Poetics and Ruminations

Miss Pussy's Parlor Songs, Part 25

 

NATIONAL ENQUIRY

(To the tune of "Where Has My Little Dog Gone?")

 

Where, oh, where has my dear Pecker gone,

Where, oh where can he be,

With my tale cut short and his friendship quite long,

Where, oh where can he be?

 

Alas! I fear that my Pecker has flipped

And he's telling stories on me!

My ass is dragging and his tongue has slipped --

Alas and alack! Woe is me!

 

Where, oh, where has my old Pecker gone,

Where, oh where can he be?

My tale's is unsaved and his safe was quite strong,

Who knows where my sad tale may be?

 

 

R. I. P. JOHN MC CAIN

August 29, 1936 - August 25, 2018.

 

The senator of many terms

Must now become dessert for worms.

No war devoured his flesh or brain,

But his own cells ate John McCain.

 

 

FAREWELL TO DONALD TRUMP

 

Don't insult me, Donald, when I'm gone!

Buddy, though our friendship was never on,

Why not try doing something right 

Now and then? Try hard, with all your might.

We're parting, you'll go your way, I'll go mine

I have just this to do

Give a little diss and hope it brings

Little luck to you.

I think it's kind of funny

How with all your money

Your friends are far snd few.

 

Don't insult me, Donald, when I'm gone 

Please don't talk about me, Donny, when I'm gone.

Though our friendship ceases, from now on,

If you can't say anything real nice,

Do not talk at all, is my advice.

We're parting, you'll go your way, I'll go mine.

I have just this to do:

Here's a little diss, I hope it dumps

Lots and lots of shit on you,

But makes no difference how I carry on

Please don't talk about me

Please don't talk about me

Please don't talk about me

Please don't talk about me

Please don't talk about me

Please don't talk about me, Donny,

And don't come to my funeral when I'm gone!

 

 

MONKEY BUSINESS

 

"My language may be kinda clunky,"

Says Ron DiSantis, "but you know,

Voting for Gillum would be to monkey

Up my nomination, so

 

"Vote for me for Governor

Of Florida, and don't go ape

Over this Black guy! I'm for Trump, 

So you're sure I'll never rape,

 

"'Cuz I can pay for prostitutes,

As my mentor always does,

Fot I'm a Navy lawyer, pal,

Not some Demo-Commie scuz

 

"Like Andy Gillum -- put him back

In the Tallahassee zoo

Where he belongs with simians,

Not on the streets with me and you."

 

 

DONALD TRUMP HOT

 

Donald Trump hot,

Donald Trump cold,

Donald Trump in a plot

With his gold.

 

Some like him hot,

Some like him cold,

Most like him in his plot

With his gold.

 

 

KAVANAUGH

 

What's Justice Ginsberg made of?

Sugar and spice

And everything nice --

That's what she is made of.

 

What is Judge Kavanaugh made of?

Slugs and snails 

And old lizard tails --

That's what he is made of.

 

 

ANNE OMINOUS

 

"She bravely grows euonymus

And signs her tripe 'Anonymous.'"

 

 

TOME

 

As Santa admonishes each elf,

"You have nothing to fear but 'FEAR' itself."

 

 

LITTLE JEFF SESSIONS

(To the tune of "Little Sir Echo.")

 

Little Jeff Sessions, find out who wrote

That op-ed piece! (What op-ed piece?) THAT op-ed piece!

Little Jeff Sessions, don't be a goat! 

(Won't be a goat) Don't be a goat!

Won't you ever do what I say? (I say!)

YOU say? (YOU say!)

You're a dumb Southern fellow

I know by your voice,

But you never will do as I say! (I say!)

 

Don't you dare to recuse yourself! (Recuse myself?)

Again! (Again?) Again! (Again?)

Or I will put you back on the shelf!

(The shelf?) YOUR shelf)

(MY shelf?) YOUR shelf. 

So you had better do what I say! (I say!)

You're a dumb Southern fellow

I know by your voice,

But you'd better do what I say!

Or else! (Or else?) OR ELSE!

 

From MISS PUSSY'S PARLOR SONGS by Claudette McFang.

