Let Roger make jam of the Quinces,
If he’ll mind zbaby’s defenses,
And Henry can pun to pay Peter
Whatever the signs say is meter,
And all of them give Joe a roast,
Provided they pay for the toast.


[This message has been edited by Joe Aimone (edited August 13, 2002).]

All alone by the Joe Aimone
waiting for the ding-a-ling
to let you know if he'll condone
pronunciation that will bring
a mellow tone - or is "baloney"
(while not so tony) not quite a crime?
Without my normal acrimony
I ask, "Hey, Joe - what rhyme next time?".

Until then - here's one that works it, sort of, both ways

Joe Aimone
Responds to every thread and more.
I think the guy's as phony
as mayo and baloney.
No man could do it on his own.
He depends upon the phone -
and a cozy writing mill in Bangalore.


Michael



[This message has been edited by Michael Cantor (edited August 13, 2002).]

Ol' Quince if you've read what he's posted
it seems he likes to critique while he's toasted
he drinks back long glasses of wine
and picks and pokes at this or that line
yet often his words are quite telling
but too bad about his horrible spelling.



[This message has been edited by Melalope (edited August 13, 2002).]

Joe, for the Name of Mike!

If Joe refused to answer Cantor
About his name in all this banter--
If he should wander or should saunter,
As if he really didn't want 'er,
Past this solicitation
For name felicitation
It wouldn't be for pride or money
(Nor lack of it from alimony)
Or that his family pride doth lack a bone
For he can claim Acquinas as his own
Fourth cousin, but that cowboy speech
Has made the tongue to reach
Around the Roman-French hybridity,
The Ellis Island spelling's quiddity,
But most of all the gaping jaw
Of native English speakers' law
For placing accents, law learned best
Penultimate to mother's breast,
For quite a different harmony
Of accent; with slant rhyme
One may approximate the name,
Provided one knows dactyls, AYE moh nee.
The voice at first will wobble
To accent the correct syllable
And keep the longing vowels all long,
For each of them has its own song.
So if you're ever introduced
And then must say his name, induced
By courtesy to say it, Michael,
And he should tell you, "Sorry. Wrong."
And this should happen all night long,
For singers slowly learn new song,
Be reassured, he's not just fickle.
(And he will let
Some Juliet
Be wondering about it
As she will whisper it or shout it
In bed or round about it.)
But mostly his friends know
It's best to call him "Joe,"
For nothing rhymes with "Joseph."

[This message has been edited by Joe Aimone (edited August 14, 2002).]

You think that nothing rhymes with Joseph?
Some challenge, that, to friends and foes, if
They care to take it up: hey, phoney
Or not, I'll even rhyme Aimone!

Oh, oops, I got the accent wrong —
It's weak on MON, the AI is strong.
"Hey phoney"'s not a dactyl:
How very careless! Shame on me!
But that distressing fact'll
Deter me little, Aimone!

[This message has been edited by peterjb (edited August 14, 2002).]

Quince is the name and I am what I am;
Nobody's going to make me into jam!
And Roger, if you're not aware what a slater
Is in this hemisphere, well, I'll tell you later.

Now if we are engaging in persiflage,
All manner of banter and badinage,
Well then, here's a form you may not have tried,
Where one rhyme at least is strictly implied:

(Put on limerick ears for this)

There was a young man wrote a crit
On some verse that his ear couldn't fit;
He complained “See, the thing
Doesn't have the right swing!”
But his crit was a whole load of very dubious nonsense.

Henry

Henry, around here we call those "limeroids." Back in February we had a thread devoted to them. Here are several of mine that I'll recycle for your (possible) amusement and/or punishment for bringing up the subject (but the thread is worth checking out because many were posted that were better than these):

A man's tongue may happily sing us
Songs of what fortune can bring us,
....But women prefer
....Tongues that confer
Non-verbal pleasure by remaining silent.

An oversexed tourist from Venus
Declared just as soon as she'd seen us
....Nakedly flaunting
....Our flesh, "My how daunting!
How can men do it with only one partner?"

Intending no theft and no malice
A eunuch broke into the palace.
...."It's got to be here,"
....He said. "I'm quite clear
That this is the last place I took out my wallet."

A man who was down on his luck
Said, "My entire existence is stuck.
....I wish I were rich
....Since life's such a bitch
Without good food and someone to cook it."

Edgar told Gloucester (I quote him),
"Ripeness is all" as they smote him.
....Edgar, in fact,
....Survived the last Act,
One of the few men in the play to escape with his life.

A woman I dated forgot
That I like it cold more than hot.
....She heated the bun
....And ruined all the fun
I'd otherwise get from eating her sandwich.

As President Grant sat there drinkin'
The hard whiskey got him to thinkin',
...."As presidents go
....I'm the best one I know,
So why does the world prefer Millard Filmore?"

Aimone, a Spherean poet
has posted on Rhymed Repartee.
His wit? He hoped he cold show it
but frittered his rhymes all away
with poems of lace and of leather
and needles both crooked and old.
Then Quince wished his feet to be better
and shorter, if truth need be told.

Next Roger jumped into the fray
and exhausted his listing of rhyme
but Henry comes back right away
and responds to the scurrilous slime.
Then others come on to roast Joey
who asked to be given some flack
in verses of iamb or trochee
so he can give some of it back.

I really don't mean to be toey,
But rhyming "trochee" with "joey"!
I would have risked being showy
and worked in Helen of Troey.