Out of the 70 poems I sent John Mella, we have 68 keepers for the Autumn issue of Light Quarterly! I'll receive hard copy proofs of the layout in a couple of days and will mail or fax each of you a copy of the proof of your poems so you can make corrections. I'll need a mailing address or fax number, so please send me that by PM.
John would like to get the layout off to the printer by the end of the month. Meanwhile, I'm posting the selection here in the order the poems will appear. The numbers you see are the page numbers in Light, starting on page 11 and going through page 54, our allocation.
You'll notice that the italics and indentation don't show up in this thread--you'll have to wait for hard copy to see those because I'm not going to input all the UBB and html codes here again--but the stanza breaks are pretty much as they will appear in the magazine. Unfortunately we had to leave out a lot of the stanza breaks to fit all these poems on the pages. It was that or cut some poems. The headers will appear in large type and there will be occasional graphics, Light's typical format. Here's the selection in the order in which our poems will appear:
LIGHT
(light bulb graphic here)
Selected Classic Jokes
A Verse Anthology
Edited by Timothy Murphy & Carol Taylor
FOUR ANCIENT WHEEZES
My old man’s got a goat don’t have no nose.
Poor thing, how does it smell? Just terrible.
President Guff can’t see you now. He’s gone
To the United Kingdom. No! When was the funeral?
Lady, I’ll have to take down your particulars.
Why, Officer, we’ve just met! I wouldn’t dream…
Miss, would you like to look at my Cosmopolitan?
Open one button, mister, and I’ll scream.
—X. J. KENNEDY
12
1: POEMS OF FAITH & PIETY
SUCCESS IN THE CHURCH
“How high up can a bright, hard-working boy
Go in your church?” inquired Moe Finkelstein.
“If he’s real gold,” said Pat, “and not alloy
He’ll be a priest, and on the altar shine.”
“Only a priest?” Moe countered, unimpressed.
“Of course,” Pat mused, “Maybe a monsignor.”
“That’s all?” scoffed Moe. Said Pat, “The very best
Become a bishop.” Moe frowned. “Aw, you mean your
“Church can’t do better by him?” “Well,” said Pat,
“He might prove worthy of more preferment
And one day wear a cardinal’s red hat.”
“Not half enough,” said Moe. “Not what I meant.”
“All right,” cried Pat, “say he’s elected Pope!”
“Just Pope? Just Pope’s as high as he could go?
For such piss-poor success, a boy should hope?
A lot of people make a lot more dough.”
Pat had no more promotions on his shelf,
But one last card remained. In rage, he played it:
“You think he should be Jesus Christ himself?”
Moe shrugged. “So why not? One of our boys made it.”
—X. J. KENNEDY
13
KNOCKING ON THE DOOR
Pat and Mick are doing road repairs
outside a well-known house of ill repute
when Pat gets hold of Mick and says, “Look! There’s
old Rabbi Greenberg entering. I knew’t!
Sure, none o’ them lads can respect the cloth.”
A short time later, knocking on the door
comes Pastor Smith. “Mick, jaypers, be me troth—
the minister is visiting a whore!
’Tis scandalous the way these hypocrites
go through these doors committin’ mortal sin;
they’ll surely pay when God in judgement sits!”
Just then old Father Murphy scurries in.
“Yet have a look at that man now,” says Mick.
“Sure, one o’ them poor ladies must be sick!”
—JIM HAYES
CURRENCY CONVERSION
Two Jews were walking near a church and saw
a sign that said: We’ll pay you to convert.
Become a Christian and reject the Law
of Moses. Earn hard cash. It couldn’t hurt!
So Irving went right in. But Izzy waited.
An hour later, Irving came back out.
“It’s more convincing than I anticipated,”
Irving said. “I’m Christian now. Devout.”
“But Irving,” Izzy cried, “that’s quite absurd!
You’re orthodox. How could you be so rash?
Now tell me everything that just occurred.
And by the way, did they give you the cash?
“Oy, Izzy!” Irving sighed. “It’s almost funny
how much you Jews are fixated on money.”
—ROBERT SCHECHTER
14
AN INNOCENT STROLL
A priest enjoying a ramble by a ditch
happened across a frog that looked forlorn.
It sorrowfully sobbed, “An evil witch
deprived me of the form I had when born.
I was a boy,” it told the startled priest,
“But now I must remain an ugly frog
until some man, taking me home to feast,
pours me a drink before the blazing log,
then tucks me in beside him in his bed.”
