[Joe Aimone]

And Peter would know him the "joeys"
Which has a quite Down Under noise,
While Bobby wrote history ad hominem
But failed to get hold of Joe's nominem.

[This message has been edited by Joe Aimone (edited August 15, 2002).]

[Roger Slater]

If "Joeys" in fact rhymes with "noise,"
One must pronounce "Joeys" as "joise,"

Since if you pronounce it as "Joeys"
The rhymes lose their equi-po-eese.

[Robert Swagman]

I'm appalled at the terrible rhyming
appearing all over the place
and the meters are lacking in timing
and stumbling without any grace.

I really expected much better
when the gauntlet was thrown to the ground
so much for a worthy competitor -
can another such poet be found?

[Joe Aimone]

The problem with rhyming with "Swagman"
Is that your one choice is just "bagman,"
With criminal overtones ringing
Down alleys while churchbells are ringing.
And who can blame Rita for sparking
Instead of collecting the parking?
The priest upon whom she'd been callin'
Had grace enough to know he'd fallen.
So if our rhymes here are inferior,
Let's call out some mothers superior,
And if we're "unsavory" fellows,
I say let's beat Bob till he bellows.
And should someone show up too late ter,
My wager is it's Roger Slater--
Too busy with what he's pronouncing
To join in a good verbal trouncing.

[This message has been edited by Joe Aimone (edited August 15, 2002).]

[Roger Slater]

Joey, I think you've neglected
some rhymes that you could have elected
in writing your verse about Swagman
(apart from the obvious "bagman").

Every platoon has a flagman
who runs up the flag to an anthem.
And haven't you ever gone stag, man?
Or maybe you're just too darn hanthome?

Most comedy shows have a gagman
(and some shows employ Larry Hagman).
And though I don't much like to brag, man,
I'm told that I'm quite a fine shagman.

[Robert Swagman]

More Flack for Joe

Roger beat me to the punch
about the choice of 'Swagman' rhyme;
since it appears there are a bunch
your claim appears the only crime.
And as for seeking aid divine
to bolster failing assonance,
'tis easier to make water wine
that knocks one on his ass, perchance.
As for making me bellow, well
at least your verse has made me yelp;
and as for trouncing verbs, my swell,
I doubt that you need Roger's help.

[Joe Aimone]

To the contrary, Monsignor Swagman,
If I may be slightly Rogerian
And give in both herein and therein,
Except on the one point of "ragman,"
Which both had left out of our anthers
While thtumbling like thweet flower panthers
Through comedy, crime and old reruns
For new rhymes twixt peanuts and pee runs.
So let's settle down with more beer
And waylay the next who comes near.

[Roger Slater]

I'd rather be beaten to the punch,
of course, than beaten by one.
And I'd rather have a liquid lunch
than a standard, boring dry one.
Jerry Swagman, thanks a bunch.
Your rhymes recall Lord Byron.



[This message has been edited by Roger Slater (edited August 15, 2002).]

[Robert Swagman]

Remind me to thank Joe for not rhyming 'Jerry'.
It's not a name for which rhymes would be very
polite, much less at all complimentary.

But that won't stop some folks from making their hairy
remarks, while comfortably sitting on dairy
airs and writing in verse rudimentary.

Only thinking of stopping when necessary
to run to the fridge for more beer, or ferry
themselves to the can for a ten minute tarry.

I had a hunch that after lunch
Roger would scrunch to write a bunch
of "Jerry" rhymes - thus beat him to the punch.

[chris]

A Little Zonk Verse


Joining this thread from Joey and Rob
Duelling or gruelling through volley and lob,
I see Rog taking on Henry Quince at the clavier,
And Quince smashing back like a Davis Cup saviour,
And Zbaby pokes Roger with restaurant humour.
(Is she Debra the zebra, or a lemur with tumour?)
and Mel that sweet melon has Quince Jam on the ropes
for egregious spelling, bad puns, drunken tropes,
while Peter in Queensland (where Croc Files is canned)
sings the surreal with a mouth full of sand -
Well, Singapore's logged on to send a few darts,
and blow rasberries at Spheroidian farts.

But I should say Sorry to Slater and Quince
and Zbaby – don’t bait her, the anonymous minx.
and Peter the Croc who doctors with wit
and Joe-boy who’s earnest and Rob who won’t quit.
Who knows for a fact - do these poet’s exist
or does one schizo-scribe just post when s/he’s pissed?
(Just ask Henry Quince who makes that fruit plonk
And drinks as he writes his septameter zonk.)
One might speculate that Olympic Australians
are invading Erato like hopeful Pygmalions.
Reshaping the muse from an old bush-cucumber,
they talk louder and brasher (being fewer in number).
Is one Aussie computer sending multiple emails,
can one poet make a flock of bush-turkeys or quails?
Fastidious verse-makers, it just could be true.
Can any one post the clerihew of a clue?




[This message has been edited by chris (edited August 17, 2002).]