Humor

  I am a cardboard cutout. I sit here in the stands. I do not think. I do not blink. I do not clap my hands. You are a cardboard cutout. You sit there next to me. You do not cheer. You have no fear Of unreality. We are the...

  'I Shall A Mighty Hunter Be!' “I shall a mighty hunter be, The King of Kills, by God’s decree! Savannahs always guarantee a vantage camouflaging me. I’ll lie in wait with sharpened claws … until her keys unlock our doors! My human’s finished many chores, including patronizing stores for...

  The Angels’ Share Oh many a peer of England brews Livelier liquor than the Muse, And malt does more than Milton can To justify God’s ways to man. — A.E. Housman When whisky’s aged in oaken casks, some ullage Should be expected, for it’s only fair That higher beings...

  Editing with the OED for Rita Bornstein __Like a mental abattoir, the OED, With brumous exactitude, looms over me As my blue pen prunes my cachaemic prose, Decorticating glut in orderly rows. Excessive eikonology, they say, May work for those who love facetiae And frilly essays built of guipure...

  Abracadabra The written word is magical And not just something clerical. You scratch some marks into the sand; I see the marks and understand What you are thinking in your head Without a single word being said. Like channeling or ESP The thought goes straight from you to me....

  My marriage failed (they always do.) Emotionally unequipped To work things out without a script, We didn’t try to talk it through. What do I pay that therapist for? You can’t see what emotions mean Until you get them on the screen. We left them on the studio floor....

  When the wokest of folk virtually convoke In a year of elections and riots and fear, Uncle Joe from the basement the Nanny will stoke. He’ll invoke Ms. Kamala as newscasts evoke, “She’s a centrist!” to mask a career racketeer When the wokest of folk virtually convoke. Will Kamala...

  Madcapfesto We’ll unlock prison gates and let the inmates saunter out. We’ll tear down wall and rule; we’ll sponsor every lug and lout. We’ll overlook drug smuggling and the trafficking of sex. We’ll hike up workers’ taxes to increase the welfare checks. Equality. Equality. We’re proud to make that...

by Joseph S. Salemi The poetic effusions of some people are so incompetent that they cross the line into unexpected humor, and thereby become valuable. Such is the case with the work of William Topaz McGonagall (1825-1902), whose poetry has been kept in print long since his demise—first, as a...

  Hero of Her Heart On February 9, 2007 Sgt. James J. Regan of the 3rd Battalion 75th U.S. Ranger Regiment was killed on active service in Iraq. Some time after the funeral, Sgt. Regan's fiancee Mary McHugh visited his grave in the Arlington National Cemetery where he was buried...

All poems by Bruce Dale Wise The Prisoners in Manacles by Lu “Reed ABCs” Wei The prisoners in manacles in western China were just on a day out, stated the Chinese ambassador. The picture shows the people kneeling, shaven, wearing blinds. They’re being led to trains by guards—to trains—relaxing binds....

  Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, by Joseph Lange (1783? / 1789?); as viewed by a Philistine Consider Lange’s well-known portrait Of his in-law, a composer: It’s good, we see, but it requires A scrutiny that’s closer. This fellow couldn’t get a job, Or keep one if he got it. Was he...

  Rueing Tattoos When young she was drawn to that skin-art taboo of embellishing flesh with a tattoo or two. Now time’s marching on and gravity’s struck, her sweet chickadee is akin to a duck. And that spry butterfly, as blue as the sky, that graced blissful space at the...

Golden Gloves My father fought in Golden Gloves. Back then The ring was where you slugged your way to hopes. It was no place for fey, aesthetic men— There’s no nuance on canvas, or the ropes. I asked him, Dad, what does it mean to lace Into someone? He smiled,...

  How Monkeys Came to Be adapted from a Palestinian folktale Monkeys and people once were one. For monkeys had from Adam come. As Adam's sons in every way, Those monkeys looked like us today. Yet by mere happenstance was fated That monkeys from us deviated. A woman once in...

  The Gardener at War Throughout our lives we hustle and we slave __To turn our gardens into magic places __Where beauty at its pinnacle erases Our darkest intimations of the grave; But what mundane reward would ever save __Us from the unavoidable disgraces __Of having fought entire non-human races...

  With Sorrow Do I Leave It is with sadness that I write to tell you that I am resigning from The New York Times. ---Bari Weiss, opinion writer, 13 July 2020 With sorrow do I leave The New York Times. To vitiate your journalistic crimes, You brought me here...

  Lockdown Leisure with apologies to W.H. Davies In lockdown life, should I but dare To take more time to stand and stare?--- More time to stand six feet away And gaze upon our world today: More time to gasp (while in a mask) At questions news show hosts don’t...

Your Smart Device a rondeau Your smart device was strange and new; It learned your voice and habits too; It played the songs you liked to hear; It answered your requests with cheer, And spat out facts without ado. You didn’t know what would ensue: You need it now and...

  Editor’s Note: This poem was originally found in The Pebbles and Shells: A Book of Verses ,1909, edited by Donald Fraser. Another version was published in The Good Humor Book, by Robert Rango, 1944. Edited by Beverly Stock Said little Johnnie to the Owl; “I’ve heard you’re wondrously wise,...

  Good François Villon, petty thief, Carouser, cutpurse, scholar, sot; Young chronicler of gallows-grief, Escapee from the hempen knot; Depicter of the dregs and lees Of drunken students, louts, and sinners; Of beggars, pimps, and hostelries, Of men-at-arms, and roast fish dinners; We need you here and now, Villon, To...