Swayed by this tragic tale so sadly spoken,
the priest bedded the frog, but in its stead,
a choir boy lay beside him when he’d woken.
The boy was grateful and his joy immense.
“And that, Your Honor, is the case for the defense.”
—JIM HAYES & TIMOTHY MURPHY
GATHERING BY THE RIVER
A baptismal services was held by the river.
O’Hare walked up and stood by the preacher.
“And have ye found Christ?” said the preacher. “Niver,”
said O’Hare, a sorrowful, sinful creature.
The preacher grabbed him and dunked in his head—
then pulled him back up—“Did ye find Him then?”
“Nnnoo, I dddidn’t,” poor O’Hare said.
The preacher pushed him under again.
“Brother,” he said, “Have ye found Jesus now?”
Nnnooo, Rrreverend!” was all that O’Hare could gasp.
“By the saints, ye’ll find him! I’ll show ye how!”
thundered the preacher with O’Hare in his grasp.
“Wwwait!” said O’Hare, “’Fore I go in agin—
are ye s-s-sartin s-sure this is w-where he fell in?”
—JIM HAYES
15
THE HOLY WATER FONT
Four nuns all stood. Each shed a tear
and cried, “We must confess
our awful sins, oh Father dear—
Forgive us and God bless!”
The first nun cried, “I’ve been so bad!
Forgive me when I say
I chanced to see a naked lad
and didn’t look away!”
The Father spoke, “This was unwise,
Yet still you can be shriven.
Go to the font and bathe your eyes
and all will be forgiven.”
The next nun cried, “This naked lad,
his manhood was so grand,
I must confess, I simply had
to touch it with my hand!”
“Heaven forbid!” the Father swore.
“That’s quite a sin, my daughter.
Yet take thy hand, and as before,
Wash it in holy water.”
The fourth nun then turned to the third
and asked, “Mind if I cut?
I’ll gargle, but from what we’ve heard,
you’re going to wash your butt.”
—KEVIN ANDREW MURPHY
16
A FULL CONFESSION
“Forgive me, Father, I have sinned.”
What have you done, my son?
“Oh, I’ve had sex, I’m sad to say.”
And with whom was it done?
“I cannot say! I’m so ashamed!”
Was it Maureen O’Brien?
“Father, I can’t in conscience say.”
Perchance ’twas Judy Ryan?
“Oh, it would not be right to tell.”
Ah, then, young Peg O’Connor?
“Absolve me, but I can’t reveal.”
Say a rosary in her honor.
When leaving the confessional,
he saw his pal Joe Deeds.
“What did you get for penance, Jim?”
“One rosary—three new leads!”
—RALPH C. LA ROSA
17
II: POEMS OF FOLK & FABLE
MAN AND THE FIRMAMENT
Sherlock Holmes and Watson were camping out one night.
At three a.m. Sherlock woke up. The stars seemed strangely bright.
“Watson, look above your head and tell me what you see.”
“I think that’s Scorpius,” Watson said, “and the Cannes Venatici.”
“And what is their significance?” inquired the master sleuth,
while Watson grappled sleepily for some deductive truth.
“Well, scientifically,” he said, on due conjecturing,
“we north of the twenty-first parallel, the sky’s clear, and it’s spring.
“Spiritually,” Watson ventured on, “it makes me realize
the intricate balance of God’s plan, just looking at those skies.
“And philosophically,” he mused, “I think how small we are—
our solar system just a speck, our sun a tiny star.”
But seeing Holmes still frowning, Watson said, “Then you tell me
what else it means. We ought to get some sleep; it’s after three.”
Holmes rolled his eyes and gestured at the sparkling firmament.
“Watson, you idiot!” he said. “Somebody stole our tent!”
—CAROL A. TAYLOR
18
WHO’S AFRAID?
Miss Jones, who takes the younger children, prides
herself on spinning yarns. At five years old
the kids, when entertained, are good as gold,
and sometimes say surprising things besides.
They loved the story of the pig that tries
to build a little house of straw the bold
and wicked wolf can’t wreck—a tale best told
with care, explaining what it signifies.
“The pig,” she told them, “found a turnip bed
made out of straw, and asked if he could dig
a little up. Guess what the farmer said!”
“I know,” cried Jude, one hand above her head,
and standing (since she wasn’t very big):
“Well, bugger me—here comes a talking pig!”