Sent from my iPhone

Birthday of THE BOOK OF FORMS

Fifty (50) years ago, on 19 April 1968, I wrote in my journal, "The Book of Forms has arrived! It has the most incredible art nouveau cover." The Book of Forms: A Handbook of Poetics, first edition, by Lewis Turco, New York, NY: E. P. Dutton, 1968. Paperback original.

The New Book of Forms, A Handbook of Poetics (second edition of The Book of Forms), Hanover: University Press of New England, 1986 (www.UPNE.com),  ISBN 0874513804, cloth; 0874513812, paper.

The Book of Forms: A Handbook of Poetics, Third Edition, Hanover: University Press of New England, 2000. ISBN 1584650419, cloth; ISBN 1584650222, paper. A companion volume to The Book of Dialogue and The Book of Literary Terms. “The Poet’s Bible."

The Book of Forms: A Handbook of Poetics, Including Odd and Invented Forms, Revised and Expanded Edition by Lewis Putnam Turco, Hanover, NH: University Press of New England (www.UPNE.com) , 2012 • 384 pp. 3 illus. 5 x 7 1/2" Reference & Bibliography / Poetry 978-1-61168-035-5, paperback.

Companion volumes:

The Book of Literary Terms: The Genres of Fiction, Drama, Nonfiction, Literary Criticism, and Scholarship, Hanover: University Press of New England (www.UPNE.com), 1999. ISBN 0874519543, cloth; ISBN 0-874519-55-1, paper. A companion volume to The Book of Dialogue and The Book of Forms. A Choice  “Outstanding academic title” for 2000.

The Book of Dialogue: How to Write Effective Conversation in Fiction, Screenplays, Drama, and Poetry by Lewis Turco, Hanover: University Press of New England, (www.UPNE.com), 2004. ISBN 1-584653-61-2, paper. A companion volume to The Book of Forms and The Book of Literary Terms.

Miss Pussy's Parlor Songs, Part Fourteen

 

 

DONNY IN FIRST GRADE

 

I have a big eraser

In my puffy little hand,

I wish it was a phaser --

I think that would be grand!

 

I'd stand beside a blackboard

With her talky chalky writing,

And I would show my teacher

How, instead of fighting

 

With my meanie classmates,

I'd totally destroy them

With death-rays from my ray gun --

And then I'd chew some boy gum

 

And stick it on the chair-seat

Belonging to my teacher

So she would add it to her skirt

As a stylish teacher feature!

 

 

LOAFING

 

You Puerto Ricans who aren't dead, 

Here's a loaf or two of bread...,

Catch!

 

 

A CORKER

 

My pal's Bob Corker,

He's no New Yorker,

He beats up Donald Trump

And won't crack a smile.

He strips the White House bare,

Says it's "adult day care,"

He thinks The Donald's Forrest Gump.

 

 

IN RE PENCE

 

Let me say a word re Pence:

Perhaps he is a little dense,

But he won't straddle any fence.

When Donald Trump says, "Get thee hence --

If any of those linemen kneel,

Show everybody how you feel

About Our Flag. Make a big deal

And just walk out! We can repeal 

The First Amendment if we make

A monstrous fuss -- a piece of cake!

Tell NFL, 'Jump in the lake,

The news we're making isn't fake...,'

Well, not so much, in any case,

It's all about True Blue, not race

Or tossing goodies to our base

And putting liberals in their place.

Go forth, then, Michael! Common sense

Be damned! Our troops must be intense!

No Hero of the Folk repents!"

Saith Donald Trumpkin in re Pence.

 

 

IQ

 

You say that I’m a moron

And that I have no IQ?

OK, you’re in my cabinet,

But I no longer like you.

 

You may as well go home,

You’re dead at any rate,

I will not listen to you —

Screw the affairs of State.

 

 

THE LIARS CLUB

 

“‘I’m sorry that your husband’s dead,

But he knew what he signed up for.’

That’s what Trump told me,” the widow said.

“Fake news!” He hollered with a roar.

“She’s a liar! They all are!

All those people in that car!”

 

 

NEWS IN GENERAL

 

I am the very model of a modern four-star General,

Except that now I work for Trump I can say things political.

