[Marion Shore]

A Fishy Tale

Revenge of the Little Mermaid

[Donna English]

Fishy is right, Marion!

Floundering Onward
Loxs Up at the End
A Tale Fluke
Sea Here!

[FOsen]

The midnight knock is followed by a voice,
a raspy bass, “Hey, open up, it’s Joyce!”
"Tell me, do you mean the Joyce whose fame's
based on Trees, or are we talking James?"
"To write" she answered "was my dearest wish;
but I should say I am in fact a fish..."

I cracked the door, and saw that line 2's "bass"
should not have rhymed with "face", but "[something crass]".
I'm cursed by TYPO, keeper of the keys
I'd beg for help, but I do not have knees.

I thought I knew the face, but wasn't sure:
"Hey -- is this Joyce the Mermaid at the door?"
"Yes! It's me I'm dried out, and I'm woozy.
Let's talk while I relax in your jacuzzi

How come you don't recall my voice, my dear?
There was a time its timbres charmed your ear."
I said "Come in for lunch. You'll find a plaice
inside." She disappeared without a trace.

I went out fishing for her. In the river
of murky mist, the air gave me a shiver.
I had the urge to leave, but let it pass.
I listened for the sound of bass or bass

when -- ouch! -- a pointy thorn impaled my hand
and yanked me up. Now, far above, the land-
mark wheel of London's cantilevered Eye
frowned down on me. I sat and wondered why
hallucinations plagued me day and night.
I pulled myself together then turned right
into a pub, and drank a pint of ale,
pondering that mermaid's lovely tail

swathed in seaweed. Now where is that creature
with flowing golden hair (its foremost feature)?
It wouldn't be amiss to find it dead -
sorely tortured by a twisted thread.
Can those, then, whose pursuits are piscatorial
chip in to give the thing a decent burial.

Now Joyce appeared and said, “Your long-lost fish--
how could you want me dead? Is that your wish?”
Although the tale is fishy, I'll be kind,
and change my answer to a never mind.

"How can I love a girl who is half fish?
If we should wed against my parents' wish
we'd surely suffer constant ridicule,
and Hu-Mer kids are frowned upon-- life's cruel!
Your father Neptune and your mom the seal--
if we were married, think how they would squeal.

Stop carping like a fishwife, or I'm out
of here," I wailed. "Go find yourself a trout."
"Look here," she said, "I've one more thing to add.
You see this baby porpoise? You're a dad."
You missed your birth control on poipus, Joyce!
You played me for a stooge! I have no choice ...
Soon, Joyce, a guest, a fish, a tale (ask Jonah)
will smell—so clam up, now—it’s abalone.

[Donna English]

The midnight knock is followed by a voice,
a raspy bass, “Hey, open up, it’s Joyce!”
"Tell me, do you mean the Joyce whose fame's
based on Trees, or are we talking James?"
"To write" she answered "was my dearest wish;
but I should say I am in fact a fish..."

I cracked the door, and saw that line 2's "bass"
should not have rhymed with "face", but "[something crass]".
I'm cursed by TYPO, keeper of the keys
I'd beg for help, but I do not have knees.

I thought I knew the face, but wasn't sure:
"Hey -- is this Joyce the Mermaid at the door?"
"Yes! It's me I'm dried out, and I'm woozy.
Let's talk while I relax in your jacuzzi

How come you don't recall my voice, my dear?
There was a time its timbres charmed your ear."
I said "Come in for lunch. You'll find a plaice
inside." She disappeared without a trace.

I went out fishing for her. In the river
of murky mist, the air gave me a shiver.
I had the urge to leave, but let it pass.
I listened for the sound of bass or bass

when -- ouch! -- a pointy thorn impaled my hand
and yanked me up. Now, far above, the land-
mark wheel of London's cantilevered Eye
frowned down on me. I sat and wondered why
hallucinations plagued me day and night.
I pulled myself together then turned right
into a pub, and drank a pint of ale,
pondering that mermaid's lovely tail

swathed in seaweed. Now where is that creature
with flowing golden hair (its foremost feature)?
It wouldn't be amiss to find it dead -
sorely tortured by a twisted thread.
Can those, then, whose pursuits are piscatorial
chip in to give the thing a decent burial.

Now Joyce appeared and said, “Your long-lost fish--
how could you want me dead? Is that your wish?”
Although the tale is fishy, I'll be kind,
and change my answer to a never mind.

"How can I love a girl who is half fish?
If we should wed against my parents' wish
we'd surely suffer constant ridicule,
and Hu-Mer kids are frowned upon-- life's cruel!
Your father Neptune and your mom the seal--
if we were married, think how they would squeal.