—DAVID ANTHONY
TALES FROM CAMELOT
The biggest thunderstorm in eighty years—
The winds lift giant trees out by the roots,
when at my gate Sir Lancelot appears,
the mud of tempests clinging to his boots,
and says, “Sirrah, I beg of you a horse.”
I have no horse to give, and tell him so.
“Then lend me that big mutt. I’ve ridden worse.”
His voice is desperate as the gale winds blow.
“But Lancelot, come in and dry your armor.
The rain, I fear, is turning into hail.
Depart tomorrow, when the weather’s calmer.
If you go now, your mission’s doomed to fail.
And yes, my friend, I would be quite remiss
to send a knight out on a dog like this.”
—ROBERT SCHECHTER
19
FRAGMENT OF A CASE OF HISTORY
“I think I get you Dr. F.,” said Alice,
“Except the part about the phallic symbol.”
“It’s anysing zat represents a phallus,”
Herr Freud shot back (his intellect was nimble).
“I kinda guessed that much, but what the hell’s
A phallus?” Freud’s reply was long and deep
And full of Latin words, ‘ahems’ and ‘wells,’
So Alice lost the thrust and fell asleep.
“Aha! I've got it,” Freud ejaculated,
“Ze item’s von vit vich I am eqvipped—
It might be better if I demonstrated.”
Saying “Behold ze Phallus!” he unzipped.
Said Alice, with the aura of a scholar,
“I see! It’s something like a prick, but smaller!”
—CHRISTOPHER WAGNER
THE WALL
Jock, strolling with his friend, an Englishman,
happens upon a lamp washed up by the sea;
they scrub and clean it up as best they can:
out pops a genie saying “At last I’m free!
I’m going to give you each one wish for this.”
The Englishman says “England for the English,
I’m sick and tired of all these Jocks—what bliss
if I could keep the whole lot out! My wish
is for a wall that goes around all England.”
No sooner is this said than POOF—it’s there!
Says Jock, “Och Genie, this wall’s surely grand—
’tis wondrous thick and two miles in the air.
Naething gets in or out through sich fine mortar;
weel ’tis my wish ye fill it up with water.”
—JIM HAYES
20
THE TRUTH WILL OUT
A Kansas farmer with a half-grown son
hitched up the wagon to the flop-eared mule
one Saturday and took his kid to town.
The farmer told the boy, “Son, you’re a fool,
“But if you sit here on the wagon bed,
don’t bother folks, and keep your big mouth shut
while I go in the store and get some feed
then maybe no one else will find it out.”
A shopper asked the youth what time he had.
The boy just acted like he hadn’t heard.
The man spoke louder, “Don’t you hear me, lad?”
The boy turned red but didn’t say a word,
Just sat there still and silent as a post,
his eyes glued on the rear end of the mule.
The city slicker gave it up at last
and muttered, “You must be some kind of fool!”
His father asked him why his face was red.
He looked up at his dad in some dismay
and sniffed, “Well, Pa, I done just like you said
but folks found out about it anyway.”
—CAROL A. TAYLOR
21
III: POEMS OF LOVE & ROMANCE
SURVIVAL KIT
A banker and a supermodel, victims of a shipwreck,
washed up together in the inland bay
of an uncharted atoll in the balmy South Pacific.
At first they hoped for rescue any day.
But weeks gave way to seasons, bringing tropical bad weather.
They built a hut against the rain and winds,
and when the monsoon hit they sheltered in the hut together,
and so became the very best of friends.
Next morning, Cyndi asked her lover what to do to please him.
“I want to show you how I feel. Is there
some fantasy you’re holding back?” John answered, halfway teasing,
“I wonder if you’d let me cut your hair?”
The supermodel, thinking just how far she was off camera,
agreed to cut her hair. “I get the picture.”
“Hold still,” he said and drew a thin moustache that hid her dimples.
“I wonder if you’d let me call you Victor?”
“I never thought you’d ask for this,” said Cyndi, quite upset,
“But since it’s only fantasy, all right.“
John leaned back on his elbows and confided, “Vic, I’ll bet
you’ll never guess who I slept with last night!”
—CAROL A. TAYLOR
22
MISGUIDED LOVE SONNET
A drunken man alone beside a bar
lights up a cigarette and starts to cry.
In calling for the barman passing by,
he’s clearly several bourbons over par.
