowers do break through winter's dreaded grey.
Rain falls upon the earth in droplets clear;
In muddy puddles youths will wildly play.
Now tulips fill up every shady bed;
Green turf ensued with shoots of timothy.
In far, wide opportunities ahead,
New upward growth with health, viridity.
Throughout the pretty trees around the lawn,
Hear honeybees resume their happy hum.
Embodied in the warmth of every dawn,
A hint of sultry summer yet to come.
It's time to dearly hail this season of
Renewal and rebirth of life and love.

804

[The title of the anagram verse alludes to the last lines in the original.]

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?

Thou art more lovely and more temperate:
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer's lease hath all too short a date:
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimmed,
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance, or nature's changing course untrimmed:
But thy eternal summer shall not fade,
Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow'st,
Nor shall death brag thou wander'st in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou grow'st,
So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.

AS EVER, A SONNET

This month is May, the fifth one of the year;
Hath days, I'd note, that sum as thirty-one.
In bird-filled skies, sweet melodies you hear;
Spring blossoms are abloom in golden sun.
Made rather more elated as it shone,
Our hearts are full of peace and hopefulness.
New births are given this green handsome stone:
The emerald, an emblem of success.
High youth hurrah, sure glad that school soon ends;
Indeed, when next, vacations are in store.
Some time we all devote as each commends
Memorials to soldiers lost through war.
And mind the most important thing of all:
You can't forget to give your mom a call!

805

YOU ARE OLD FATHER WILLIAM
by Lewis Carroll

"You are old, Father William," the young man said,
"And your hair has become very white;
And yet you incessantly stand on your head -
Do you think, at your age, it is right?"

"In my youth," Father William replied to his son,
"I feared it might injure the brain;
But, now that I'm perfectly sure I have none,
Why, I do it again and again."

"You are old," said the youth, "as I mentioned before,
And have grown most uncommonly fat;
Yet you turned a back-somersault in at the door -
Pray, what is the reason for that?"

"In my youth," said the sage, as he shook his gray locks,
"I kept all my limbs very supple
By the use of this ointment - one shilling the box -
Allow me to sell you a couple?"

"You are old," said the youth, "and your jaws are too weak
For anything tougher than suet;
Yet you finished the goose, with the bones and the beak-
Pray, how did you manage to do it?"

"In my youth," said his father, "I took to the law,
And argued each case with my wife;
And the muscular strength which it gave to my jaw
Has lasted the rest of my life."

"You are old," said the youth, "one would hardly suppose
That your eye was as steady as ever;
Yet you balanced an eel on the end of your nose -
What made you so awfully clever?"

"I have answered three questions, and that is enough,"
Said his father; "don't give yourself airs!
Do you think I can listen all day to such stuff?
Be off, or I'll kick you down-stairs!"

YOU'RE A FATHER, YOUNG WILLIAM
Ode On A Hypothetical Royal Chat

"You're a father, young William," Her Majesty said,
"And the fifth Duke of Cambridge as well;
Though I see that you're losing the hair on your head,
You've at least sired a boy and a gel.

"Your high place is assured as a king, it is true
And that Kate was a fine gel to marry,
So now that the future is settled for you,
Would you please have a chat with young Harry?

"Like Diana, he's feisty, he has no respect,
(Oh, your mother was toxic, I knew it),
And that gingery mane on his head, I detect
Contains hues of the loathsome James Hewitt!

"I am not being huffy, we royals have flaws,
I've a notion your daddy's no monk,
Look, your grandpa's a playboy, yet he's ninety-four,
(But, you see, he's invariably drunk!)

"Now, young Harry, I think, is cast in the same mould,
Yet he is oddly unsuited to love,
Cressida, Chelsey, they both left me cold,
But, you see, they have no royal blood!

"Though it pains one to say it, the boy is a brat,
He is awfully quick to offend,
And his pants will come orf at the drop of a hat,
Heaven only knows where it will end.

"As a senior sibling, your duty's defined,
You must issue a royal decree:
Say you're jolly annoyed that he won't toe the line,
Would you do that one favour for me?"

"You are old, my dear grandmama," William sighed,
"And somewhat outdated and prim;
I won't lecture Harry - it's not that I'm shy,
But the truth is... I wish I was him!"