In my opinion Trump can spout things absolutely cynical

To widows of the Fallen -- he can even be quite whimsical

Because he has a sense of humor I would say is typical

Of one who has no common sense but loves to wax, well, critical

In circumstances other folk might understand were pitiful

And didn't call for filling up the Internet with phony news

Or tweets and comments caused by drinking vats and bathtubs full of booze.

 

My name is John F. Kelly, you don't tell four stars what they can do!

I'm Chief-of-Staff to Donald Trump, I'm second to a cockatoo --

I stand up on this dung heap to defend the Flag, Red, White and Blue!

I never sweat, disdain to pee, nor do I ever caca too,

But I stand here defending Trump and crying, "Cock-a-doodle-doo!"

 

From MISS PUSSY'S PARLOR SONGS by Claudette McFang

Miss Pussy's Parlor Songs, Part Twelve

 

 

 

THE OUTHOUSE TRUMP BUILT

 

This is the Outhouse Trump built.

 

This is the lump of egregious dump

That flopped in the Outhouse Trump built.

 

This is the beetle that loved to Tweetle

And roll the lump of egregious dump

That flopped in the Outhouse Trump built.

 

This is the Raven that ate up the Beetle

That rolled the lump of egregious dump

Out of the leakage from the sump

That seeped from the Outhouse Trump built.

 

This is the Mooch that threw up the douche

That drowned the Raven that ate the Beetle

That rolled out the lump of egregious dump

That sweltered and stank in the rusty old tank

That leaked from the Outhouse Trump built.

 

 

HELLO, GOODBYE!

 

Was Scaramucci scary,

Or was he merely moochy?

Alas! He wasn't wary

John Kelly was too touchy,

Considered him quite douchy,

Liked roast beef rare, not sushi,

So, soon as Scaramucci

Got rid of Prince Reince Priebus

And Trump hired two-gun Kelly,

The General said, "Leave us!"

And shot Mooch in the belly.

 

 

FIRE AND FURY

 

"Mark my words, make no more threats

Or you'll be met with fire and fury,"

The Trumpster said to Kim Jong-un,

"And I will be both judge and jury."

 

 

CHARLOTTESVILLE, AUGUST 12, 2017

 

"Hatred, bigotry and violence

Exist on many sides,

And lampshades can be fashioned

From many human hides."

 

 

A BAN ON BANNON

 

"I must abandon Bannon,"

The Trumpeter announced.

"There's now a ban on Bannon --

My best ol' bud is bounced

 

"Officially," declaimed

The Donald to the world.

"A new ass will be named

And, likely, will be hurled

 

"Out the White House door

Upon some new occasion.

Scrub old blood off the floor,

For soon a fresh invasion

 

"Of Nazis, Klansmen, Skinheads

Will be ushered in

To join the bunch of pinheads

And heartless men of tin

 

"I'm trying to amass.

Bannon was a pussy,

One solitary ass,

Always Kind of wussy.

 

"But now the nation's White House

Will be well and truly named --

We've no room for a mouse.

We ought to be ashamed

 

"We didn't lay a ban on

Bannon long ago!

Come on, jump on the wagon,

Turn hard right and let's go!"

 

 

TRUMPERY

 

There's such a word as "trumpery":

"Nonsensical talk or writing,"

But how to rhyme it? Humph(e)ry

Is close, but such inditing

 

Is just a bit too clumpery --

For my taste, anyway.

It sounds somewhat too frumpery,

A clumsy way to say,

 

"Go toss it in the dumpery

And let it rot to pieces,

To slimy bits of lumpery

As quick as Hell, bejesus!

 

"Or feed it to the pumpery

So it can liquefy

And be sucked up by sumpery,

Becoming good and dry."

 

I'm turning rather grumpery

Dealing with this matter!

Let's have less Forrest Gumpery,

Less nonsense and less natter!

 

 

THE ARPAIO SONG

 

"Arpai-o, Arpai-ai-ai-o

Pardon me, but I'm sendin' you home

Sheriff Arpa-ai-ai-io,

You can' do no wrong, so I'm sendin' you home

 

"Work all night while though I'm chewin' gum

(Pardon me but he's  goin' on home)

I pardoned the sheriff, the criminal bum

(Pardoned him and I let him go home)

 

"Come, Mr. Fake News mon, call me bananas

(Daylight come and he's goin' on home)

Come, Mr. Fake News mon, call me bananas

(Daylight come an' I let him go home)

 

"Arpai-o Arpai-ai-ai-o

(Daylight come and he wan' go home)

Day, he say day, he say day, he say day, he say day, he say day

(Daylight come and he wan' go home)

 

"A beautiful bunch a'ripe banana

(Daylight come and I let him go home)

Call me the deadly black tarantula

(Daylight come and he wan' go home)

 

"It's six foot, seven foot, eight foot, bunch!

