Mike Mesterton-Gibbons: Darwinian Selection
Dad Duty Done
(According to National Geographic: Uniquely
among amphibians, male Darwin's frogs carry
their tiny tadpoles inside their vocal sacs to
protect them until they metamorphose into
froglets. The dad then spits out a succession
of between three and seven froglets.)
As he spits out three froglets to float
Free, a male Darwin's frog (from remote
Coastal Chile, of course)
Croaks without sounding hoarse –
There's no longer a frog in his throat!
Small Size Spat
Two amphibian owners dispute
Their pets' sizes. One argues, "My beaut,
Darwin's frog, measures less . . .
I claim micro success."
But the other says, "Mine is my newt!"
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Benjamin Cannicott Shavitz: Intellectuality
I spoke to a Postmodernist
Who said the truth does not exist.
I asked if that was true or not.
He had to think and scowl a lot
Before he struck me with his fist.
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L. A. Mereoie: Derrida And Derrière
Deconstructing a text in the loo
A don observed, "Jacques, very true!
Translucent yet dense
It makes multiple sense
As it acts like a brush up a flue"
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Paul Burgess: Divine Providence in the Plant Kingdom
Oh, mighty maple God designed
To wipe a nose or bare behind
And rubber tree, whose holy fate
Is making latex for a date,
What marvel will I get to be
When God reveals His plan for me?
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Terese Coe: Question for the Ages
Some write in homage to a story,
or to favour their coterie.
Or they’re seeking the freedom and glory
of some psychical remedy.
Then when 'No' is scrawled on the pages
at least they can move on to wages.
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Damian Balassone: The Lonely Conversationalist
His wretched life is deemed a pantomime
by those decreeing love to be a crime.
In order to appease the population
he covers up his pain with conversation.
“How do you pull it off?’” the doctors ask.
“The simple answer is: I wear a mask.”
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Pat D’Amico: Departmental Deportment
An ophthalmologist fielding some questions
On medical matters requiring suggestions
Of treatments involving hips, backbones and hearts,
Or the problems that plague, let us say, nether parts,
Responded politely, "I'm just not your guy,
And the reason comes down to the fact I am eye."
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Michael R. Burch: Paris, 1964
Don’t let their music go to your heads:
the Beatles made their hotel beds
and never left their rooms in shreds.
They were “friendly, polite and sharp.”
Angels in need of a harp.
Real stars must raze, wreck, ruin, carp.
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Terese Coe: Why Whine About The Rhino?
Don’t diss Ionesco’s Rhinoceros.
Don’t ask why his legs are so stumpy.
What’s it to you if he’s lumpy,
or his hide is plated and clumpy?
You’ll rue the day you made such a fuss--
there’s more of him when he’s grumpy.
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Henry Stimpson: Can’t Hear Myself Think
Canned music now blasts every store
and restaurant. It’s such a bore
to be exposed to aural rape
when you’re just checking out a grape
or, even worse, taking a whiz.
Anyone like this? It’s a quiz.
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L. A. Mereoie: Sound Barrier
When at the club to shoot some clays
On one of Dorset’s drizzly days
Pam’s rain-proof outfit’s rasp and hiss
Caused Frank, a stand down-wind, to miss,
But when the sun let both unshroud
She found his tweeds were just as loud.
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Martin Parker: Vernal Tanka
Thick weeds this spring
Seeds blown from neighbour's garden.
When the wind changes
I hope to return his gift
with the knot-weed he deserves . . .
