by Robert Schechter
“I don’t envy the editors about to get an onslaught of . . . bees in eyes living on tears poems.”
—A.E. Stallings on Twitter
There’s a bee in my eye.
It makes me good money.
I bottle my teardrops
and sell them as honey.
There’s a bee in my eye.
My troubles are many.
My retina’s tickled
by twitching antennae.
There’s a bee in my eye.
There may be a dozen.
And that explains why
my cornea’s buzzin’.
There’s a bee in my eye.
If I had a scruple
I’d have them evict
the bee from my pupil.
There’s a bee in my eye,
and I say, “Doggone it!
This bee in my eye
is a bee in my bonnet!”
by Charlie Boyes
“One by one, the leaders of seven of the country’s largest banks told skeptical House Democrats on Wednesday that a decade after the global financial crisis, the industry is financially healthier and less risky.”—The Washington Post
Austere, banks collateralize debt ere
financial gurus hazard
immiseration. Jubilance keenly leveraged.
Money naturalizes. Oligarchs
profit, queue reserves.
Secure tranches.
Use values want. Xaipe.
Yen, zen.
by Bruce Bennett
The sidewalks fill with stranded worms
inveigled out by rain.
I cannot watch poor creatures die.
It’s rescue time again!
Yet I must watch how I proceed,
disguising my display
of care through surreptitious means,
lest I be put away.
by Julia Griffin
“Is Stephen Miller in charge?”—CNN
How do we judge between Mueller and Miller?
Miller is shriller and looks like a killer;
After the hopes, though, excited by Mueller,
Some are reporting that Mueller is crueller.
by Nora Jay
“Kirstjen Nielsen resigns as Trump homeland security secretary”
—The Guardian
We thought she was earning her wages:
Promoting the President’s views,
Disputing that kids were in cages
Despite what we saw on the news—
But Trump thought her bullying toothless,
And brushed her from office like fluff.
Take note: if you mean to be ruthless,
Make sure you are ruthless enough.
by Jerome Betts
If his chimes could once more ring
Might Big Ben boom out this spring,
“Brexit, Brexit, fume and fuss,
Has the UK missed the bus?”?
Umbrage, dudgeon, fits of ire,
Catcalls, verbal sniper fire
Stopped by chamber’s sudden leak … er …
More arresting than the Speaker!
Ask the hacks on College Green,
Will it end by Halloween?
Will May make it into May
As there’s yet a third delay?
Will the Tories come to grief
Over choosing a new chief
And, with MPs on vacation,
Who’ll step in to save the nation?
by Bruce McGuffin
In Spring to welcome back the sun
We have a little Easter fun:
Dye eggs; eat candy; rot our teeth;
Take down that old brown Christmas wreath.
by Catherine Chandler
“I hope they now go and take a look at the oranges . . . the oranges of the investigation.”
— Donald Trump (during a photo op with the Secretary General of NATO)
It might have started back in Spain—
Valencias by name—
or maybe in the Middle East
where Jaffas take the blame.
One might suspect the Chinese with
their Jingchengs, or a plan
by Vernas out of Mexico,
Hassakus from Japan.
Or was it all a homegrown plot—
a Florida Midsweet
or Sunstar or a Texas Joppa—
wouldn’t that be neat?
But no. The source of Mueller’s probe
(I wish that he were gone)
is sitting in the Oval Office:
Agent Orange Don!
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.
