- Nov 19, 2024
Updated: Nov 22, 2024
The Apex Sonneteer
Why do I punch down on punks like james joyce,
And his weak, beta-at-best, book of bloom?
My innate primacy leaves me no choice;
Alpha Dogs always deliver the boom.
I toy with rhymes like what’s-his-face, the bard.
Pretty pathetic, his pencil-neck verse.
He’s just a plebe, I’m Praetorian Guard,
And He-Man Master of this Universe.
I’ll mansplain: socrates is to plato
To aristotle to alex the great
And ithaca’s king to each othello
On to bloom. None can match what I create.
So, look on my might. I’m a Force Majeure!
Just ignore slight delusions of my grandeur.
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Same testosterone time, same creatine channel.
Wisdom Hely’s Acrostically Addled Advertisement
Hely pays five men to bear and be strong.
Each wears one letter on his sandwich board.
LOL, they keep spelling his name wrong!
Yes, these characters are very untoward.
‘Twas Wisdom ordered an increase in sales.
Stationery doesn’t just sell itself.
Specially when men become leapfrogs and snails.
‘Til order’s restored, stocked remains the shelf.
Yet, what’s the point of Joyce’s running bit?
Loss of advertising’s ability?
Either or, the whole kaboodle and kit:
Heckling language’s futility.
Joyce tricks Charlie Browns with tease acrostics.
Just like Lucy always cocks up his kicks.
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Same agnostic time, same caustic channel.
Updated: Nov 23
Joycespearean Sonnet 130
My Molly’s eyes are Spanishy like night;
Gumjelly’s less soft than her lips are sticky;
Full breasts are white with fat nipples upright;
Heavenly hair whispers: I’m no quickie.
I adore her adulterous rump!
But seven miles up, I’ve not plunged my tongue.
Those plump mellow yellow melons will trump
Anything bursting from big Bella’s bung.
I bring toast and tea for breakfast in bed.
Eleven years since our love’s been complete.
My Molly sleeps with her toes at my head,
While Blazes Boylan gives her plum potted meat.
And yet, she’ll always be my mountain flower
Who I think of all day, every hour.
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Same Jamesy time, same Willy channel.