Stop carping like a fishwife, or I'm out
of here," I wailed. "Go find yourself a trout."
"Look here," she said, "I've one more thing to add.
You see this baby porpoise? You're a dad."
You missed your birth control on poipus, Joyce!
You played me for a stooge! I have no choice ...
Soon, Joyce, a guest, a fish, a tale (ask Jonah)
will smell—so clam up, now—it’s abalone.

That's otter speculation interjected
perhaps this fishy tale's been resurected.

[Marion Shore]

The midnight knock is followed by a voice,
a raspy bass, “Hey, open up, it’s Joyce!”
"Tell me, do you mean the Joyce whose fame's
based on Trees, or are we talking James?"
"To write" she answered "was my dearest wish;
but I should say I am in fact a fish..."

I cracked the door, and saw that line 2's "bass"
should not have rhymed with "face", but "[something crass]".
I'm cursed by TYPO, keeper of the keys
I'd beg for help, but I do not have knees.

I thought I knew the face, but wasn't sure:
"Hey -- is this Joyce the Mermaid at the door?"
"Yes! It's me I'm dried out, and I'm woozy.
Let's talk while I relax in your jacuzzi

How come you don't recall my voice, my dear?
There was a time its timbres charmed your ear."
I said "Come in for lunch. You'll find a plaice
inside." She disappeared without a trace.

I went out fishing for her. In the river
of murky mist, the air gave me a shiver.
I had the urge to leave, but let it pass.
I listened for the sound of bass or bass

when -- ouch! -- a pointy thorn impaled my hand
and yanked me up. Now, far above, the land-
mark wheel of London's cantilevered Eye
frowned down on me. I sat and wondered why
hallucinations plagued me day and night.
I pulled myself together then turned right
into a pub, and drank a pint of ale,
pondering that mermaid's lovely tail

swathed in seaweed. Now where is that creature
with flowing golden hair (its foremost feature)?
It wouldn't be amiss to find it dead -
sorely tortured by a twisted thread.
Can those, then, whose pursuits are piscatorial
chip in to give the thing a decent burial.

Now Joyce appeared and said, “Your long-lost fish--
how could you want me dead? Is that your wish?”
Although the tale is fishy, I'll be kind,
and change my answer to a never mind.

"How can I love a girl who is half fish?
If we should wed against my parents' wish
we'd surely suffer constant ridicule,
and Hu-Mer kids are frowned upon-- life's cruel!
Your father Neptune and your mom the seal--
if we were married, think how they would squeal.

Stop carping like a fishwife, or I'm out
of here," I wailed. "Go find yourself a trout."
"Look here," she said, "I've one more thing to add.
You see this baby porpoise? You're a dad."
You missed your birth control on poipus, Joyce!
You played me for a stooge! I have no choice ...
Soon, Joyce, a guest, a fish, a tale (ask Jonah)
will smell—so clam up, now—it’s abalone.

That's otter speculation interjected
perhaps this fishy tale's been resurected.

Part II

Then up rose Father Neptune, Joyce's dad,
holding his trident. Boy, did he look mad!

[Roger Slater]

Conclusion

And now that we've regaled and been regaled,
this fishy peak's officially been scaled.

[Donna English]

The midnight knock is followed by a voice,
a raspy bass, “Hey, open up, it’s Joyce!”
"Tell me, do you mean the Joyce whose fame's
based on Trees, or are we talking James?"
"To write" she answered "was my dearest wish;
but I should say I am in fact a fish..."

I cracked the door, and saw that line 2's "bass"
should not have rhymed with "face", but "[something crass]".
I'm cursed by TYPO, keeper of the keys
I'd beg for help, but I do not have knees.

I thought I knew the face, but wasn't sure:
"Hey -- is this Joyce the Mermaid at the door?"
"Yes! It's me I'm dried out, and I'm woozy.
Let's talk while I relax in your jacuzzi

How come you don't recall my voice, my dear?
There was a time its timbres charmed your ear."
I said "Come in for lunch. You'll find a plaice
inside." She disappeared without a trace.

I went out fishing for her. In the river
of murky mist, the air gave me a shiver.
I had the urge to leave, but let it pass.
I listened for the sound of bass or bass

when -- ouch! -- a pointy thorn impaled my hand
and yanked me up. Now, far above, the land-
mark wheel of London's cantilevered Eye
frowned down on me. I sat and wondered why
hallucinations plagued me day and night.
I pulled myself together then turned right
into a pub, and drank a pint of ale,
pondering that mermaid's lovely tail

swathed in seaweed. Now where is that creature
with flowing golden hair (its foremost feature)?
It wouldn't be amiss to find it dead -
sorely tortured by a twisted thread.
Can those, then, whose pursuits are piscatorial
chip in to give the thing a decent burial.

Now Joyce appeared and said, “Your long-lost fish--
how could you want me dead? Is that your wish?”
Although the tale is fishy, I'll be kind,
and change my answer to a never mind.

