by Nora Jay
Refusing physicians’ routines
Is what Christianity means.
Don’t think I’m litigious:
I’m only religious,
And God disapproves of vaccines.
Your science is godless and vague:
It’s time to rethink and renege;
Meanwhile I will fight
For my God-given right
To the measles, the mumps, and the plague.
by Julia Griffin
“An ancient four-legged whale with hooves has been discovered, providing new insights into how the ancestors of the Earth’s largest mammals made the transition from land to sea.”
—The Guardian
A fossil’s come to land with grooves,
Indicative of tiny hooves,
Which, as it seems, evolved to grow
Upon each light fantastic toe.
This leggy creature, we may guess,
Was not a natural success;
It found its landed prospects dim,
And so, in time, it learned to swim,
Began to float, enlarged its scale,
Inflated and became a whale.
Encoded in such bones we see
The also-rans of history;
Behold a tale which has no proof
Except a lonely little hoof
From Moby Dick’s ancestral kind,
Anonymously left behind.
by Brian Allgar
I’m totally exonerated—wow!
You’re telling me that Mueller says I’m not?
It’s just a typo; Mueller’s not so hot
At writing. What he meant was now.
by Nora Jay
“White House adviser Kellyanne Conway clearly is tired of having to answer questions about her husband George Conway’s criticisms of her boss, President Donald Trump.”
—USA Today
George v. Don and Don v. George
Stick in George’s spouse’s gorge.
Which is dearer, Kellyanne:
Con+way or Con+man?
by Ruth S. Baker
“Naked Swedish police officer apprehends fugitive while visiting sauna”
—The Guardian
In a hunt for larger fauna,
Hunters choose protective dress
But when working in a sauna,
We believe that more is less.
Trails get hotter, trails get colder:
Steaming cops still stalk and prowl;
When we tap you on the shoulder,
You had best throw in the towel.
by Julia Griffin
Though Theresa’s sometimes reckless,
She can surely choose a necklace.
Want to load her with reproaches?
Gaze a while upon her brooches!
Never have the nation’s jeerings
Stopped her airings of her earrings;
Though we’re sick of Brexit’s foolery,
I for one will miss that jewelery.
by Ruth S. Baker
“A well-preserved frescoed ‘fast food’ counter is among the latest discoveries unearthed by archaeologists in the ancient Roman city of Pompeii. The 150 or so thermopolia, or snack bars, dotted across the city were mostly used by the poorer residents, who rarely had cooking facilities in their home, to grab a snack or drink. Typical menus included coarse bread with salty fish, baked cheese, lentils and spicy wine.”
—The Guardian
The busy paupers of Pompeii
Frequent the snack bars every deii
And grab some salty fish and lentils
To gulp in their unfurnished rentils.
Forget the beauty of the frescoes:
Bereft of Walmarts and of Tescoes,
They’d eat, without the thermopolia,
Probably worse and surely slolia.
by Nora Jay
“First All-Female Spacewalk Canceled Because NASA Doesn’t Have Two Suits That Fit …
The two astronauts who were scheduled to walk together in space on Friday, Anne C. McClain and Christina H. Koch, would both need to wear a medium-size torso component. But only one is readily available at the International Space Station.”
—The New York Times
Out on a limb in empowering women,
Poor NASA acknowledged themselves in a fix:
This was a spacewalk, it wasn’t a catwalk,
And sadly they hadn’t two suits in a 6.
Clothing compliance is not rocket science:
No need to design for an alien race;
Girls need their torso, like boys (slightly more so):
Don’t let it be said they’re not suited for Space.
by Julia Griffin
“The illusionist Uri Geller has called on the British people to help him in his efforts to telepathically stop Brexit by sending their own telepathic messages to Theresa May’s mind, compelling her to revoke article 50.”
—The Guardian
Though Britain’s head’s beleaguered head
Is fraught with loony tunes,
It soon may entertain instead
The lord of bending spoons:
Inside Theresa’s bludgeoned mind,
That dark and groaning cellar,
She’s scheduled presently to find
The words of Uri Geller,
A means of contact (not a joke
And not remotely shifty)
Which will compel her to revoke
The clause that’s numbered 50.
He also plans to visualize
A second referendum
(If any spoons confront his eyes,
It’s possible he’ll bend ’em.)
The British, he goes on to urge,
Should join him in his labors
And telepathically converge
With all their friends and neighbors
To offer Mrs. May a boon:
A message, not in cipher;
If this should come with hints of spoon,
At least a spoon won’t knife her.
by James Hamby
Our prez is greatly outraged
That Jussie’s off the hook:
“He clearly made this whole thing up;
We need a closer look!
“He’s guilty of some heinous crimes,
Although they’ve been dismissed.
He whines that it was all unfair—
Who does a thing like this?!”
by Chris O’Carroll
“Mel B Says She And Fellow Spice Girl Geri Halliwell Had Sex”
—HuffPost
Of course she’d kiss and tell with a pop-chart star.
Conquests like that, you flaunt them.
Now we know just how sexy the Spice Girls are—
Even the Spice Girls want them.
by Ruth S. Baker
“A British Airways plane scheduled to travel from London for Düsseldorf mistakenly flew its passengers to Edinburgh instead. …
After two and a half hours on the tarmac at Edinburgh airport, the refuelled passenger jet … took off again for Düsseldorf.”
—The Guardian
At least they were not müscled orf,
Those passengers for Düsseldorf;
But O what rage and dread incurgh
The crew that flew to Edinburgh?
Although a stern and awful füss
Reversed the flight to Dorfeldüss;
The airline’s image, once mercurghial,
Has yielded to an Edinburghial.
by Julia Griffin
“As the appointed hour to end the meeting came and went, May was left kicking her heels as EU27 leaders sought to find a compromise, over a dinner of green lentils and langoustine terrine, roast duckling à l’orange and a desert [sic] of chocolate variations.”—The Guardian
Deserted by the proud UK,
The broken ring of nations
Now take their solitary way
Through Chocolate Variations.
O what a long and lonely trudge
Confronts them, stalled and slowed:
Plain Bitter Dark, and Nutty Fudge,
And endless Rocky Road.
by Jerome Betts
“UK’s top toilet roll suppliers stockpiling
in case of no-deal Brexit”—The Guardian
The US is, it seems today,
Awash with tweeted Trumpf,
But Britain, Brexit-racked by May,
Just fills the shelves with bumf.
by Bruce McGuffin
“Two Stanford students filed a class action Wednesday in Federal court … [They] allege that, in light of the admission of students who paid bribes to secure their slots, the universities are liable under California state law for false representations about the fairness and reliability of their admissions processes…”—Reuters
Some colleges turn out to have a side door
to go through if you pay a coach a fee.
So angry Stanford students brought a lawsuit.
Those poor kids could have gone to USC.