901

ENGLISH COUNTRY GARDEN
A song by
Jimmie Rodgers

How many kinds of sweet flowers grow
In an English country garden?
I'll tell you now of some that I know
And those I miss you'll surely pardon
Daffodils, heart's ease and phlox
Meadowsweet and lady smocks
Gentian, lupins and tall hollyhocks
Roses, foxgloves, snowdrops, forget-me-nots
In an English country garden
(In an English country garden)

How many insects come here and go
Through our English country garden?
I'll tell you now of some that I know
And those I miss you'll surely pardon
Fireflies, moths and bees
Spiders climbing in the trees
Butterflies that sway on the cool gentle breeze
There are snakes, ants that sting
And creeping things
In an English country garden
(In an English country garden)

How many songbirds fly to and fro
Through our English country garden?
I'll tell you now of some that I know
And those I miss you'll surely pardon
Bobolink, cuckoo and quail
Tanager and cardinal
Bluebird, lark, thrush and nightingale
There is joy in the spring
When the birds begin to sing
In an English country garden
(In an English country garden)

Robin (Robin, robin)
Don't forget the robin (Don't forget the robin)
Robin (Robin, robin)
Don't forget the robin

ENGLISH PIKEY CAMPSITES
(Self-penned soliloquy on an unruly and dodgy band).


Let's do a count of things you will see
On an English pikey campsite.
Litter and rubbish and horses with fleas
And snarling Rottweilers all bred to fight.
A mattress on a fire,
Acrid smoke from burning tyres,
Clogging the air as the flames rise higher.
Bony kids with runny noses running round
In an English scoundrels' training ground.
(In an English scoundrels' training ground).

How many persons do an honest job,
On an English pikey campsite?
None - they're all cloned to con and to rob,
Then they'll often only work at night.
They all own big, modern cars,
Mercedes and Jaguars,
Four-by-fours all with towbars,
Do they get them for free?
Lordy, it's a mystery,
All I know is, they annoy me
(All I know, is they annoy me).

None of this dodgy crowd pays their tax,
In their English, rent-free haven,
Why're the laws for them so lax?
Grrr, it's nigglin' and enragin'
Each site's like a human zoo,
Conmen, crooks, rogue builders too,
Using the woodlands to go to the loo,
Such an unruly crowd,
No, it shouldn't be allowed,
On an English scoundrels' training ground.
(On an English scoundrels' training ground).

Robbing
(Don't forget the robbing)
Robbing
(Don't forget the robbing).

902

[A poem-to-poem anagram with the following constraint -- the last 2 letters of each even-numberd (and 11-syllabled for the 11th month of the year) line spell out NO-VE-MB-ER]

NOVEMBER 6
by David Lehman

Remember when Khrushchev said
"We will bury you!"
on the cover
of Time
I thought he was
employing a metaphor
as in "Braves Scalp Giants!"
on the back page
of the Daily News
I pictured the Russians
burying us under a mound
of all the rubble
that rubles could buy
when what he meant was
he had come not to praise Caesar
but to bury him

NOVEMBER 6

Your White House was the daily inferno;
Blabber erupts like a rush hour volcano!

Your high hand hogwash is so destructive,
Debased watchmen drawn by hate so repulsive.

A sycophancy faithfully making them numb,
Midterm elections propagating the dumb.

In the Senate the Republicans do outnumber,
But a Blue Wave may wash the Lower Chamber.

[and with the constraint revealed]

NOVEMBER 6

Your White House was the daily inferNO;
Blabber erupts like a rush hour volcano!

Your high hand hogwash is so destructiVE,
Debased watchmen drawn by hate so repulsive.

A sycophancy faithfully making them nuMB,
Midterm elections propagating the dumb.

In the Senate the Republicans do outnumbER,
But a Blue Wave may wash the Lower Chamber.

903

1 Corinthians 13 (New International Version)

If I speak in the tongues of men or of angels, but do not have love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal.

If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but do not have love, I am nothing.

If I give all I possess to the poor and give over my body to hardship that I may boast, but do not have love, I gain nothing.

Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud.

It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs.

Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth.

It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.

Love never fails. But where there are prophecies, they will cease; where there are tongues, they will be stilled; where there is knowledge, it will pass away.

For we know in part and we prophesy in part, but when completeness comes, what is in part disappears.

When I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I put the ways of childhood behind me.

For now we see only a reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known.

And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love.

1 Corinthians 13 (Christmas Epiphany) - Unknown

If I festoon the house and patio perfectly with twinkling lights, fancy paper snowflakes and shimmering bows, and do not show love to my own family, I am just another decorator.

If I slave away in the kitchen to prepare a beautiful dinner, to bake a few apple pies, to arrange a radiant table, and do not show love to my family, I'm an unappreciated cook.

If I work at a soup kitchen, carol to the frail in a home and give all I have to charity, and do not show love to the family, I achieve nothing.

If I trim a pine tree with angels, showy ornaments and ripe cranberries, attend myriads of holiday parties and sing in a choir, but don't focus on the "Reason for the Season",
woe is me; I have missed the point.

Love stops cooking to hug the wee child.

Love sets aside tree decorating to kiss a husband/wife.

Love is kind, but often tense and harried.

Love won’t eye a shipshape home which has a showier settee and coordinated linens.

Love never yells at the pesky kids to get out of the way; it is happy when wee ones are there to be in the way.

Love doesn’t give only to those who will give in return; it delights to see everyone who can’t.

Love bears all things, believes in all things, hopes all things, endures all things. Love never wanes.

Teens' video games will break, pearls will be lost, golf clubs will rust, while the gift of love will endure.

904

Bohemian Rhapsody

(Lyrics By Freddie Mercury
Performed By Queen)

Is this the real life?
Is this just fantasy?
Caught in a landslide,
No escape from reality.
Open your eyes,
Look up to the skies and see...
I'm just a poor boy, I need no sympathy
Because I'm easy come, easy go,
Little high, little low.
Any way the wind blows
Doesn't really matter to me,
To me.

Mama,
Just killed a man.
Put a gun against his head
Pulled my trigger, now he's dead.
Mama,
Life had just begun
But now I've gone and thrown it all away.
Mama, ooh!
Didn't mean to make you cry.
If I'm not back again this time tomorrow,
Carry on, carry on
As if nothing really matters.

Too late,
My time has come.
Sends shivers down my spine,
Body's aching all the time.
Goodbye, everybody,
I've got to go;
Gotta leave you all behind and face the truth.
Mama, ooh! (Any way the wind blows...)
I don't want to die.
I sometimes wish I'd never been born at all...

[Guitar Solo]

I see a little silhouetto of a man.
Scaramouche, Scaramouche, will you do the Fandango?
Thunderbolt and lightning,
Very, very fright'ning me!
Galileo! Galileo! Galileo! Galileo!
Galileo Figaro Magnifico...
I'm just a poor boy, nobody loves me.
He's just a poor boy from a poor family.
Spare him his life from this monstrosity!
Easy come, easy go,
Will you let me go?
Bismillah! No, we will not let you go! (Let him go!)
Bismillah! We will not let you go! (Let him go!)
Bismillah! We will not let you go! (Let me go!)
Will not let you go! (Let me go!)
Will not let you go,
Never, never, never, never let me go!
No, no, no, no, no, no, no!
Oh mamma mia, mamma mia,
Mamma mia, let me go!
Beelzebub has a devil put aside for me,
For me,
For ME!!!

So you think you can stone me and spit in my eye?
So you think you can love me and leave me to die?
Oh baby,
Can't do this to me, baby!
Just gotta get out,
Just gotta get right outta here!

Ooh, ooh yeah, ooh yeah...

[Guitar Solo]

Nothing really matters,
Anyone can see.
Nothing really matters,
Nothing really matters to me.
Any way the wind blows...

[Gong Sound]

The Trumpian Melody

Is this a mean lie?
What ganja did I smoke?
Won in a landslide,
But I only ran as a joke.
Bought all my lies
Because you hate Hillary...
I am a rich heir, everyone points at me
Then they say "Is he dumb? Is he slow?
Smallish hands, small below."
Any way this ends blows -
Legacy won't matter to me,
To me.