806

THE LAST TRUMP
by Banjo Paterson
"You led the trump," the old man said
With fury in his eye,
"And yet you hope my girl to wed!
Young man! your hopes of love are fled,
'Twere better she should die!
"My sweet young daughter sitting there,
So innocent and plump!
You don't suppose that she would care
To wed an outlawed man who'd dare
To lead the thirteenth trump!
"If you had drawn their leading spade
It meant a certain win!
But no! By Pembroke's mighty shade
The thirteenth trump you went and played
And let their diamonds in!
"My girl, return at my command
His presents in a lump!
Return his ring! For, understand,
No man is fit to hold your hand
Who leads a thirteenth trump!
"But hold! Give every man his due
And every dog his day.
Speak up and say what made you do
This dreadful thing -- that is, if you
Have anything to say!"
He spoke. "I meant at first," said he,
"To give their spades a bump,
Or lead the hearts; but then you see
I thought against us there might be,
Perhaps, a fourteenth trump!"
They buried him at dawn of day
Beside a ruined stump:
And there he sleeps the hours away
And waits for Gabriel to play
The last -- the fourteenth trump.

DONALD TRUMP by the Headmaster of the Moneyed and the Authority on History Dirty tiny shanty, no hot shower, Life in that tatty dump. With no utilities, no power. Has no grand suite at Trump Tower. Unless you're Donald Trump! Hawaii and Mauritius are not A hop, skip and a jump! Forget the hideaway bay spot, The drab ghetto is what you got. Unless you're Donald Trump! No syrupy dish from the East, Eat no fruit ripe and plump. No Wagyu beef, the greasy beast; No healthy mead at the fine feast. Unless you're Donald Trump! The mind is numb, the thought is tired; The mystery may stump. Roadworthy daddy he had hired; Stayed satisfied, midday he's fired. Unless you're Donald Trump! The bonehead didn't have the brain, Vapid as Forrest Gump. Was no war hero like McCain; The triumph he'd never attain. Unless you're Donald Trump! Tattered beggar up to here in debt; Huge economic slump! Eightieth hit, defeated I bet; Banking on the welfare he'll get. Unless you're Donald Trump! They're happiest when they wanna Get the wealthiest hump. Do not hug the great Miss Ghana; Why even bed his private Ivana? Unless you're Donald Trump!

807

OH I WISH I'D LOOKED AFTER ME TEETH
By
Pam Ayres

Oh, I wish I'd looked after me teeth,
And spotted the dangers beneath
All the toffees I chewed,
And the sweet sticky food.
Oh, I wish I'd looked after me teeth.

I wish I'd been that much more willin'
When I had more tooth there than fillin'
To give up gobstoppers,
From respect to me choppers,
And to buy something else with me shillin'.

When I think of the lollies I licked
And the liquorice allsorts I picked,
Sherbet dabs, big and little,
All that hard peanut brittle,
My conscience gets horribly pricked.

My mother, she told me no end,
'If you got a tooth, you got a friend.'
I was young then, and careless,
My toothbrush was hairless,
I never had much time to spend.

Oh I showed them the toothpaste all right,
I flashed it about late at night,
But up-and-down brushin'
And pokin' and fussin'
Didn't seem worth the time - I could bite!

If I'd known I was paving the way
To cavities, caps and decay,
The murder of fillin's,
Injections and drillin's,
I'd have thrown all me sherbet away.

So I lie in the old dentist's chair,
And I gaze up his nose in despair,
And his drill it do whine
In these molars of mine.
'Two amalgam,' he'll say, 'for in there.'

How I laughed at my mother's false teeth,
As they foamed in the waters beneath.
But now comes the reckonin'
It's me they are beckonin'
Oh, I wish I'd looked after me teeth.

OH I WISH I'D LOOKED AFTER MY FEET (A Supermodel's Career Is Harsh)

Oh, I wish I'd looked after my feet,
While they were still pretty and neat;
Years of squeezing my toes
Into thin stilettos
Has left them all shredded and beat.

At the time it was oh so darn thrillin',
When I strode down the catwalk (top billin'!)
As I postured and posed,
In those chic, high-end clothes,
All the time the poor tootsies were killin'!

When I think of the pain I'd go through,
Going out, clad in ill-fitting shoes,
As I tried not to hobble,
Or, worst of all, wobble,
In case I was in public view.

I had implants to coerce the males,
Had the latest high-tech bathroom scales,
As I starved my thin tummy
So I could look scrummy,
But the feet? I just painted the nails.