“I’ve just found out my wife is having sex
with my best friend while I’m out keeping fit,”
he shouts. “It’s happened twice before, but shit,
what can I do? Gimme another Becks.”
With Dolly Parton ringing in his brain,
the barman asks him plain just what he said
on finding them together in the bed
in love entwined, unable to explain,
when he returned home early from his jog.
“I just grabbed hold of him and said...BAD dog!”
—DAVID CONDELL
THE STATUES
A lonely pair of lovers in the park
stand frozen in a moment far apart.
The statues separated in the dark
brought tears to anyone who had a heart.
A century without their underwear,
their proud bare bodies shouldering the nest
and refuse of a flock that has no care
but lets go its cloaca with the best.
A fairy full of pity and a wand
would grant a special favour for the pair
“Let them be human! Now they may abscond
into the bushes and their love repair!”
Above the rustling of the leaves were heard
Squeals of delight—it was a joyous fit.
“It’s my turn darling, will you hold the bird
in place, so I can take a dump on it.”
—RENATE MICALLEF
23
BUSINESS AS USUAL
One morning Jane is sweeping up the floor
and hears a rapping at her kitchen door.
It’s Tom, her husband’s friend. She tells him Jack
already left for work and won’t be back
’till dinner time, and Tom says, “Yes, I know.
I’ll pay a thousand dollars if you’ll go
upstairs with me to have some one-on-one.”
Jane is flabbergasted. She’s never done
the deed for dough. However, money’s tight
these days, so tight that Jack, ’most every night,
is too distracted to perform in bed,
and just a day or two ago he said
he’d have to sell his boat, his favorite toy,
to pay the bills. Then too, she might enjoy
some in-and-out with Tom. Oh, what the hell,
a grand’s a grand, and if he rings her bell
a time or two, that’s icing on the cake.
So with a shrug and smile she says, “Let’s take
a little walk upstairs.” Soon the springs
are singing loudly with their couplings,
and Jane is pleased to learn that pleasure pays.
They’re having so much fun Tom almost stays
too long: at five o’clock he counts the grand,
ten hundred-dollar bills, into her hand.
He’s hardly left when Jack gets home, and she
intends to say she won the lottery.
But Jack comes in all smiles and asks her, quote,
“Did Tom come by to pay us for my boat?”
Jane, though speechless, can’t help but conclude
she’s never before been quite so thoroughly screwed.
—RICHARD WAKEFIELD
24
RESPECT
While lining up a birdie putt, old Jim
Suddenly dropped his club, removed his hat
And held it to his chest. “What’s wrong with him?”
Said Homer to his friend. Sean pointed: “That.”
They paused until the funeral had gone.
Said Homer, “Such respect. I was near tears.”
“Jim’s a real gentleman,” responded Sean.
“Besides, they had been married forty years.”
—R. S. GWYNN
THE WRATH OF REILLY
Rafferty was puzzled when he saw
the state of his friend Fennelly’s physog;
his eye was bleeding and his nose was raw;
his clothes looked as though savaged by a dog.
“What happened, Mick? Ye look a holy show.
I’ve not seen such a sight in all me life.”
“I was caught flagrante delicto”
said Fennelly, “In bed with Reilly’s wife.”
“Be jabbers, Mick, he gave ye quite a hidin’.
Could ye not have made a better stand
agin his big shillelagh? I’m not chidin’
but had ye nothing useful in yer hand?”
“I had!—his missus’ ass—a gorgeous sight;
but ’twasn’t much good to me in a fight.”
—JIM HAYES
25
ANGUS AND MORAG
They were playmates together, as teenagers, lovers,
yes Angus and Morag were matched from the start
in that rare combination where first love discovers
a lifetime of joy: hand in hand, heart to heart.
So they entered their sixties in relative bliss
but despite constant trying, were barren—no child;
in their near-perfect lives this one thing was amiss
then old Morag got pregnant. The village went wild.
Some never believed it until she had swelled
and some would still doubt till her labor was through
so Angus, proud father, said as he upheld
his new daughter, “Just wait till they hear about you.”
Then Morag, the practical one of the twosome,
said “Angus, it’s not in our nature to boast,
but just once in a lifetime...tomorrow you’ll do some
newspaper announcing—the Highlander’s Post!”
The following night he came in looking guilty,
“So has the announcement been published today?”
He shambled across to the bed, slow and wilty,
“So out with it, Angus! Which cow went astray?”
