by Julia Griffin
“Whale with harness could be Russian weapon, say Norwegian experts”
—The Guardian
Wouldst thou draw out Leviathan?
I’m sure, if thou wouldst try,
’Twould have some purpose higher than
To use him as a spy.
What proof of men’s bizarreness is
This domineering yen
To wrap a whale in harnesses
To peer at other men!
With so much more to threaten us—
The climate’s worse each day—
It seems a trifle cretinous
To spend our time this way;
But still we go safari-in’
Through snow and ice and hail,
And find a Mata Hari in
A sore Beluga whale.
by Bruce Bennett
“A new species of crab that scientists say is the ‘strangest crab that has ever lived’ has been discovered in Colombia and the United States.”
—CNN
Meet Callichimaera perplexa,
A fossil crab certain to vex a
Whole scientist team.
A fantasist’s dream!
What hubris to think one could sex a
Fantabulous creature like that!
A miracle, right off the bat.
Too bad it went missing.
Just think of them kissing!
But why don’t we leave it at that?
by Nora Jay
“Joe Biden tops Democratic field with $6.3 million haul on first day of 2020 bid”
—The Guardian
Progressives can’t abide poor Joe
Because of slips from long ago,
Yet he abides, ambitious still
Despite #MeToo and Dr. Hill.
A body has a right to bide
While lively breath remains inside;
Two slogans mark Joe’s patient climb:
Biden his Time. Biden: His Time.
by Ed Shacklee
Aretha Franklin, sounding unrehearsed,
once sang respect is given, not coerced;
but though a million radios dispersed
her urgent wisdom, eloquently versed,
beneath the beat the message was submersed.
Yet as we’d wish if roles had been reversed,
let’s give the hens respect for which they thirst
and pecks of praise, with cheering interspersed,
their kindnesses with kindness reimbursed.
Some cluck or shake their heads—their lips are pursed,
for pride’s the sour milk on which we’re nursed—
convinced that men are best when we’re the worst;
but on this day when broody chickens burst
with pride, we should, with eggs, admit: they’re first.
by Ed Shacklee
She killed her owner—a misnomer:
nor can you call her cage a home. Her
nature’s free, her aspect fierce.
Her head is blue. Her claws can pierce.
Her beak can rend, her outrage slay,
and plans will often gang aglay,
as Burns about a mouse might say.
How could a man, so old and frail,
outface a bird he kept in jail?
Though he did so to keep her safe,
how could she know; who would not chafe
to be so circumscribed and bounded?
Her kindly captor died, astounded,
within a park he’d named and founded
when, stumbling as he brought her rations,
she surpassed his expectations.
For he was kind, but she was prisoned:
though this was not what he envisioned,
she was amoral as the fairies,
and this dénouement seldom varies
when men grow fond of cassowaries.
by Catherine Chandler
King Donald tweets that he’s the Cheif,
though many, toiling in his feif-
dom know he’s just a lying theif.
O, may his crooked riegn be breif
(impeachment may provide releif)
but, should he win again . . . GOOD GREIF!!!
by Julia Griffin
“Donald Trump’s state visit to the UK set for 3 June”
—BBC News
Pity the Queen, whose royal post
Dictates which guests she has to host.
Despite a national campaign,
The Trumps will soon be here again
And who is going to suffer most?
We’ll have to hear him crow and boast;
She’ll hear him o’er the morning toast,
And never once will she complain.
Pity the Queen.
She has to smile and look engrossed
While Philip snorts some gruff riposte;
The protocol she must maintain
Forbids her to parade disdain
Like Mrs. Trump, that haughty ghost,
For this is what it means to reign.
Pity the Queen.
by Nora Jay
“Brunei defends death by stoning for gay sex in letter to EU …
In a four-page letter to MEPs, the kingdom’s mission to the EU called for ‘tolerance, respect and understanding’ with regard to the country’s desire to preserve its traditional values and ‘family lineage.’ … [The later states, in part:] ‘The penal sentences of hadd—stoning to death and amputation—imposed for offences of theft, robbery, adultery and sodomy, have extremely high evidentiary threshold, requiring no less than two or four men of high moral standing and piety as witnesses, to the exclusion of every form of circumstantial evidence.’”