Perhaps, had I shared the conceit,
(Of looking so hot) with my feet
I'd have nipped in the bud all
The ensuing trouble
I had with the trotters beneath.

Though I'm now thirty-nine and still thin,
I am fine from the head to the shin,
But the region below,
Between ankle and toe
Is decidedly ugly as sin.

I wish I'd looked after my feet,
They're a mash of odd sinews and meat,
All the bunions and corns
Have made them deformed,
Boy, I shoulda considered my feet.

Tonight, drinking overpriced wine,
I made one remarkable find!
As I posed with "Posh" Beckham
At my pad in Peckham ...
I saw her feet were much worse than mine!

808

That time of year thou mayst in me behold
When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang
Upon those boughs which shake against the cold,
Bare ruin'd choirs, where late the sweet birds sang.
In me thou see'st the twilight of such day
As after sunset fadeth in the west;
Which by and by black night doth take away,
Death's second self, that seals up all in rest.
In me thou see'st the glowing of such fire,
That on the ashes of his youth doth lie,
As the deathbed whereon it must expire,
Consumed with that which it was nourish'd by.
This thou perceiv'st, which makes thy love more strong,
To love that well which thou must leave ere long.

This time of year, when weather starts to cool,
Has such a healthy harvest to pursue.
Each teacher and each youth goes back to school;
Fun hayrides through the pumpkin patch ensue.
All Hallows' Eve is nigh, with tasty sweets;
Leaves change in hue; the whirling winds will blow.
Light hours decrease; the end the warmth then meets,
Harsh signs of wintry white about to show.
A blithesome, chatty, most kindhearted mood
Relaxin' with the kiddies in the den,
Vast bounty of seductive hearty food
Enmeshing with a football game (or ten!).
So with the thought of how we feel much blessed,
This season fits, undoubtedly the best.

809

The Raven
By Edgar Allan Poe

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore-
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of someone gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
"'Tis some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door-
Only this and nothing more."

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December;
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow;-vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow-sorrow for the lost Lenore-
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore-
Nameless here for evermore.

And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me-filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating
"'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door-
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door;-
This it is and nothing more."

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
"Sir," said I, "or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you"-here I opened wide the door;-
Darkness there and nothing more.

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, "Lenore?"
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, "Lenore!"-
Merely this and nothing more.

Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
"Surely," said I, "surely that is something at my window lattice;
Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore-
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;-
'Tis the wind and nothing more!"

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore;
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door-
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door-
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
"Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, "art sure no craven,
Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore-
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!"
Quoth the Raven "Nevermore."

Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning-little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door-
Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as "Nevermore."

But the Raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing farther then he uttered-not a feather then he fluttered-
Till I scarcely more than muttered "Other friends have flown before-
On the morrow he will leave me, as my Hopes have flown before."
Then the bird said "Nevermore."

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
"Doubtless," said I, "what it utters is its only stock and store
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore-
Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore
Of 'Never-nevermore'."

But the Raven still beguiling all my fancy into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust and door;
Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore-
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore
Meant in croaking "Nevermore."

This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o'er,
But whose velvet-violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o'er,
She shall press, ah, nevermore!

Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.
"Wretch," I cried, "thy God hath lent thee-by these angels he hath sent thee
Respite-respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore;
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!"
Quoth the Raven "Nevermore."

"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil!-prophet still, if bird or devil!-
Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted-
On this home by Horror haunted-tell me truly, I implore-
Is there-is there balm in Gilead?-tell me-tell me, I implore!"
Quoth the Raven "Nevermore."

"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil!-prophet still, if bird or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us-by that God we both adore-
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore-
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore."
Quoth the Raven "Nevermore."

"Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!" I shrieked, upstarting-
"Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken!-quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!"
Quoth the Raven "Nevermore."

And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,
And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted-nevermore!

The Horse

Once upon a lunchtime happy,
As I dined on toast with Pappy--
Not to mention olives, ravioli, frequent bourbon shots and more--
As we slurped our hot shrimp soup,
A thundering reached us from the stoop
Like a throng of headstrong giants stomping, stomping on the floor.
"'Tis but the cat," said Pappy. "Neener-Neener's at the door."
His mental gears had problems--they were slipping ever more.