(Daylight come and he wan' go home)

Six foot, seven foot, eight foot, bunch!

(Daylight come and he wan' go home)

 

"Hey, Arpai-o Arpai-ai-ai-o

(Daylight come and he wan' go home)

Day, he say day, he say day, he say day, he say day, he say day

(Daylight come and he wan' go home)"

 

 

From MISS PUSSY'S PARLOR SONGS by Claudette McFang.

 

 

 

 

 

--

 

Related articles

The Mooch was fooled by a fake Reince Priebus, and boy these emails are embarrassing

Before Trump fired Reince Priebus, the Chief of Staff seemed more like a court jester

Trump says Chief of Staff Kelly is 'doing a great job'

Miss Pussy's Parlor Songs, Part Ten

BUMP AND TRUMP

 

Philip Bump and Donald Trump

Fell together in the D.C. dump.

The Washington Post had Philip Bump

Write sad tales about President Trump.

Together they made udp quite a clump

Of gunk that resembled Forrest Gump

Suckling on an obstructed sump.

Donald just had to get over the hump

Caused by the Tweets he continued to pump

Out of his iPhone lump after lump,

But that will not be -- he'll fall on his rump

Which is not, alas! all that plump.

Farewell, farewell, President Trump!

Enjoy your slide, delight in the slump

Reported by Nemesis Philip Bump.

 

 

MY CABINET

 

"I don't want poor people

In my Cabinet,

I just want rich people

Who drink Cabernet."

 

 

BLEEDER

 

"That cow that works for 'Morning Joe,'

Mika, is the biggest bitch I know.

The fact that she knows how to bleed

Is more information than I need.

She likes to call me coward, bully,

So I will punch her in the pussy

To prove I'm stronger than her dad

Who died not long ago -- how sad!

I'm gonna go dance on his grave

To prove I'm big and broad and brave

And stronger than his puny daughter,

The cow I'm gonna love to slaughter."

 

 

TRUMP BE NIMBLE

 

Trump be nimble,

Trump be quick,

Wrestle the media

And make us sick.

 

 

SITTING IN

 

My name's Ivanka Trump.

I'm sitting in for daddy

With all the other leaders,

Like Tiger Woods's caddy.

 

Although I'm not elected,

Before you start to boo it,

Remember: anybody,

Just about, could do it.   

 

All I need do is listen --

I do not need to know it,

Whatever "it" may be.

My dad would surely blow it...,

 

He cannot keep his mouth shut

Although his brain is empty,

But saying something stupid

Doesn't even tempt me.

 

 

TRUMPOSITY

 

The art of the deal?

Learn to steal.

 

 

LULLABY

 

Tell-a-tell-a-tall-one,

Tell-a-tell-lie,

Tell-a-tell-a-tall-one,

Hush now, don't you cry.

Tell-a-tell-a-tall-one,

Tell-a-tell-lie,

Tell-a-tell-a-tall-one,

That's a Trumpish lullaby.

 

Up in New York City,

Many years ago,

His mother sang a song to him

In tones so soft and low --
Just a simple little ditty

In her good old frumpish way,

And he'd give a dime if he could hear

That song of hers today:

Tell-a-tell-a-tall-one,

Tell-a-tell-lie,

Tell-a-tell-a-tall-one,

Hush now, don't you cry.

Tell-a-tell-a-tall-one,

Tell-a-tell-lie,

Tell-a-tell-a-tall-one,

That's a Trumpish lullaby!

 

 

TWEETYBIRD

 

Donald Junior will be heard --

He's turned into a Tweety-Bird.

He's learned a lot from his third-rate

Father whom he used to hate

While he lived with his sweet Mommy,

Donald Senior's first divorcee.