—The Guardian
Please grant us some respect and understanding
For penalties which holiness condones
Like beating and beheading and behanding,
And pelting with divinely sanctioned stones.
It’s tolerance we’re asking, for such values
As whipping men who go around in frocks:
A means our wise defenders of morale use
To complement the showerings of rocks.
We only want our families protected
From sodomy, adultery, and theft;
We find, when robbers’ wrist bones are bisected,
They’re much more honest with the half that’s left.
Don’t fancy execution will come easy:
Four witnesses, male, pious, and unbent,
Must testify, though horrified and queasy,
To each depraved, disgusting incident;
With evidential threshholds for conviction
Established thus so dizzyingly high,
Let none (however sexually sick) shun
The luxury hotels of chaste Brunei.
by Ruth S. Baker
“’Anna Delvey,’ Fake Heiress who Swindled N.Y.’s Elite, is Found Guilty”
—The New York Times
She partied with the richest belles
(Her chutzpah was sublime),
Till, after buying so much else,
She could not buy more time.
by Julia Griffin
“Police seize ‘super obedient’ lookout parrot trained by Brazilian drug dealers. …
The bird joins a growing list of animals implicated in Brazil’s drug trade, although most have been reptiles.“
—The Guardian
A sinister psittacine skill
Developed in sunny Brazil
Is to let out a whoop
When the constables swoop
In pursuit of some criminal pill.
These parrots are heterodox,
And thinking outside of the box;
For the drug-pushers’ list
Is supposed to consist
Of carnivorous gators and crocs.
by Dan Campion
The Democrats now have a score
Who’d tangle with the Don.
They fear an internecine war,
Where allies fall upon
Each other, not the rival band.
They’re right to share those fears.
If open taps dilute the brand,
The Don gets four more years.
But in the other camp, the tents
Are haunted by defeat.
A specter stalks their occupants:
Some single fatal tweet.
by Edmund Conti
“Franklin Graham attacks Pete Buttigieg for being gay, says he should repent”
—ABC News
He thinks that Mayor Pete is a sinner
And what Trump does is none of our biz.
Says Franklin, “I’m riding a winner
And that is the way that it is.”
by Orel Protopopescu
Enraged by your mob never doing its job,
by the fools who refused to be tools?
Exult in the end, though not one is a friend,
few would do what you wanted them to.
by Julia Griffin
“The world’s rarest turtle has moved closer to extinction after a female died in a Chinese zoo, leaving just three known members of the species.
The Yangtze giant softshell turtle, believed to be more than 90 years old, died in Suzhou zoo on Saturday, according to the Suzhou Daily.
Its death came a day after staff at the facility attempted to artificially inseminate the animal using semen from a male more than 10 years her senior, the newspaper reported.”—The Guardian
One of our rarest, oldest turtles
Died in a Chinese zoo this week;
Thus yet another species hurtles
Into extinction, so to speak.
After some medical kerfuffle,
This one of four, this Turtle Royal,
Started a softshell softshoe shuffle
Issueless off this mortal coil.
Well may we all be sad and angsty,
Uttering vainly words like these:
“Why, Not-So-Youngster of the Yangtse,
Were you so very hard to please?”
Maybe a spiritual vocation
Made you determined to be chaste;
Maybe the word “insemination”
Struck you as in appalling taste;
Maybe; but I have also wondered
Why we should be surprised you thus
Spurned a co-parent of one hundred,
Being a sprightly ninety (plus).
—Los Angeles Times
by Frank Osen
“I want the right to say I’m FUCT,”
A clothier claimed; it went to SCOTUS,
Who promptly had the lawsuit chucked:
“Henceforth, that phrase belongs to POTUS.”
