Category Archives: Poetical Puffery

Comes Benghazi (To the Tune of “Comes Love”)

Come the mandates, let the Court call it a tax
Come a pipeline, I can stop it in it’s tracks
Comes Benghazi, nothing could be done.

Unemployment, just expand the welfare rolls
Come election, put some Panthers at the polls
Come Benghazi, nothing could be done

Don’t call Rodham,
She won’t pick up the phone
Best start hiden’
Cause you know you’re on your own.

Come Solyendra, I can guarantee a loan
Comes the Beltway, I can criticize the tone
Come Benghazi? Nothing could be done.

Come vacation, Michelle. can take a separate plane
Come Joe Biden, I can leave him on the train
Come Benghazi, Nothing could be done

Stand down Brother.
What difference does it make
I’ll blame u-tube
While I campaign at your wake

Brian Terry? There’s privilege to invoke
Eat a canine? I can always make a joke.
Come Benghazi? Nothing could be done.

Need a pizza?
I can have a pie flown in.
Golfing lessons,
Tiger Woods can help you win.
Comes Benghazi, Nothing could be done


The Tempting of America

Reluctant as I am to ever include poetry in this blog, especially my own, I do so now by special request. –SR

The Tempting of America 

What have they done to our coffee,
That we pay such a premium price?
They’ve taken that brown, bitter bean
And tamed it, and made it taste nice.

They mixed it with hazelnut syrup
Chocolate, amaretto and cream;
Now coffee, once so vile-tasting,
Is no more offensive than steam.

When Americans first drank their coffee,
It was not to enjoy or relax;
They never drank coffee for pleasure,
They drank it to protest a tax!

They threw a big party in Boston.
The splash of it made the King sore;
But when they served Folgers at tea time;
They knew they were brewing a war.

When Redcoats surrendered at Yorktown,
America found its new drink.
So what if the brew tasted nasty?
It helped us to fight, and to think.

Caffeine was the fuel of this nation,
Propelling a fat GNP.
We gorged on the unseemly profits,
Do you think you could do that with tea?

Now they’re leeching the caffeine from coffee;
Our nation is not what it was.
So pretty these faddish new flavors….
But you’re screwed if you need a good buzz.

We fuss over five dollar frappés,
Espressos with dollops of foam;
We twitter the office from Starbucks
Nurse lattes all day, and go home.

No, I won’t be seduced by Sumatra!
To French Roast I won’t raise a white flag;
I’ll hold to my old-fashioned coffee,
Sit alone in a diner – and gag.

Sunday Matinee: Actual Patton–Narrators Voice., “Well…”

I stayed at a 3rd Army camp in Kuwait. After reveille they played Patton’s march by Jerry Goldsmith from the movie Patton.  Apparently not everyone appreciated it as much as I did (warning: language). For those of you who’s can only hear George C. Scott’s growl when you think of the General, 24 minutes into the movie you can hear the actual Patton speak.

General Patton was proper Barrack Room Balladeer as well.  His last poem (maybe) after the break.

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Elizabeth Warren, Not Even 1/32nd Cherokee– Harvard Anthropology Department Last to Know

I hope I don’t get Siouxed… I saw this joke on Twitter posted by Kathy Shaidle , but turning it into lyrics for “I’m an Indian Too” from Annie Get Your Gun is my idea, so I should get hmmm, let’s say 1/32 credit?

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In Flanders Fields the Poppies Blow–The First 2 Lines Are All I Know

Lieutenant Colonel John McCrae’s poem is so iconic it needs no help from me. It was written as a rondeau, which means the rhyme scheme makes no sense after the first verse unless you know it’s a rondeau.  I did not know it was a rondeau and went about trying to help it. I thought purely as a literary exercise it might be interesting to write a variation on the original in a different poetical form in the spirit of … um… Mozart’s variations on, Ah vows dirai-je, maman  (Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star).

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Relative Poetry

An email from the last Republican in Manhattan.

In the tradition of sending unsolicited doggerel to the family, I presume to send this.  Today, after being caught in a stupendous but not atypical traffic jam, and nearly (once again) run over by a biker delivering (undoubtedly, salt-free) pizza,  I had blank time to kill in a dentist’s waiting room and amused myself by doing a parody of Rogers & Hart.  It may not even amuse you unless you know the original “Give It Back to the Indians,” but, nonetheless…

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Someone To Retweet My Tweet

Sung to the Tune of “Someone to Watch Over Me” –So only the old will get the melody, and only the young will get the words.

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Sunday Matinee: Inauguration Poem Preview. Spoiler alert: It won’t rhyme

I don’t know what sort of quality control they had in Horace’s day, but I’m  pretty sure the Ars Poetica took more skill than simply writing a bad essay and calling it a poem.  Which happens to be  the standard of modern poetry and Elizabeth Alexander (Obama’s Inaugural Poet featured above).  Anyway, as even I am getting swept up in inauguration fever, I’d thought I’d attempt to honor Obama with a poetical form  almost as passé as straight marriage. Continue reading

The Ryskind Sketchbook Resorts to Poetry (shudder)


From the Memory Hole: My cartoon and deadly limerick skills fail to stop the Biden juggernaut

Joe Biden refuted today
The charge all he thinks he must say–
“That can hardly be true
For I plagiarize too!
These lies make my hair-plugs turn gray.”

Can’t get enough dated Biden cartoons?  Click Keep reading to keep reading.

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