Archive for the ‘comic verse’ Category

The sun was shining on the sea,

That was what he thought first:

He did his very best to make

The billows smooth and bright —

But try as might his adze did not

What he would have on wood.


‘The moonshine has got me down

Land or sea, adze is adze

In my hand drunk or not, it must work’,

While the walrus cried, ’My tusk

Is what requires your adze, leave

The sea to its merry ways.”


The sea was wet as wet could be,

And the tusk split asunder.

The man with adze looked dazed,

‘Out of it root Not with my adze, Miss

What you need is this briny sea,

Chop chop the waves may yet,-Try it.


Original by Louis Carroll

“The sun was shining on the sea,
      Shining with all his might:
He did his very best to make
      The billows smooth and bright —
And this was odd, because it was
      The middle of the night.
The moon was shining sulkily,
      Because she thought the sun
Had got no business to be there
      After the day was done —
“It’s very rude of him,” she said,
      “To come and spoil the fun.”
The sea was wet as wet could be,
      The sands were dry as dry.
You could not see a cloud, because
      No cloud was in the sky:
No birds were flying overhead —
      There were no birds to fly.
The Walrus and the Carpenter
      Were walking close at hand;
They wept like anything to see
      Such quantities of sand:
If this were only cleared away,’
      They said, it would be grand!’
If seven maids with seven mops
      Swept it for half a year,
Do you suppose,’ the Walrus said,
      That they could get it clear?’
I doubt it,’ said the Carpenter,
      And shed a bitter tear.




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(The spin doctor responsible for the famous “Labour isn’t working” poster during Margaret Thatcher’s general election campaign has died aged 77. ‘For Whom the Bell Tolls’ Sorry Metallica, -benny)


For whom the bell tolls:
Tim had his line.
For whom the bell tolls
Tim had his word.
‘Labor isn’t working’ got Thatcher her plum role
The lie well told did the trick:
let Marge lead ‘er barge up the Brexit; what now?

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Author, author what you lack in style
Your cackle and bubble run on as the Nile:
Harry Potter of course keeps the pot boiling
Cackle Joanna, the pot is already rawling.


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Jamal Khashoggi
would sign some papers but found
No hand to sign with.
Halloween is here:
Ain’t got mind for trick or treat:
Pumpkin heads wanna play.
Yemen O Yemen
Is it Halloween or death
Saudi has let loose?

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Rain in Spain stays on the plain;

What shall we do with California wine?

It is plain, -what a shame
Gone sour in a tariff war.


Wine and blood are red:

Madder than hell is wine gone bad

It is plain-what a shame

Gone sour in a tariff war.


Luminum shall wilt,

So shall steel melt,

When China say Boo!

Some shall say: ” Cheese!

There is glut in the Market

But bread in the basket

Shall wait for no man-

Pass some butter please!


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My heart wakes to a nauseating sound:

My eyes as though from some shock electric

Reacting cannot but stare at him in front

Crouching, Oh it’s my hound Patrick;

‘Tis not like tabbycat with his mice

A share from spoils of his field chase

He lays at my feet,- Patrick has his way

To bulldoze my reverie and get away;

Why fawning tongue work all over me

As though its glad oil has charm

O’er the most supine master into alacrity?

What freezes my blood is sepsis, its harm

Shall outpace your fidelity, Patrick

I shall throw this ball and wish it gone

And chasing it to hell that is a trick

I wish you had taken up-Begone!



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(Continued from my previous post)

A knock on the door and they look each other in vague uneasiness.


Sancho(sniffs): The grim reaper must be new to his trade. I smell violets

(Sancho cocks his ear): I hear his mincing steps. I betcha he is a cross dresser. Silk underskirts and tap tap of high heels!

(Yankee and Commissar Red cringe and lurch towards the headboard and hide).

Don Quixote with a spirited effort leaps out of the bed.

DQ: It is my inamorata Sancho! Can’t you see. At last my lady Love has taken pity on me.

(Knock is heard again)

Don Quixote takes over the situation and he directs Sancho as of old.

DQ: Sancho, draw the chair to the center.

Sancho: I would rather stand, master.

DQ: Your skull has gone soft. (aside) That is what living does to people.

(imperiously) Do as you are told!

(Sancho does as told.)

This is for my Lady Dulcinea del Toboso.

(Turning once again to Sancho he points to his bed)Get in there!

(Sancho crosses himself.)

SP: this is ill omen . This is death bed!

Don Quixote: You stay in bed and make yourself scarce!

SP: What will you do, master?

DQ: Do?( rhapsodic) This is sweet annunciation!

Love that makes sweet communion

Between heaven and earth

Has come in sweet treads that

Scarcely harm the green swards,-

And she is here! By all my saints

I shall genuflect and kiss

Her foot and cool this fervid brow

From dew of heaven!

(Knocks heard this time rather urgent)

DQ: Anon, anon

He opens the door with a flourish.

(Dulcinea dressed to the nines in a rather coquettish swing traipses into the room. Unheedful of Don Quixote who stands pole-axed she heads to the death bed. A pause. She says),

Dulcinea: How dare you, varlet!

