by Dan Campion
“I just wanted to tell you that your songs never stuck in my throat.”
—Jerry Garcia to Robert Hunter, quoted in the latter’s New York Times obituary
We’re thankful, as their spirits soar
And wry last words evoke them,
One thing The Dead were Grateful for
Was songs that didn’t choke them.
by Julia Griffin
“To mark the release of the Downton Abbey film, the Earl and Countess of Carnarvon have posted their residence of Highclere Castle in Hampshire on the Airbnb booking website.”
—The Guardian
[Contains TV series spoilers]
Good But Not Great. The house was nice,
But not enough to do it twice.
The family was strange. The Earl
Seemed pleasant, and the youngest girl,
But Carson squirmed while serving food,
And Lady Mary acted rude.
Of course, we half expected that,
But not some Turkish diplomat
Finishing up in madam’s bed—
Not just embarrassing but dead.
Enough excitement, so you’d hope!
Then Lady Grantham slipped on soap.
As for old Lady G—the sneer
When Wayne (my husband) asked for beer!
And how she smirked when, over tea,
That nasty footman squeezed his knee!
Still, we liked Mrs. Isobel
(Not Downton class, though—you can tell)
And Mrs. Patmore did her best
With Bolonaise, at our request.
Were there some things we’d change? There were.
We found him pushy, their chauffeur:
He outright whizzed us down that drive!
Overall rating: 3.5.
by Jerome Betts
(David Cameron’s recently published
memoirs use such expressions as “foam-
flecked Faragist,” “bilious,” and “cauldron
of toxicity” in describing his opponents.)
That’s more than just a well-slapped wrist—
Gove as a “foam-flecked Faragist.”
B. Johnson too is booed and hissed
With “Bilious” Cummings, on the list
Of those that Cameron’s now dissed.
The backs they’ve stabbed! The arses kissed!
A country led towards a tryst
With Trump the tweeting egotist!
May polls provide a purging twist—
No toxic Tory will be missed!
by Dan Campion
“Pennsylvanians Combat an Invasion with Their Feet …
‘Kill it!’ a state website blares by way of advice to residents who encounter the [lanternflies].
‘Squash it, smash it … just get rid of it.’”
—The New York Times
Beset by spotted lanternflies
Endowed with no appeal,
The Keystone State’s defense applies
Firm toe tip, instep, heel,
And, at the fatal crunch, relies
On tempered nerves of steel.
by Julia Griffin
“When Milton met Shakespeare: poet’s notes on Bard appear to have been found
Scott-Warren … [points out] the work the annotator did to improve the text of the folio—suggesting corrections and supplying additional material such as the prologue to Romeo and Juliet … ‘The book is absolutely covered with lines in the margin of passages …’ [said Scott-Warren:] ‘they echo with [Milton’s] work …’
One highlighted section in The Tempest is the song: “Come unto these yellow sands, / And then take hands: … [which] is echoed in Milton’s ‘On the Morning of Christ’s Nativity.'”
—The Guardian
Two houses both alike in dignity
—Added, J. Milton, 1623.
Mark, Give him heedful note. Append, “I do.”
Query, The text is foolish. Score it through.
Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow.
Ring first word. Query: add “new pastures”—borrow?
I have nothing with these words. They are not mine.
Annotate, query, dog-ear, underline.
Why, man, he doth bestride the narrow world
Like a Colossus. Now the page is curled.
Note: envy not. O that way madness lies.
Add: “solitary way”? A prize! A prize!
Mark, copy. Come unto these yellow sands,
And then take hands. Mark that. And then take hands.
by Dan Campion
“I read a lot of poetry, and that gives me a wide range of permission to say anything in a song—they’re more twisted than I’ll ever be.”
—the late Ric Ocasek of The Cars, quoted in The New York Times
I hear a lot of pop and rock,
And that gives me a range
Of things that spout and twist and shock
(De Sade might find them strange)
To choose from in my poetry,
If I’d a mind to say them.
But I’m content to leave them be
And let the DJs play them.
by James Hamby
Trump: “This wall is so amazing!
No person can confound it!
