
Ask the wife for one small item—
Comb, a pen, a writ ad litum—
She’ll rummage purse capacity.
Don’t ask!–know perspicacity.
Leonardo Fibonacci
Hankered after spirits Scotchy.
(Barring that, some Nippon sake).
Sunday! Closed! He knew a gaucho,
Macho, Sunday-selling nachos.
Fibonacci’s macho gaucho nachos.
The lissome composer, Franz Liszt,
Was affected by labial lisps.
Hungarian Rhapsodies
Proved the right remedies
To render Liszt’s lisp to a wisp.
Henry 8’s wife was lawn bowling.
Henry Percy saw, eyes rolling.
“Did he see more?” asked Jane Seymour.
“You may lose your head, Boleyn!”
A question that’s novelly dry, sir:
Is the “s” to be soft in T. Dreiser?
Or should it be “z”?
Conundrum to me
That spurs me to drink down Budweiser.
Socrates
Liked to tease.
Crept upon Diogenes.
“Cynic! Down! Upon thy knees!
“Douse thy lantern, for thou sees
“An honest man, I, Socrates.”
Probability master, Pascal,
Calculated a pass at a gal.
“I’ve got a queer grin.
“The odds are thus thin.
“I’ve a better chance with a gay pal.”
All Poetry © Dennis N. O'Brien, 2010 - 2019
Anthropology, linguistics, archaeology, and writing systems
Carmina et Verba pro Discipulis Meis
Reading, writing and a-rhythmic tics
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