“It was awful expensive—a hellish high cost—
over three thousand pounds was the price I’d to pay!”
“Over three thousand pounds! Why, Angus, that’s most
of the money we’ve saved—what on earth did you say?”
“They flummoxed me, Morag. My brains went a-scatter;
I shouldn’t have told them—I’d carefully thought
it all out and I gave them the usual patter
and that was all fine... but... but then...” “But then what?”
“Why Morag they moved on to personal questions!”
“Those newspaper people—all gossip and ears!”
“I said when they asked me ‘How many insertions?’
"Och, five times a week for forty-five years."
—JOHN BEATON
26
PROGRESSIVE HEARING LOSS
Oscar went in for his yearly exam
although he was still feeling well.
The doctor shook hands, asked him, “How is your wife?”
“She’s older and meaner than hell
and harder to live with,” the man told his doctor.
“She’s getting as deaf as a post.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Doc Jones said to Oscar.
“How much of her hearing’s she lost?”
“I don’t really know, Doctor,” Oscar replied.
“Is there a good way to find out?”
“Oh, sure, that’s quite simple. Stand back fifty feet
and ask her a question. Don’t shout.
If she doesn’t answer, then work in a bit
until she can hear you just fine.”
So Oscar, returning for supper that night,
called out from the fifty-foot line,
“Hi, dear. What’s for supper?” He got no reply,
so at forty he asked her again,
then at thirty, then twenty, and then, eye-to-eye,
“Hi, dear. What’s for supper?” at ten.
His wife stared him down, looking cold as a witch,
her expression as sour as limes,
“Don’t ask me again, you dumb son-of-a-bitch,
It’s chicken. I’ve told you five times!”
—CAROL A. TAYLOR
27
IV: POEMS OF THE PROFESSIONS
THE STOCK BOY
A young boy at the produce shelf was wrapping a lettuce head.
“I’ll have half a head of lettuce,” a white-haired gentleman said.
The lad: “Mister they’re ain’t no halves. We sell ’em as they’re grown.”
“I cannot eat a lettuce, lad. Alas, I live alone.”
The boy burst through the swinging door and said “A doddering crock
wants half a head of lettuce, and he’s half-dead by the clock…”
But seeing the old man at his heels, the lad said with a laugh:
“And this distinguished gentleman fancies the other half.”
The manager watched the old man, departing with his buy,
and told the boy, “Good work, my lad. Very quick thinking. I
might send you to Toronto to supervise some stores.”
The boy cried “Who would want to live with hockey players and whores?”
“My wife is from Toronto! Wash your mouth! Watch what you say!”
Smiling, the boy said “Really? What position did she play?”
—TIMOTHY MURPHY
28
ENTOMOLOGIST
Nell shines among the brightest academics
within the world of entomology.
All bugs enthral her, and the bumblebee
inspired her noted “Insectile Polemics.”
The other day I called around to tell her
I’d spotted her VW in town,
going too fast (it nearly ran me down)
and driven by a shifty-looking feller.
“Oh God, he’s got my insects!” Helen cried.
She had my sympathy—it takes such care
to build collections—and I wondered where
they’d been: the boot, or on a seat inside?
“No, neither place: I keep the inside clean.
They’re squashed against the headlamps and the screen.”
—DAVID ANTHONY
IT TAKES TWO TO TANGLE
The town had just one lawyer, but the fact is
the poor guy couldn’t drum up any practice.
But then a second lawyer set up shop.
Now both of them have caseloads that won’t stop.
—ROBERT SCHECHTER
29
GOING OUT IN STYLE
An aging spinster phoned her young attorney.
“I have no next of kin to leave bereft;
I’ve forty thousand dollars in my savings,
and want to designate how it is left.
First, I’d like to have the grandest funeral
this town has ever seen, go out in style.
Can it be done for thirty-five thousand dollars?”
The lawyer said “No problem,” with a smile.
“But what,” he asked, “about the last five thousand?”
The lady cleared her throat, then firmly said,
“There’s one experience my life’s been lacking.
I’d like just once to take a man to bed
before I die. Do you suppose five thousand
is enough for you to find a gentleman
to do the job? Somebody young and handsome?”
The lawyer said, “Why, yes. I think I can.”
He told his anxious client not to worry,
he’d finalize arrangements right away.
That evening over dinner he broached the subject
when his wife asked him how he’d spent his day.