A Case of Ghosts (Full Fathom Five parodied) In cradling case my fiddle lies, Waiting for the owner’s hand. Strings all slack, its music dies. Yet a not-quite-silent band There conspires to haunt my heart— Wonder of the maker’s art. Ghosts rise. From within they knock. Hark! Now I hear...

  Summer in Texas She sashays in on scorching licks of flame that singe the sticky fringes of the day. Her blaze, no brazen breeze can ease or tame; she sizzles as she splashes rays our way. Her sultry haze and scintillating gaze immerse the plains in waves of liquid...

The American Revolution: An Epic Poem Chapter I by Andrew Benson Brown   Chapter II: Thomas Jefferson in Hell On July Fourth of Eighteen Twenty-Six, Old Thomas Jefferson was sent to Hell In his pajamas. At the river Styx He idled, slippers soggy from the swell Of wrathful souls abounding...

  Summer Concerts The katydids and stridulant cicadas Regale us with their aestival sonatas. At night, surrounded by the song of crickets, We listen just as though we'd paid for tickets. first published in The Lyric     In Praise of Delay Already it is June, And shrubs that flower...

Viral Hair Care After four months untrimmed, my coiffure was ovoid, Well in tune with Aquarian couture. I was starting to look just like Christopher Lloyd In the old movie, “Back to the Future.” With “The Virus” at large, being kept safe and sound Led to more than a few...

  1. Poetry or prose? No one knows. 2. Shan’t waffle, 'tis awful. 3. Shan’t coddle, 'tis twaddle. 4. I can't say it faster: it's an utter disaster. 5. By smidgen or headful it's really quite dreadful. 6. Said firstly or lastly, it's slapdash and ghastly. 7. It's florid and...

  I’ll Have My Say… by Susan Jarvis Bryant Don’t spit your ire upon my name. Don’t tell me that my view’s insane--- to sink down on one knee in shame. I won’t claim blame. I won’t claim blame. Don’t raze my city to the ground. Don’t force me not...

  Samson’s Revenge a translation of Judges 15:16 With but an ass’s jawbone Asses I have made of them, The myriads, the masses. I have slaughtered heaps of men: Killed them, I alone, And with a Jawbone, yes, an ass’s!   A Youthful Poet an autobiographical sketch A youthful poet,...

  The Boncompagni Dragon The Boncompagni Dragon, by Bartolomeo Passerotti (1529-92). Pen with brown ink, over black chalk. Tobey Collection of Renaissance Drawings, Metropolitan Museum of Art A gorgon’s head on a swanlike neck, furred with a middle-aged mane, the ears two mismatched scimitars like a hedge about the brain....

  Johann Sebastian Bach Truly loved music, yet Managed to wed twice And father a gang. The kids took their tonics, Eschewed bad harmonics, Bach said Bohemian Life could go hang! Frederick Chopin was Never a well man. His Love for Maria Was only a yearn. George Sand, who helped...

Two Tattoos   Tattoo One: On the Corporate and Politic Bodies Across my town, the shops and offices are short. Its buildings don’t blot out the sun. There’s sky to spare. However, needling, thin, construction cranes consort With straight-edged arms and steel-thread lines to pierce the air. Soon architects’ designs...

  On Antifa, Coming to the Country A well-regulated militia, being necessary to the security of a free state, the right of the people to keep and bear arms, shall not be infringed. ---Amendment II by Reid McGrath I’ll warn you now: We like our guns out here. Our safes...

  Destined for the Mount Rushmore of Radio Triumphal times are on the way, America’s Anchor Man. We Dittoheads will toast the day when all is Right again. You cover what they won’t discuss. Your devotion to truth is supreme. You work so every one of us can live the...

  Georges Danton's Ghost Counsels the Protestors “Yes, America is burning. But that’s how forests grow.” –Maura Healey, Massachusetts Attorney General (June 2, 2020) Georges Danton’s ghost arose from hell And visited the U.S.A. He found a group of protestors And called to them: “One word, I pray— “America is...

If I Owned a Macy's by Nancy Weber If I owned a Macy’s or other such stores… I'd tear down the plywood and unlock the doors. It used to be mine, but things change. Now it’s yours--- Men’s sleepwear to rugs, all the 10.5 floors. Fill backpack and bags. Come...

May 4, 2020 Response is Draconian, As if Napoleon’s Back on the emperor’s throne. Except now with “wanna-bes” Ruining economies, Governing states like his clone. With millions devoid of work, Thousands who’ve gone berserk, Rest trying just to survive, Why do these pretenders Who chose to surrender To hype of...

I recently discarded some unnecessary texts, and among them were two past editions (the 17th and the 20th) of Len Fulton’s Directory of Poetry Publishers. This venerable publication, from Dustbooks in California, has for decades been an indispensable resource for poets seeking to find possible places for their work. It...

  Dear Editor, My odes are grandiose and overblown With pudgy gluts of stodgy adjectives In floods of flabby babble prone to drone, All topped with tired, archaic additives. Forsooth, methinks the proof’s before your eyes, But, twixt these lines exists a masterpiece; A svelte and blithesome, lithe, linguistic prize...

  Domain of Pain A piercing migraine or a throbbing toothache, A splinter underneath a fingernail, An upset stomach caused by too much fruitcake, And waiting for responses in the mail Are typical examples of distress A person is expected to endure Within this agonizing wilderness Until his passage to...