Its features beat back any foe—
Unless they walk around it.”
by Barbara Loots
“An Indian woman who gave birth to twin girls is believed to be
the oldest person to ever give birth after having the babies
at the age of 73.”—UPI
I’ve cuddled ’em, Auntied ’em
gifted and kissed ’em.
But birthed ’em? Not ever.
And I haven’t missed ’em.
In 2019, I’ll hit 73
with never a yearning,
and motherhood-free.
So Darwin et al
please accept my apologies:
the best of me’s left in
assorted anthologies.
by Julia Griffin
Last month in Texas, twenty-nine
Were shot, but Wayne LaPierre is fine.
To NOAA’s shock, the stormy weather
Missed Alabama altogether.
There’s H2O quite plastic-free
On planet K2-18B. …
Although some news may foster gloom
(The Irish Backstop, algae bloom),
If due attention is applied,
There always is a brighter side:
The Amazon is turning molten;
Still, Donald Trump has sacked John Bolton.
by Nora Jay
“A French company has been found liable for the death of an employee who had a cardiac arrest while having sex with a stranger on a business trip. … The man, named as Xavier X, was working as an engineer for TSO, a railway services company based near Paris.
He died at a hotel during a trip to central France in 2013, as a result of what the employer called ‘an extramarital relationship with a perfect stranger’.
The company challenged a decision by the state health insurance provider to regard the death as a workplace accident.
The provider defended its position by insisting that sexual activity was normal, ‘like taking a shower or a meal’.
In its ruling, the Paris appeals court upheld this view.”
—BBC
An engineer named Xavier (known widely as XX)
Was finished by a heart-attack, confounding top execs;
He died upon a business trip, while busy (one might say);
And so his health insurers thought his company should pay.
The company objected (with regrets about his heart)
That in that piece of business his employers had no part;
“’Twas normal!” the insurers urged, “so compensation’s due;”
And France’s top judiciary upheld this point of view:
It was a workplace accident that claimed your employee:
He accidentally succumbed to life’s normality,
And workplace liability applies to normal dangers,
Like taking showers and eating meals and having sex with strangers.
by Mark Granier
Pence
was seen to become tense
on hearing Trump pronounce
him “Pounce.”
by Ruth S. Baker
“‘Ding, dong, it’s time’: dancing tarantulas emerge in droves to mate in western US”
—The Guardian
He shuffles, he shimmies, he kicks with each leg
To render true tribute, and also to beg:
For this is the season when arthropods all
Respond to the ardor of Venus’s call,
And every arachnid who thinks he’s a man
Must dance for the ladies and catch as catch can.
In truth, though, the female’s a cultureless lump.
She’ll yawn and chew flies at the artfulest jump,
As if to say “Really?” or even “Yeah, right.”
But if a staunch suitor can muster his might
And conquer her crudeness and absence of class,
He may be successful, and then—O alas …
How loathsome’s the lot of the gentleman spider:
To mate with a savage, and end up inside ’er.
by Dan Campion
“Asteroid that wiped out dinosaurs had power of 10 billion atomic bombs: study”
—New York Post
You probably could kill the dinosaurs
With just 9 billions’ worth of kilotons.
Our overzealous cosmos never bores:
So many frogs’ eggs, grains of sand, moons, suns—
A plethora of pistils, stamens, spores!
And wayward rocks routine as misplaced guns.
by Nora Jay
“When I got my hands on a precious copy of Margaret Atwood’s The Testaments a couple of days ago I was surprised by the almost physical hunger I felt to step back into Gilead.”
—The Guardian
Is there a balm in Gilead?
I doubt that that’s the goal:
Each little bleak and chilly ad
Shows balm’s gone far AWOL.
If you can preach like Margaret,
If you out-pray #MeToo,
You are this novel’s targ(r)et;
It’s written just for you:
Handmaids should not be frilly, add:
That’s not their rightful role;
Gloom is the game in Gilead.
Just ask a Hulu poll.
by Jerome Betts
“The spears in my back won’t be from you,
they’ll come from the Spartans.”
—Boris Johnson to pro-EU Tories
Among those Spartans on the books,
Your fellow-chancers, Great Proroguer,
Beware of lean and hungry looks
And keep in mind that blood-stained toga.