"How can I love a girl who is half fish?
If we should wed against my parents' wish
we'd surely suffer constant ridicule,
and Hu-Mer kids are frowned upon-- life's cruel!
Your father Neptune and your mom the seal--
if we were married, think how they would squeal.

Stop carping like a fishwife, or I'm out
of here," I wailed. "Go find yourself a trout."
"Look here," she said, "I've one more thing to add.
You see this baby porpoise? You're a dad."
You missed your birth control on poipus, Joyce!
You played me for a stooge! I have no choice ...
Soon, Joyce, a guest, a fish, a tale (ask Jonah)
will smell—so clam up, now—it’s abalone.

That's otter speculation interjected
perhaps this fishy tale's been resurected.

Part II

Then up rose Father Neptune, Joyce's dad,
holding his trident. Boy, did he look mad!
Neptune eyed his grandkid's human daddy.
"You got a name?" he asked. Joyce answered, Paddy

[Donna English]

[quote=Donna English;141617]The midnight knock is followed by a voice,
a raspy bass, “Hey, open up, it’s Joyce!”
"Tell me, do you mean the Joyce whose fame's
based on Trees, or are we talking James?"
"To write" she answered "was my dearest wish;
but I should say I am in fact a fish..."

I cracked the door, and saw that line 2's "bass"
should not have rhymed with "face", but "[something crass]".
I'm cursed by TYPO, keeper of the keys
I'd beg for help, but I do not have knees.

I thought I knew the face, but wasn't sure:
"Hey -- is this Joyce the Mermaid at the door?"
"Yes! It's me I'm dried out, and I'm woozy.
Let's talk while I relax in your jacuzzi

How come you don't recall my voice, my dear?
There was a time its timbres charmed your ear."
I said "Come in for lunch. You'll find a plaice
inside." She disappeared without a trace.

I went out fishing for her. In the river
of murky mist, the air gave me a shiver.
I had the urge to leave, but let it pass.
I listened for the sound of bass or bass

when -- ouch! -- a pointy thorn impaled my hand
and yanked me up. Now, far above, the land-
mark wheel of London's cantilevered Eye
frowned down on me. I sat and wondered why
hallucinations plagued me day and night.
I pulled myself together then turned right
into a pub, and drank a pint of ale,
pondering that mermaid's lovely tail

swathed in seaweed. Now where is that creature
with flowing golden hair (its foremost feature)?
It wouldn't be amiss to find it dead -
sorely tortured by a twisted thread.
Can those, then, whose pursuits are piscatorial
chip in to give the thing a decent burial.

Now Joyce appeared and said, “Your long-lost fish--
how could you want me dead? Is that your wish?”
Although the tale is fishy, I'll be kind,
and change my answer to a never mind.

"How can I love a girl who is half fish?
If we should wed against my parents' wish
we'd surely suffer constant ridicule,
and Hu-Mer kids are frowned upon-- life's cruel!
Your father Neptune and your mom the seal--
if we were married, think how they would squeal.

Stop carping like a fishwife, or I'm out
of here," I wailed. "Go find yourself a trout."
"Look here," she said, "I've one more thing to add.
You see this baby porpoise? You're a dad."
You missed your birth control on poipus, Joyce!
You played me for a stooge! I have no choice ...
Soon, Joyce, a guest, a fish, a tale (ask Jonah)
will smell—so clam up, now—it’s abalone.

That's otter speculation interjected
perhaps this fishy tale's been resurected.

Part II

Then up rose Father Neptune, Joyce's dad,
holding his trident. Boy, did he look mad!
Neptune eyed his grandkid's human daddy.
"You got a name?" he asked. Joyce answered, Paddy.
"What about a job?.. Stay silent, Joyce!"
Yes, Sir now I drive a new Rolls Royce..

[Spindleshanks]

The midnight knock is followed by a voice,
a raspy bass, “Hey, open up, it’s Joyce!”
"Tell me, do you mean the Joyce whose fame's
based on Trees, or are we talking James?"
"To write" she answered "was my dearest wish;
but I should say I am in fact a fish..."

I cracked the door, and saw that line 2's "bass"
should not have rhymed with "face", but "[something crass]".
I'm cursed by TYPO, keeper of the keys
I'd beg for help, but I do not have knees.

I thought I knew the face, but wasn't sure:
"Hey -- is this Joyce the Mermaid at the door?"
"Yes! It's me I'm dried out, and I'm woozy.
Let's talk while I relax in your jacuzzi

How come you don't recall my voice, my dear?
There was a time its timbres charmed your ear."
I said "Come in for lunch. You'll find a plaice
inside." She disappeared without a trace.

