“Come around to Barney Kiernan’s, says Joe. I want to see The Bloomsday Journal.”
Unto You To See What We Would Call Them?
Here comes a group of Joyceans en masse,
Forever drinking, yet they never drown.
They’re always so crass, they lack proper class,
These beasts deserve their own collective noun.
A Menace or a Murder sounds correct,
But those are owned by crocodiles and crows.
Intrusion fairly fits their foul aspect,
But cockroach holds that name, Franz Kafka knows.
Conspiracy and Cauldron, Clutch and Crash!
And Cowardice and Cackle, Cast and Cloud!
And that’s not all the Cs, there’s a whole cache.
In kangaroo courts, are pet names allowed?
This name game broke me out in chicken pox.
Seek fame? Sneak your suggestion into my box.
Stay tuned for a skulk of sequels to this sonnet.
Same troop of times, same charm of channels.
“I’ve put in so many enigmas and puzzles that it will keep the professors busy for centuries arguing over what I meant, and that’s the only way of insuring one’s immortality.” - James Joyce, allegedly
Enigmas and Puzzles Solved Centuries Ahead of Schedule!
An excommunicated altar boy’s
Pittsburgh home lies under siege by James Joyce
“Fans” ransacking his comic books and toys.
One screamed, “He must free them! He has no choice!”
Witnesses claim the eleven-year-old
Stole the long-lost letters from a yard sale.
An unnamed professor said, “May sound bold,
But this dossier is the Holy Grail.”
A zine publisher and known misanthrope,
Who’s under investigation, again,
Produced Polaroids of said envelope.
The scrawl does seem to be in Joyce’s pen.
These words written to addressee John Quinn:
“Answers To All My Riddles Lie Within.”
Full Story currently being leaked to The Bloomsday Journal.