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Showing posts from October, 2017

A Halloween Villanelle

In Year One of the Churlish Boor (Parthian calendar), we received these lines from an old folks home. For the Day of the Dead, we thought they carry a weight of nostalgia for our moribund Constitution.



As settling ash congests a ruffled feather, Or weeping amber clogs the pages of a book– Our minds were sealed. They did not fit together.
Debating points perturbed our mental weather, We thundered and trolled; fingers waved and shook– As mental ash infests our self-awarded feather
We strain to break our adolescent tether, Romantic lust to keep a habit, a certain look.  Our minds were sealed. They did not fit together.
Our battle was a free-for-all, hell for leather, We fought to keep an innocence maturity forsook, As settling ash congests a ruffled feather.
Our contention turned on when and whether; We fled the haunting of a long-forgotten spook.  Our minds were sealed. They did not fit together.
At last serene, our elbows patched in shiny leather, We reconcile and marvel at the decades that it took– As …

A Lame Limerick

A reader from the wild west wrote to complain about all the Clerihews.  He said that ratio of Limericks to Clerihews should never fall below 3:1, L:C. And keep all of them them clean enough for our grandchildren to read. 






A dissolute lass in Dun Laoghaire Dwelt in a structure of Gehre. From her bedroom and den She had views of the fen, But her privy fronted a quarry?
                                         – Query!

Critical Clerihew collection

The following scraps turned up on a neighbor's curb, shortly after the trash trucks rushed down the street. Not worth the paper, perhaps, but preservable as digits perturbing cyberspace. Literary MemorialsDaphne du Maurier:
Her horrors forever grew hoarier. Of villains you’ll find few flawier: Whose tales could truly be sorrier?
W. Somerset Maugham: That Paragon of prim aplomb– See his outgabe ‘grafs get mome: His memory deserves a psalm!

Hijacked Heuristics: Trumpism and Social Media

A robust gag reflex has kept the Arrow away from his keyboard until recently. He had become weary of the sparse facts and copious coverage of Russian interference with the tragic election of 2016. At the same time, he realized how much the so-called social media were interfering with his social and intellectual life. For example, where he once kept a set of bookmarks that he used to log in to subscriptions or other sites, he suddenly encountered screens inviting him to log in using Facebook, or Google, with no other click available. Where once he relied upon a dutiful spouse or his  own fallible memory to remind him of birthdays or other anniversrkes, he now finds a reliable but officious algorithm of Zuckerberg offering a gentle nag about sending a pro forma happy thought or congratulation (since he was using Facebook to keep watch over family and friends anyhow). Insidiously, a commercial robot was providing him with useful nags, innocuous gossip– and a sense of trustful intimacy wi…