You stain my lovers bed

With your sweat and dirt.

Sancho (weakly), “I am Don Quixote

Indeed I am. All my life I put my life

to uphold your honor lady-

My face is a stranger to thee

Why now you cavil

My last leave-taking

With hoity-toity manner?

I am that knight non-pareil

The Giant slayer and

Indefatigable in love,-

Of mournful countenance

I shall abjure forever

For a kiss.

Dulcinea: In my cask of souvenirs

Sweetened with tears and regrets

Of love that I held sublime

I have but one image

Of a knight, etched by his fame-

He is lean and lank,

In worldly sum not worth a bean

But his heart has seared

My soul and I can vouch,

He is farthest from the sweaty toad

That has stealthily crept under

The coverlet of my master

Don Quixote is his name!

(Don Quixote steps in.)

Thousands pardon I crave

My Lady Love, scales have

Fallen from my eyes. Life

Had dulled my wits to think

You lived in a castle. No my lady

What comparison holds heaven

With a castle crumbling with moss

And ivy?

I rather deceived me

that you moved

In enchanted circles

of hidalgos, in silk breeches

Smelling rather garlic

And small talk.

You belong indeed

In the stellar regions

With angels at your bidding.

(Dulcinea in wonder puts her hand out. DQ kneels and kisses it reverently)

I was indeed at my deathbed

But your visitation was

Preordained from above.

Dread of life

Hauled me by my own petard;

But Death cleared my head

To say the least.

(To Sancho) I am a realist

To say the least.

(Don Quixote sharply claps hands)

Out, out my dear sirs

Begone this instant!

(The Capitalist and the Commissar come out and file out of the room.)

Sancho, leave us alone. (Sancho exits)

(With a bow to his lady)

Within this death bed we shall talk,

My sweetest lady, of life and  death

the lovers swoon as read in romances

Of old, I shall lead you.

Come, have no fear. (Blows the lights out)


Benny May 20, 2016



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(A rather dark room with heavy draperies and our hero in bed with a rather ornate and heavy candelabrum on a side-board behind,  guttering candles and a melancholy air supplied by courtesy of  Sancho at bedside, waiting )

Quixote: All search must end in vain, my good squire

Blow the candle out: Let me not bear the glare

The indifferent has brought unasked, and it is fame

They have left, isn’t it a shame?

Sancho: Knight of mournful visage, you were

As far as I remember; Oh cease your murmur

The world loves a hero, yes sir they do

I am Squire Haystack for my girth and you, sir

Quixote (weakly): Knight Beanpole

Sancho in unison: For your lance, That was LOL!

(Knock on the death Chamber:)

Quixote: See if it is Good Ole Devil?

Sancho returns with a Yankee, who is all in a dither

The Capitalist: “Here is a blank check sir, your fame

Deserves due care: Take silver

But leave your fame oh dear sir

for me to exploit,- it is a cinch

(aside) How do I clinch

A deal with the dead, Fie!

Am I all that heartless,

But a dollar is a dollar

I will dangle an offer he can’t refuse

Quixote: Oh you drool at your mouth

In north it must suffice

if a man had bills to buy and sell

But with the dead one genuine emotion

will many sins conceal.

Sancho, give my good fellow a fine cambric

So he shall wipe an honest tear

To please me for the last leave taking.

Stranger: I am a good fellow if you say so.

I shall cry all the more

if you refuse my offer.

Sancho: Gringo! Do I throw you out

Or buy me with a better offer?

The Capitalist: Make your master

Sign on the dotted line and leave

all rights on his name a trademark

I shall show what Capitalism can do.

(A knock on the door)

Commissar Red is my name

I left all good manners with October

Revolution, Death to capitalist pigs

But Sancho, you and I are comrades.

Don Quixote  cannot die till

He receives the Order of Lenin

from me in person.

Sancho: ‘What Order that be Red? Is it for my master?

Red: Don Quixote fought single handed,

The Capitalist Ogre Sir Windmill

Stood for oppression and under his tax the poor

Ate nothing but bread of tears.

Comrade Quixote took him on in single combat and won.

Sancho: With a little help from me.

Red: He is so heroic

He could not have a servant to wait on him….

Sancho: But

Red: We shall rewrite the history!

So you are an imposter; Be gone this instant!

Sancho to his master: Oh master,  Tell me

Shall I uncomrade him with a thrust

Of your trusty lance, or make your dying hour

A ceaseless struggle with two mis-beggotten scum of the earth?







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Be glad your nose is on your face

Jack Prelutsky

Be glad your nose is on your face,

not pasted on some other place,

for if it were where it is not,

you might dislike your nose a lot.

Imagine if your precious nose

were sandwiched in between your toes,

that clearly would not be a treat,

for you’d be forced to smell your feet.

Your nose would be a source of dread

were it attached atop your head,

it soon would drive you to despair,

forever tickled by your hair.

Within your ear, your nose

would be 
an absolute catastrophe,

for when you were obliged to sneeze,

your brain would rattle from the breeze.

Your nose, instead, through thick and thin,

remains between your eyes and chin,

not pasted on some other place–

be glad your nose is on your face!

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