I remember 'twas in late July,
With funny clouds in the northern sky,
And every one looked like a guy with whom I hoped to score.
Longingly I yearned for night
With burning thoughts and fervent might,
That such a fellow I might sight upon the dance hall floor,
Who'd lavish me with love galore--
Some winning, grinning, spinning nitwit whore.

Again we heard the thrilling crashing,
Banging, slamming, booming, bashing
Like the flashing sledge of Thor.
But Pappy kept on eating
(Hard to interrupt his feeding--
Pappy never saw a platter he'd ignore);
"It's the cat," the old man mumbled. "It's our little cat, Lenore.
Methinks our Neener-Neener wants to enter and explore."

In a blink I lammed my seat,
Traversed the room on hurried feet,
With fingers crossed that I might meet my soulmate at the door.
"Who's that? Who's there?" called brightly I,
"--A winking knight? A hot young guy?
Come in, my friend--do not be shy! Let's view your face, senor!"
But when I peered around the door,
My hungry eyes met hayfields--nothing more.

Thence into the front yard staring,
Hoping that the clothes I'm wearing
Aren't too overblown or daring, but what a guy'd adore--
The velvet blouse of shimmering green,
The cummerbund of tangerine,
The frilled brassiere of aubergine with printed hearts galore;
The vest of crepe, the stylish cape,
The emerald glasses fixed with tape, the rhinestone rings--all four--
And pebbled leather heels, stiletto,
Colored tempting amaretto--
My friend Miranda shrieked falsetto when I got them from the online store--
And, best of all--resplendent thrill--
The needle to my outfit's kill--
The stitches stitched with greatest skill--my natty flannel drawers.
But all I see are shrubs, a bore,
And romping lambs, which I abhor.

My eyes got hot, my vision blurred;
I flipped the rotten yard the bird;
I yearned to have my prayers be heard, not seemingly ignored.
Then fretting, moaning, frowning, bitchin',
I stumbled back to the sunny kitchen,
Longing for to scratch my itchin'--bitterly I swore:
"It was that one-eyed Brett, I'll bet,
Who claimed to have a channelled 'Vette,
But all he had was mounds of debt and eyeballs in a drawer.
Or maybe it was Silent Sam,
Who often called me miss or ma'am,
Until I mocked his mom's roast Spam, and then he spoke no more.
Or possibly 'twas Finn DeVille,
Who had a lot of hunting skill,
Which he unfortunately employed in a misguided attempt to kill former vice-president,
one-time presidential frontrunner, self-styled inventor of the Internet, and
tall, brainy, benevolent, perfervid, very squirrelly environmental demonstrator Albert Arnold Gore.
But Finn's still serving nineteen years--
That's one year each for every spear
He hurled at Al and the French premiere at a meet-and-greet in Baltimore.
My memory stars these fools of yore
Yet they're returning nevermore."

Pappy, meantime, at his dinner,
Wasn't getting any thinner.
He nabbed a bivalve--"Found a winner!"--and ate it, shouting, "Score!"
Then he snatched a trembling squid
And grinned, "I'd love to help you, kid,"
And roared as down his throat it slid, as he'd roared so oft before.
Then on to nibbling gourmet roe,
Down the hatch with some tart merlot,
And then a deep-fried smelt in dough, and buttered squab, and more.
Nine onion melts had gone before,
But the batty codger wanted nine more.

I muttered, "Is this but a vivid dream,
A rotten evil REM-sleep scheme,
A loony mental movie meme, not thought of heretofore?
The truth is that I need a hunk
To squire me and share my bunk,
Not some crummy common punk who tromps upon the floor,
Then vanishes from sight before --"
And then a crash rang out once more.

My heart in mouth, I torqued the knob
And thrust it straight into the slob,
Praying 'twas the suntanned Bob, who hung out at the shore.
But then I saw a horse instead,
With rolling eyes and gallant head,
A prancing, snorting horse, well-bred, and noble to the core.
My pulse ran fast with rush and roar,
Strong tide upon my heart's far shore.