He joined dear Daddy's strange campaign,

Met with Russians, did not disdain

To keep a record of whom he Tweeted

Until the enemy was defeated,

And now that Daddy's in the hotseat

Junior's shown us every Tweet,

Paved the road to incarceration

For the leader of our nation.

Thank you, Junior Tweetybird!

We used to think you were absurd!

 

From MISS PUSSY'S PARLOR SONGS by Claudette McFang.

 

Miss Pussy's Parlor Songs, Part Seven

 

PART SEVEN

 

THE WAR ON COAL

 

The War on Coal is over

With windmills in the air,

With solar panels on our roofs

And water everywhere!

 

The War on Coal is over,

It's back to shoveling stone,

Reviving radiation --

Cancer in the bone!

 

The War on Coal is over!

We're fracking "natural" gas,

With pipelines full of petroleum

And methane up the ass!

 

 

DO AS I SAY

 

"Do as I say, not as I do,"

Says Vladimir the Vamp

To Donald Trump, his favorite,

Most cuddly little scamp.

 

"You've violated every law

Agreed to by the nations!

If you don't quit it right away

I'll minimize your rations.

 

"What I've done in the Caucasus

And elsewhere is quite legal --

The Russian Bear can do such stuff,

But not the puny Eagle,

 

"So leave my pal Assad alone

To gas his folks in Syria!

Do nothing more to make him pay,

To make him loathe and fear ya!

 

"Or I will somehow make you do,

Not what I do, but say.

I'm Vlad Bear Chest as you must know --

I thought that you were gay!"

 

 

SPICER "THINKS"

 

That famous basher al-Assad

Is worse than Adolf Schickelgruber

Who never gassed his untervolk

When Deutschland was alles uber.

 

The Holocaust never occurred --

Auschwitz was a Nazi spa,

Apparently, where people went

When they were feeling kind of blah.

 

When one is born, then time begins,

And everything that came before

Does not exist, so Spicer thinks,

Thus it is easy to ignore.

 

 

THE BIGGEST BOMB

 

The biggest bomb in the modern world

Carries the onus of being hurled

By the biggest anus of the smallest lump

Of dust in the cosmos, Donald Trump.

 

 

ARMADA

 

" We're sending an armada

Full of deadly weapons

To threaten North Korea

With TNT and atoms.

 

"Our task force will arrive

Any day and assail ya,"

Donald Trump avers...,

"Wait! Now they're in Australia!

 

"I'm pretty sure I mentioned

To all my Navy buddies

That they should hit Korea,

Not play with fuddy-duddies

 

"Down-Under at their war games.

There's some misunderstanding

About what they're supposed to do,

Where their bombs should be landing!

 

"I guess I'll have to handle

This mess all by myself!

Hand down my water pistol

Lying on that shelf!"

 

 

ARSONIC

 

The CinC went on TV

To say Comey was fired.

Comey saw on TV news

That he'd been disenhired!

 

The President was very brave,

For he had been empowered

To hire and fire almost at will --

He was no sleazy coward

 

Hiding in the Oval Office

While on the other coast

Comey at a conference

Found he had lost his post --

 

Trump's email co-conspirator

When Hillary was running

Found out what gratitude's about:

Perfidy and cunning.

 

 

TRUMPELSTILTSKIN

 

Today I'll lie, tomorrow too,

The next I'll tell a whopper wild

Enough to match the things I do,

For Trumpelstiltskin I am styled!

 

MISS PUSSYCAT'S PARLOR SONGS, PART TWO: INAUGURATION SPECIAL

 

 

 PART TWO

 

Meow, meow, meow,

Whose puss art thou?

Not Donny Trump's puss,

Not ever and not now.

 

 

Trump is but a braggart baboon

Who tootles a bad jazz bassoon.

       The end of this story: 

       He'll go on to glory

Playing jazz in a hot air balloon.

 

If Donald could write poultry too

(In a Poulter's measure or two),

       Then he might invent 

       Rhymes with a scent

Quite nasty, as I like to do.

 

 

Twitter, twitter, twitter,

Trump needs a pussy sitter --

Twitter. twitter, tweet,

He thinks that would be sweet.

 

Flitter, flitter, prance,

Oh! How he loves a dance,

Flitter, flitter, flap,

If pussy's on his lap.

