Short daddy-longlegs
Crawling up the empty wall,
How's the wife and kids?

We're fishes in the internet
Caught in the catch of net the day.
The smartest smartphones place a bet
That some night soon you'll meet a gray.
A U.F.O. (or, as they say
In England Land, a yoofo) flies
From where sweet baby scarecrows play
And eye the stars with googly eyes.

While sweating drops of acid sweat,
A cyborg prays away the gay.
A covid sneeze that's extra wet
Is heading thine iambic way.
Tuberculariaceae......
Is the password!  You win the prize!!
Ride on a rocket to Mars, crochet,
And eye the stars with googly eyes.

If you should dance a minuet,
Throw in a twerk for Claude Monet.
I fly around a jumbo jet
While crying, "Climate change!  Obey!!"
Unqualified I fly (hooray!)
A plane that fails hardwarewise.  
Olympic athletes play croquet
And eye the stars with googly eyes.

Enjoy a ride in Santa's sleigh
Before you make your reindeer pies.
Shake thou the darling buds of May,
And eye the stars with googly eyes.

A triolet
     's a pirouette
In a ballet
A triolet
(Or should I say
     A triolette?)
A triolet
     's a pirouette.

The Joker King is joker ing the world.
My favorite food is (pull my finger) paste.
Gertrude's a guy that got his ****** girled.
I'm guided by my (kiss my ******) taste.
Science is racist.  So are roads and math.
"Gender's a social construct," said the it.
Showers are racist.  Take, instead, a bath.
Or don't.  (It isn't racist to smell like ****.)
Cheeba's the cure-all drug, the every cure
That cures the cancer caused by ******* smoke.
Since sugar's such a super food, be sure
To eat your cake while drinking cans of coke.
Ableist ******* can't (won't) get their way!
Antiableists vote for Special K!

W;hi    L.      ere     re       Adi
            Ng   aGai"n                                
                                Casu!
       aLly    t;h'um:bing     (li   ke    A
          hAIRyhITCHhIKEr)htrohug         The Poetry Dictionary
                                                      ­                     by  John Drury     
,p'ic:k   iNG    m
                                                                ­Y
         pOeTiC  n O sE      W.ith
                         ALL       0,1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8,9of
      my       PoEtIc       f-in-g-ər-s    ,i  
           rem      inde             d       a.m.

THa,T
                            a         cobla     i
           s.a          poem          t  
                Hat's          o+n­-e=stanza
                                                       ­       loooooooooooo0°    ng
    (   Li ke    Bob   Fro'sts     Fire
                                                  aⁿ
                                                 Dice          )


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A peaches dawn climbs
A deep-breathing dark blue sky:
Flowers, a warm breeze.