The creature's hide, as smooth and svelte
As the antelope's on the sunny veldt,
Compelled my tender heart to melt (not literally--no gore);
The velvet nose, the leather halter,
The way he rocked me like Gibraltar...
I was the offering, he the altar--not a notion I'd ignore.
I yearned to be more trim, vivacious,
Stunning, tough, yet dainty, gracious.
I yearned for lips more full, salacious. I'd yearned for them before.
Oh, the dollars I'd have given
To hear his tale, his way of livin',
To what great lengths his life was driven, the vistas he'd explored.
Was this the mount of a lean vaquero,
Lost in a game of tavern faro?
Was he friends with Clarence Darrow? I pondered this, and more.
Or was he chummy with the devil,
Hellish spawn of ghastly revel,
Thrown by Lucifer up a level to visit my front door?
"In what fine things," I bravely babbled,
"Have you set your hooves to dabble?
Do you play word games--Boggle? Scrabble? I don't, any more--
The vowels tend to hurt my score,
And consonants? That V's a chore."

Pappy, in his aqua shorts,
Sang, "Come into my home, old sport!"
And gulped a half-gnawn saffron torte from Anton's Tart and Waffle Store.
With a haughty look of pride,
The horse clip-clopped and stepped inside,
And I felt like I nearly died, I felt such strong rapport.
The vibrant stallion struck a pose,
With upraised hoof and quivering nose,
As if he smelled a fragrant rose, rather than oven-grilled fillet of albacore.
He seemed all but immovable,
A statue unimprovable,
So unutterably Louvre-able, my inner birdies soared.
He shook his mane and hemmed a bit,
As solemn as a pig in shit,
Then lay his lovely bit upon the floor.
Hot tremors through my bloodstream tore
As he spoke these words--just these, no more:

"Neener-Neener wants his cream,"
He shrilly screamed,
"And I've been sent to see the cream is poured.
His lordship's nine lives give me ten times the chores--
Now go and pour some cream for him, Lenore!"

810

"Wasn't Expecting That" by Jamie Lawson

It was only a smile
But my heart it went wild
I wasn't expecting that
Just a delicate kiss
Anyone could've missed
I wasn't expecting that

Did I misread the sign?
Your hand slipped into mine
I wasn't expecting that
You spent the night in my bed
You woke up and you said
"Well, I wasn't expecting that!"

I thought love wasn't meant to last
I thought you were just passing through
If I ever get the nerve to ask
What did I get right to deserve somebody like you?
I wasn't expecting that

It was only a word
It was almost misheard
I wasn't expecting that
But it came without fear
A month turned into a year
I wasn't expecting that

I thought love wasn't meant to last
Honey, I thought you were just passing through
If I ever get the nerve to ask
What did I get right to deserve somebody like you?
I wasn't expecting that

Oh and isn't it strange
How a life can be changed
In the flicker of the sweetest smile
We were married in spring
You know I wouldn't change a thing
Without that innocent kiss
What a life I'd have missed

If you'd not took a chance
On a little romance
When I wasn't expecting that
Time doesn't take long
Three kids up and gone
I wasn't expecting that

When the nurses they came
Said "It's come back again"
I wasn't expecting that
Then you closed your eyes
You took my heart by surprise
I wasn't expecting that.

Two-Thousand-and-Fifteen - in review:

Hillary's e-mail lies,
Jets downed like flies,
I wasn't expecting that!
Pistorius not out free,
Charlie Sheen with HIV,
I wasn't expecting that!

Mourinho, he got fired,
Yet Jeremy Corbyn, he got hired,
I wasn't expecting that!
That savage, Kim Jong-un, not shot,
The Volkswagen engine plot,
I wasn't expecting that!

The twisted Bill Cosby rumours,
That meat may cause one tumours,
I wasn't expecting that!
That Camila woman...Batmanwhatsit?
To the White House...Kanye West plots it,
Yo! I wasn't expecting that!

With two-thousand-and-fifteen, almost ended,
Each day, indeed I thought,
Wasn't it a voyage of surprise?
It's tough, no denying, yet it taught me.
It astonished me throughout,
I guess it widened my misty eyes,
But I wasn't expecting that.

The tedious Phil Collins is back :-(
Bruce Jenner showing us his rack,
Why, I wasn't expecting that!
"The Donald" in that stupid wig,
Cameron "violated a dead pig"?
Oh, David! I was NOT expecting that!

The swivel-eyed Soviet theories,
That Kansas won a World Series,
No doubt we weren't expecting that!
Getting a new-type Snickers,
Young Miley wearing knickers!
Wow, no WAY was I expecting that!

Tyres melt on the Eurostar track,
Anguish in Paris, the autumn attack,
Good god, I was not expecting that.
Untold money...out Athens we bail,
Seeing Kim K *yet again* in the Mail,
EVERY DAY you'd expect that!