“Five thousand bucks would come in pretty handy.
What do you think? Ought I to take it on?”
“It’s better than letting the money go to strangers,”
his wife agreed, and so the deal was done.
He called his client and made the proposition.
She thought it almost too good to be true.
His wife then dropped him at the lady’s condo.
“Just call and I’ll come get you when you’re through.”
An hour and five thousand dollars later,
the wife picked up her ringing cellular.
Her husband said, “Come get me in the morning.
She’s going to let the county bury her.”
—CAROL A. TAYLOR
30
RORSCHACH
He showed me ink-blot one. I told him, “Wow!
I never saw six lesbians in diapers!”
He showed me ink-blot two. I cried out, “How
can one man screw nine gorgeous candy stripers?”
He showed me ink-blot three. I blushed to say,
“It seems the goat takes pleasure being raped.”
He showed me ink-blot four. I screamed, “No way!
That’s just not how a proper tit is shaped.”
The doctor paused. “My God, you are disgusting!
There’s not a word you’ve uttered here today
that’s not been tainted by your filthy lusting.”
I said, “What kind of game is this you play,
to claim that I’m perverted, I’m the nut,
when you’re the one who showed me all that smut?”
—ROBERT SCHECHTER
LE MOT JUSTE
“Doctor, please perform a quick castration,”
the patient said. The doctor almost died.
“Is this the product of deliberation?”
“Yes, I’ve thought it out,” the man replied.
And so the doctor did as was he was bidden,
and when the patient woke he said to him,
“At first I thought you must have just been kiddin’,
since most of us would rather lose a limb,
but now that the procedure’s safely over
I can confess it’s quite the first I’ve done.
I’ve circumcised a thousand men. However,
my tally of castrations comes to one.”
The startled patient clutched at his empty cup,
then cried, “My God! I got those terms mixed up!”
—ROBERT SCHECHTER
31
NEEDS MUST
A Captain assigned to the French Foreign Legion
was transferred one day to a desert post.
To acquaint himself with the men in his region,
he went on a tour with the Sarge as his host.
He saw by the barracks an old dromedary
and asked; “What’s it for?” said the Sarge, “It’s dire
around here, sir, where there is nary
a woman to sate a soldier’s desire!”
“If it’s good for morale, then I couldn’t care less,
though a tryst with a camel? I’d much sooner die.”
But he cracked after months of abstemiousness--
“BRING ME THE CAMEL,” the Sarge heard him cry.
The sergent saluted. “Sir, she’s no beaut.”
The Captain, on a footstool with trousers pulled down,
rogered it, then said; “That’s how the men do’t?”
“Well no sir-—we use her to ride into town.”
—JIM HAYES
32
LEAPING TO A CONCLUSION
Jenkins was a private whose platoon
was being trained to parachute from planes,
the very thought of which made Jenkins swoon.
“Don’t worry, Jenkins, we have taken pains
to make your jump a safe one. When you leap,
the parachute will open up automatically,
but if it doesn’t, soldier, simply keep
calm and tug this back-up ring, emphatically,
and that should work. Still, here’s a second ring
to pull if the first one fails. In any case,
after you reach the ground a truck will bring
you back in time for supper to the base.”
So Private Jenkins jumped. No chute came out!
He tugged the back-up ring, but still no luck.
The second back-up failed. He sighed, “No doubt
those jerks will now forget to send the truck!”
—ROBERT SCHECHTER
33
V: POEMS OF ETHNIC PRIDE
LONG AGO AND FAR AWAY
“Old Moscowitz is gone—left town!”
The baker said with a puzzled frown.
“I came upon him yesterday,
Already packed and on his way,
And claiming he was fleeing from
‘Imminent danger of pogrom.’
“‘But can't you see,’” I remonstrated,
‘Your fears are...well...exaggerated?
You know we‘re liberal here—that we
Value ethnic diversity.’
“But he would only shake his head,
Smiling sadly. At length he said,
‘According to my trusted source
The mob will gather here in force
Next week and wantonly abuse
The city’s barbers and its Jews.’
"‘The barbers, Moscowitz!’ I hooted,
‘But why should they be persecuted?’”
“‘Yes, everyone in town asks that.
Goodbye,’ he said, and tipped his hat.”
—CHRISTOPHER WAGNER
34
THE LIFT
Old Pat hasn’t been to the city before,
but he takes young Sean as a birthday gift.