 

 

Humpty Trumpty sat on his wall.

Humpty Trumpty had a great fall.

All Congress' whores and all congressmen

Couldn't put Humpty together again

Although they tried with main and with might,

And every one of them was white.

 

 

Bye, Donny Trumpkin,

Daddy's gone a-huntin'

To get a little snake skin

To wrap the Donny Trumpkin in.

 

 

Cock-a-doodle-doo!

Poor Trumpkin has no clue:

He's lost his flabby fiddlestick

And can't tell what to do.

 

Cock-a-doodle-doo!

Niagara Falls are blue,

A lot like his Viagra pills,

Which serve him tried and true.

 

Cock-a-doodle-doo!

What is poor Don to do?

To find his sorry fiddlestick

He'll need Cialis too.

 

Cock-a-doodle-doo!

His dame has donned her shoe,

And he has found his fiddlestick,

Sing doodle-doodle-doo!

 

Cock-a-doodle-doo!

His dame will dance with you

While Donald fiddles with his stick

And makes it stand anew!

 

 

Remember old King Nero

Who worshipped Great God Zero?

Trump worships Zeros too -- 

He's collected quite a few.

He and his pussy minions

Like millions, but love billions

And are heading for sextillions.

 

 

If he could have, Dryden (1631-1700)

Would have gone into Haydn (1732-1809),

But Trump

Prefers the dump.

 

 

I love lots of pussy,

It makes me feel warm.

If I buy them diamonds

They'll do me no harm;

I'll just pat their tails,

Make sure they're not gay

Or cross-dressing males,

And then we can play.

They'll dance in my lap,

I'll feed them some food --

Good pecker, not pap --

Be maybe less rude.

I'll pat my sweet pussies,

And then they will purr,

Each showing thanks

For my kindness to her;

I'll not bite their knobs,

Nor tread on their paws

Lest I should provoke them

To use their sharp claws;

I'm sure that my pussies

Will not be displeased --

I will over-sex them

If they're not diseased.

 

 

Grump grump Donald Trump,

How I wonder why you pump

In the cellar with your sump

That sounds a lot like Forrest Gump.

 

 

Rub-a-dub-dub

Three Trumps in a tub,

And who do you think they be?

The Trumpet, the Strumpet, the lass who can hump it --

Waterboard them, all three!

 

 

Donny Douchekit's gone to sea, 

Silver buckles at his knee.

He'll come back and pee on me,

Pretty Donny Douchekit.

 

 

Hickory, dockery, dick,

Donnybrook tripped on his prick --

     He fell on his fly,

     And put out his eye --

Now, how did he pull off that trick?

 

 

KING TRUMPKIN'S WALL

 

Little King Trumpkin will build a fine wall,

The Mexican people will pay for it all.

The pales will be made of nothing but words,

The crossbars and slats, of batshit and turds.

 

"No, senor, no -- you pay for your fence

All by yourself, you spend your own Pence

Or pesos or euros...it's all your expense

And none of our own -- that's mucho nonsense.

People go over, go through, go around,

The cartels build highways deep underground.

The Great Wall of China was built to keep out

The nomads and Mongols -- you see them around

In Bejing and Hong Kong; they can be found

Everywhere these days, just like Hispanics

Who give Kinglet Trumpkin his asthma and panics.

So, no, senor, no -- you pay for your wall.

We Mexicans will not repay you at all."

 

Miss Pussy's Parlor Songs, Part One

Claudette McFang

 

MISS PUSSY'S PARLOR SONGS

Trumpty Dumpty sat on his wall.
Trumpty Dumpty had a great fall.
He climbed up his wall and fell down again
And again, and again, and again, and again.

Wee Donald Trumpkin runs through the town,


Peeing on the hookers in his nightgown,


Peering through the windows, crying through the locks,


"Are the johns all in their beds and turning on their cocks?"

I had a little nut tree --
Nothing would it bear
But a Donald Trumpkin
And some pubic hair.

The President of Russia
Hacked Hillary and me,
And all for the sake
Of my little nut tree.

Bumpity, bumpity, bump,
My name is Twittery Trump,
I eat out of pans and old tin cans
Because my mind is a dump, a dump,
Because my mind is a dump.

