Poems of the Week

Up The Spout

by Iris Herriot

“Archaeologists identify 3,200-year-old temple mural of spider god in Peru
Mural discovered last year is thought to depict a zoomorphic, knife-wielding spider god associated with rain and fertility”
The Guardian

To what would I give a berth wider
Than a deified Andean spider?
A spider, of limitless life,
With a paleolithical knife.

The Mercenary

by Bob McKenty

The mercenary wears the uniform
Of whosoever pays the highest wage,
Enrolled by states in which he wasn’t born
To fight against whomever they’d engage.
The enemies are mercenaries too,
Responding unto Filthy Lucre’s call.
Their wars are short. Fatalities are few.
So let’s renew hostilities: Play ball!

In His Footsteps

by Julia Griffin

“Ben Kirby’s PreachersNSneakers took off when he posted the enormous price tags of the fashion worn by prominent clergy”
The Guardian

It was a wonder none could guess,
The footwear of the ministry
Exalted with expensiveness
And odorous with sanctity.

It’s surely worth a post, or tweet,
If not a tribute from the Muse:
How beautiful they are, the feet
Of preachers clad in Jimmy Choos!

Luck Of The Irish

by Mike Mesterton-Gibbons

“Irish punter wins a sensational €578k off a €20 bet at Cheltenham Festival”
The Irish Post

Long odds of 1 to more than 20K
Unsealed an Irish wallet for a punt.
Clairvoyance made its twenty euros pay
King’s-ransom-size returns from National Hunt!
Outsiders ask: How were four horse names picked
Full three months in advance to win four-fold?
The odds were huge at least one horse got licked—
How could the punter know they’d all strike gold? …
Experienced horse whisperers’ loose lips
Inform me that when leprechauns get caught,
Release should be exchanged for racing tips—
It irks them when their precious gold is sought! …
So I believe a bargain wisely struck
Has brought this punter classic Irish luck!

Spring

by Nicole Caruso Garcia

Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May.
Send Benadryl and Sudafed my way.

A Rebirth Day

by Steve Bremner

(with apologies to Christina Rossetti)

My heart was like a singing bird
Whose nest was looking sort of shabby;
My heart was like an apple-tree
Whose fruit was growing kind of crabby;
My heart was like a dull crustacean
That drifts in dark but wineless sea;
My heart now pops a palpitation:
My fourteen hundred‘s come to me.

Fill me a purse with cash and cards
And aim me at those old oases
Of humble bare necessities:
Kohl’s, Neiman Marcus, Saks, and Macy’s.
I need you not, usurious lender,
I’m stimulated for a spree;
For the rebirth of this spender
Is come, my check is come to me.

X-Rated X-Stitch

by Chris O’Carroll

“It is our policy not to sell products with the ‘F’ word…”
—Michaels corporate HQ, quoted in The New York Times, explaining the craft store chain’s
decision to trash all its copies of the book Feminist Cross-Stitch

The patterns in this book play dirty tricks,
E.g., spell “Patriarchy Is for Dicks,”

“Feminist as Fuck,” and “Fuck Politeness,”
Wounding our manhood and our moral rightness,

Needling us with naughty-word cross-stitches.
Feminists can be such crafty bitches.

Finagling

by Ruth S. Baker

“A Guardian Seascape analysis of 44 recent studies of more than 9,000 seafood samples from restaurants,
fishmongers and supermarkets in more than 30 countries …, expos[ed] seafood fraud on a vast global scale.”
The Guardian

Round the world the rumour hums:
Something fishy this way comes!
Edible but deeply odd:
Plaice displaced, fake hake, cod cod.
Diners find them quite delicious,
All these meretricious fishes;
Still, the thought must make one quail:
Seafraud on a global scale.

M.E. Too

by Alex Steelsmith

“Kirsten Gillibrand and the majority of House Democrats from New York… on Friday called on Gov. Andrew Cuomo to resign.”
NBC News

“Cuomo’s scandals are related: Instead of protecting seniors and women, he promoted himself.”
Newsweek

Biggledy-wiggledy
Kirsten E. Gillibrand
calls on the Governor:
“Fall on your sword.”

Cuomo, who swears he acts
un-narcissistically,
cries, “But they gave me an
M.E. award!”

Taking the Mask to Task

by Claudia Gary

“Republican senator from Kentucky Rand Paul challenged Dr. Fauci on why Americans should wear
masks after being vaccinated…”

—CNN

When Fauci cites the variants,
Paul’s argument grows thin.
That’s why Corona wishes Paul
would keep on butting in.

Ode On a Norwegian Lundehund

by Martin Kohn

“The rarest breed is the Norwegian lundehund. The modest-sized, nimble dogs might be little-
known in the U.S. but have intriguing distinctions, including six-toed feet, unusual flexibility,
climbing acumen and a history of hunting puffins.”
Associated Press

Consider now the lundehund
Known mainly to the undergrund.
On taxonomic charts it sits
In spitting distance of the spitz.
Before the age of Egg McMuffins
Ancient Nordics dined on puffins.
Said bird, a most elusive creature,
Lives on rocky crags that feature
Stony caves and promontories
Where ’hund, in sagas, songs and stories,
Draws praises as a perfect 10
For its puffin-hunting acumen.
But, Fargo to the Rio Grunde,
There are no puffins to be fund.
Though pugs and poodles may abund
You’ll rarely see a lundehund.

Take Care in Delaware

by Dan Campion

“Biden says his dog, Major, is working with a trainer in Delaware following biting incident”
CNN

Let’s hope the trainer works with Major—
Not the other way around—
As “working” for a pooch means “Savor
Each sight, smell, touch, bite, and sound!”

All Flesh is Grass™

by Julia Griffin

“Nebraska declares pro-meat day to rival Colorado’s meatless day”
BBC News

Those bogus terms the vegans use to cheat
Consumers into thinking they’ve got meat—
Nutroasts, soyburgers, and their dismal ilk
(Not counting all that oatish pseudo-milk)—
Let’s try adapting, rather than objecting,
And slip in flesh when nobody’s suspecting.
Some words need nothing but inversion—quick,
Let’s make tagine with nutritive peaschick;
Some take imagination: try our beefu,
Or hammous, or our quite deceiving seafu.
Just watch those vegan logophiles convulse:
You fancy pulse? Eat something with a pulse!
Then wash the whole thing down, my bloodless dears,
With lots of sanguinous lambrusco. Cheers!