MAGA,
My team wrote that.
Took a hat and dyed it red
To put on my empty head.
MAGA,
Since we once were great,
But now we've gone and flushed it down the drain.
MAGA, ooh!
Doesn't mean that much at all,
But if I yell it, quite a lot of nutjobs
Cheer me on, cheer me on -
No, the truth no longer matters.

Too late
To change your mind.
You were broke and naive,
Now I'll never ever leave.
Goodbye, Constitution,
You've got to go;
Gotta mess you up to please the NRA.
MAGA, ooh! (Any way this ends blows...)
Listen to my bile -
If you get bored, I'll tell you I'm building walls...

[Fearmongering Solo]

Spicer is hiding in my bushes yet again -
Scaramooch! Scaramooch! Do this job for ten days now!
CNN and Biden
Really really frighten me!
Mar-a-Lago! Mar-a-Lago! I'll just hop to Mar-a-Lago!
Mar-a-Lago here I go - and then I'll golf!
I am so moody, no ally likes me.
I am the head boy in my big company -
I hire toadies and love loyalty!
Is it yes? Is it no?
If it's no, you go.
Bye Comey! You ain't loyal, time to go. Let him go!
Bye Bannon! You hate me, time to go. Let him go!
Melania! You I will not let go. (Let me go!)
All the others, go. Let them go!
Everyone, just go -
Save for slimy, oily bully Kavanaugh!
I need you all to go, go, go!
Oh Mommy Russia, Mommy Russia -
Mommy Russia, help me out!
Bob Mueller got some informer who has dirt on me,
On me:
STORMY!!!

Oh, you'll put me in jail if I'm Putin's dim spy?
It won't happen if earnings in Wall Street are high!
Covfefe!!!
... Why did I type "Covfefe"?!
I gotta feel love -
Go organize rallies for me!

Ooh, good boy, Kanye...

[Five A.M. Tweeting Solo]

Global doom won't matter,
Or democracy,
Just that I get fatter -
No one even matters but me.
Any way this ends blows...

[Nuclear Blast]

905

[Wilde's sonnet is anagrammed into another sonnet about a great artist which also cotains a visual tribute to him, detailed below]

The Grave of Keats by Oscar Wilde

Rid of the world's injustice, and his pain,
He rests at last beneath God's veil of blue;
Taken from life when life and love were new
The youngest of the martyrs here is lain,
Fair as Sebastian, and as early slain.
No cypress shades his grave, no funeral yew,
But gentle violets weeping with the dew
Weave on his bones an ever-blossoming chain.
O proudest heart that broke for misery!
O sweetest lips since those of Mitylene!
O poet-painter of our English Land!
Thy name was writ in water - it shall stand;
And tears like mine will keep thy memory green,
As Isabella did her Basil-tree.

About the Great Skill of the Late Leviathan

Below this finished jewel is silver dust.
Below this vase - these piles of ashen clay.
Brash pens will harness an inventive lust
By arrogantly spewing ink away.
There really is one toll for making sure
An error in your stuff will not be traced,
Or being adamant that Whole stayed pure:
A finer fashion makes a lot of waste.
Yet one bard's system of devising gems
Will keep those prior pieces, one by one;
If we transpose each shred we find in them,
We're awed to see, when it's all said and done,
There is no letter he ignored or missed
In each verse by the anagrammatist.

[In honor of Larry Brash who died last November, the anagram also contains a simple constraint which signs his first name by using his last name:]

About the Great Skill of the Late Leviathan

Below this finished jewel is silver dust.
Below this vase - these piles of ashen clay.
Brash pens will harness an inventive lust
By arrogantly spewing ink away.
There really is one toll for making sure
An error in your stuff will not be traced,
Or being adamant that Whole stayed pure:
A finer fashion makes a lot of waste.
Yet one bard's system of devising gems
Will keep those prior pieces, one by one;
If we transpose each shred we find in them,
We're awed to see, when it's all said and done,
There is no letter he ignored or missed
In each verse by the anagrammatist.