I went out fishing for her. In the river
of murky mist, the air gave me a shiver.
I had the urge to leave, but let it pass.
I listened for the sound of bass or bass

when -- ouch! -- a pointy thorn impaled my hand
and yanked me up. Now, far above, the land-
mark wheel of London's cantilevered Eye
frowned down on me. I sat and wondered why
hallucinations plagued me day and night.
I pulled myself together then turned right
into a pub, and drank a pint of ale,
pondering that mermaid's lovely tail

swathed in seaweed. Now where is that creature
with flowing golden hair (its foremost feature)?
It wouldn't be amiss to find it dead -
sorely tortured by a twisted thread.
Can those, then, whose pursuits are piscatorial
chip in to give the thing a decent burial.

Now Joyce appeared and said, “Your long-lost fish--
how could you want me dead? Is that your wish?”
Although the tale is fishy, I'll be kind,
and change my answer to a never mind.

"How can I love a girl who is half fish?
If we should wed against my parents' wish
we'd surely suffer constant ridicule,
and Hu-Mer kids are frowned upon-- life's cruel!
Your father Neptune and your mom the seal--
if we were married, think how they would squeal.

Stop carping like a fishwife, or I'm out
of here," I wailed. "Go find yourself a trout."
"Look here," she said, "I've one more thing to add.
You see this baby porpoise? You're a dad."
You missed your birth control on poipus, Joyce!
You played me for a stooge! I have no choice ...
Soon, Joyce, a guest, a fish, a tale (ask Jonah)
will smell—so clam up, now—it’s abalone.

That's otter speculation interjected
perhaps this fishy tale's been resurected.

Part II

Then up rose Father Neptune, Joyce's dad,
holding his trident. Boy, did he look mad!
Neptune eyed his grandkid's human daddy.
"You got a name?" he asked. Joyce answered, Paddy.
"What about a job?.. Stay silent, Joyce!"
Yes, Sir now I drive a new Rolls Royce."
"Well," Neppy said, "that's some relief. I thought
you might have claimed to be a poet, sport!"

[Marion Shore]

The midnight knock is followed by a voice,
a raspy bass, “Hey, open up, it’s Joyce!”
"Tell me, do you mean the Joyce whose fame's
based on Trees, or are we talking James?"
"To write" she answered "was my dearest wish;
but I should say I am in fact a fish..."

I cracked the door, and saw that line 2's "bass"
should not have rhymed with "face", but "[something crass]".
I'm cursed by TYPO, keeper of the keys
I'd beg for help, but I do not have knees.

I thought I knew the face, but wasn't sure:
"Hey -- is this Joyce the Mermaid at the door?"
"Yes! It's me I'm dried out, and I'm woozy.
Let's talk while I relax in your jacuzzi

How come you don't recall my voice, my dear?
There was a time its timbres charmed your ear."
I said "Come in for lunch. You'll find a plaice
inside." She disappeared without a trace.

I went out fishing for her. In the river
of murky mist, the air gave me a shiver.
I had the urge to leave, but let it pass.
I listened for the sound of bass or bass

when -- ouch! -- a pointy thorn impaled my hand
and yanked me up. Now, far above, the land-
mark wheel of London's cantilevered Eye
frowned down on me. I sat and wondered why
hallucinations plagued me day and night.
I pulled myself together then turned right
into a pub, and drank a pint of ale,
pondering that mermaid's lovely tail

swathed in seaweed. Now where is that creature
with flowing golden hair (its foremost feature)?
It wouldn't be amiss to find it dead -
sorely tortured by a twisted thread.
Can those, then, whose pursuits are piscatorial
chip in to give the thing a decent burial.

Now Joyce appeared and said, “Your long-lost fish--
how could you want me dead? Is that your wish?”
Although the tale is fishy, I'll be kind,
and change my answer to a never mind.

"How can I love a girl who is half fish?
If we should wed against my parents' wish
we'd surely suffer constant ridicule,
and Hu-Mer kids are frowned upon-- life's cruel!
Your father Neptune and your mom the seal--
if we were married, think how they would squeal.

Stop carping like a fishwife, or I'm out
of here," I wailed. "Go find yourself a trout."
"Look here," she said, "I've one more thing to add.
You see this baby porpoise? You're a dad."
You missed your birth control on poipus, Joyce!
You played me for a stooge! I have no choice ...
Soon, Joyce, a guest, a fish, a tale (ask Jonah)
will smell—so clam up, now—it’s abalone.

That's otter speculation interjected
perhaps this fishy tale's been resurected.

Part II

Then up rose Father Neptune, Joyce's dad,
holding his trident. Boy, did he look mad!
Neptune eyed his grandkid's human daddy.
"You got a name?" he asked. Joyce answered, Paddy.
"What about a job?.. Stay silent, Joyce!"
Yes, Sir now I drive a new Rolls Royce."
"Well," Neppy said, "that's some relief. I thought
you might have claimed to be a poet, sport!
But now," he went on, "let's talk turkey, son,"
brandishing his trident like a sawed-off gun,