Bah! Bah! Donald,
   Have you any hair?
"Yes sir, yes sir --
   You had best beware,
For I have no master:
   I will maul any dame,
Because the mighty lion
   Has an orange mane."

An owl flew onto Donald's hair.
It bent and pecked his pate's scalp bare
So it would have space for a turd --
I wish I were that wise old bird.

Donald had a little ram,
It's fleece was black as ink,
And everywhere that Donald went
The ram was sure to slink.

It followed him to work one day
And caught Monica's scent.
From that point on that is the room
Where all their time was spent

Hornpipe Epithalamium

HORNPIPE EPITHALAMIUM

For World Oceans Day 2016

Listen to Lewis Turco read his poem, "Hornpipe Epithalamion"

 

The sea blows high and the wind blows cold,

       The Hornet sails out to sting.

We bellbottom boys are bully and bold,

Young at the moment but growing old,

And it's no damn good that I bought Jean a ring,

       I bought pretty Jean a ring.

 

The Gunner's Apprentice is cute as a pin,

       The Yeoman can really swing.

Those almond-eyed girls all know how to sin

To make your eyes swivel and your head spin —

But I had to go buy Jeannie a ring,

       A yellowish diamond ring.

 

Davy Jones flirts with the mermaids below.

       Down there where Neptune is king

The seacows come swimming along in a row

With nothing more on than a green weed bow

While the drowned sailors gather around in a ring

       And dance till the fathoms ring,

 

For each wooed a maiden of iron and steel,

       Then took her out for a fling.

She had a pert hull and a lovely keel,

But one day she just wouldn't answer her wheel —

I wonder if Jeannie's still wearing her ring,

       That beautiful bargain ring.

 

The wind blows cold, the sea blows high;

       I stand here trying to sing,

But the salt spray rises to spit in my eye

Till I'm ready to kill and fit to die

While Jeannie sits home and stares at her ring,

       For I gave sweet Jean my ring.

         

"Hornpipe Epithalamium" was originally published in Curses and Laments (by "Wesli Court," pseud.), Stevens Point: Song, 1978, and gathered in The Collected Lyrics of Lewis Turco / Wesli Court 1953-2004, Scottsdale, AZ: www.StarCloudPress.com, 2004, 460 pp., ISBN 1-932842-00-4, jacketed cloth; ISBN 1-932842-01-2, trade paperback, copyright ©, all rights reserved by Lewis Turco, may not be reproduced in any form anywhere without the written consent of the author. Also available from Amazon.com in a Kindle edition.

The Lament of Turco the Terrible

 Lewis Turco on his 82nd birthday, May 2, 2016

 Listen to Lewis Turco read his poem, "The Lament of Turko the Terrible":

 

"She heard old Royce sing in the pantomime of Turko the terrible

and laughed with others when he sang:

                    I am the boy

                    That can enjoy

                    Invisibility." — from Ulysses by James Joyce.

 

Some folk call me Turco,

Turko the terrible Turk.

James Joyce wrote about me

Through some fantastic quirk —

For he could not know of me,

Since I had not been born.

Still, he'd the sense to counsel

The ages and to warn

 

That I'd appear

To strain your ear

And hospitality:

I am the boy

That can enjoy

Invisibility.

 

I have been pantomiming

Now over eighty years,

Scribbling and inditing

So much you'd think the tears

Of editors and readers

Would swamp the Muses' boat.

But no, not even Turco

Can sink it — it will float

 

Down Moby's road

Despite my load

Of inability.

I am the boy

That can enjoy

Invisibility.

 

What's fine about my singing

Is not my crackling voice,

But that, though I go inkling,

The world still has its choice,

Like Royce, to miss or laugh at

The witless fogs I pen.

The stars, they go on spinning;

The Earth now and again

 

Churns as I sing,

And fall and spring

At things as they may be.

I am the boy

That can enjoy

Invisibility.

 

From The Collected Lyrics of Lewis Turco / Wesli Court 1953-2004, Scottsdale, AZ: www.StarCloudPress.com, 2004, 460 pp., ISBN 1-932842-00-4, jacketed cloth; ISBN 1-932842-01-2, trade paperback. Also available from Amazon.com in a Kindle edition.