In a high rise building they notice a door
and don’t realise they’re seeing a lift.
The door slides open; they look inside—
it’s empty. An elderly lady steps in
and the door slides shut. They’re both surprised
to hear a whirring noise begin.
Atop, they notice the lights start flashing,
then stop; the door rolls open once more—
out steps a model, and she looks smashing
to Pat and Sean with their chins on the floor.
“Tis a wondrous machine,” says Pat, “like nae other!
Sean, go home quick and fetch yer mother!”
—JIM HAYES
A BATTLE ACCOUNTED FOR
When one day Molly Grogan walked by, all
Battered and bruised, band-aided, both eyes blacked,
The neighbors asked her had she been attacked.
“Nothing of the kind,” she answered, “Just a small
Friendly misunderstanding. I was going
To the doctor’s with my urine specimen,
When I met that nosey snooper Maggie Gonne.
What have you got in that sack there? she’d be knowing.
Piss in a bottle, says I, and the fight was on.”
—X. J. KENNEDY
35
COWBOY GARB
A lady from New York has come out west
and meets a real live cowboy. “Do you mind,”
she asks, “explaining why you wear a vest
and chaps and cowboy hat? Are they designed
for special functions?” “Sure,” the cowboy grins.
“My vest provides some warmth but frees me up
to swing a rope. My chaps protect my shins
from thorns. My hat serves as my horse’s cup
and has this brim to cut the desert glare.”
Allured, the lady questions with a pucker:
“But what about those running shoes you wear?”
“Oh, they’re so folks will know I’m not a trucker.”
—RICHARD WAKEFIELD
RELATIVE POSITIONS
Driving down a highway in Vermont,
a friendly Texan stopped to say hello.
The conversation was one-sided, though—
those Yankee folks are sorta reticent.
The Texan pushed his Stetson off his brow
and asked the close-lipped farmer how much land
he held. The farmer spat. “You see thet stand
of elderberry bushes by thet plough?
My land stahts at thet medder ovuh the’uh
runs past thet brook to thet stone fence beyond.”
The Texan scratched his neck and said, “I ’ll swann!
I’ve got a spread that I caint drive my truck
acrost in a day.” The farmer grinned, “Bad luck.
I used to have a truck just like thet. Ayuh.”
—CAROL A. TAYLOR
36
OLE AND SVEN JOIN THE NAVY
In World War II, at Uncle Sam’s request,
Ole and Sven enlist without complaining.
They pass the naval aviators’ test
And go to Pensacola for their training.
Their first time up, with Sven at the controls
They bear down on the Langley for a landing
And are waved off. The carrier yaws and rolls
So badly that no crewmen are left standing.
The fuel gauge nudging zero, they descend.
Sven drops his flaps and yells, “You hang on, Ole!”
They hit the deck hard, skidding to the end.
Sven breathes a sigh and looks around: “By golly,
“That deck, she sure is short enough,” he says.
“Ya,” Ole says. "But look how wide she is!"
—R. S. GWYNN
OUT CRUISING
Ole and Lena were in his car,
her hand squeezing his thigh.
Her palm slid up his leg so far
his underwear rode high.
Then Lena sighed passionately
“Oh, Ole, I tell you truth,
you can go all the way with me...”
So Ole drove to Duluth.
—TIMOTHY MURPHY
37
OUT COURTING
Ole and Lena were going to da bjarn,
da Hjallstrom’s bjarn, and da big costume party,
and when dey were traversin da Hjallstrom’s fjarm
and crossing hand-in-hand da nortwest forty,
Ole gussied up as an angus bull
and Lena dressed as a cow bound for da fair,
lo and behold! dere was a real bull
pawin da ground and snortin in da air!
“What shall we do?” cried Lena in a fit,
wit never a tree to climb in all dat grass.
“Lena, I’m going to make a run for it,
and as for you, I suggest you brace your ass.”
—TIMOTHY MURPHY
CLOCKWORK
Mrs. Reilly, Hogan, and Murphy were having a chat;
Mrs. Reilly said, “The biggest problem for me,
is that I wake each morning at seven and at
twenty past I’m still trying to have a pee.”
Mrs. Hogan said the problem for her was worse
and at her age there was no hope for improvement;
she woke each morning at eight it was a curse
to sit and wait an hour for a bowel movement.
Mrs. Murphy said at seven she pees like a horse
and every morning craps like a cow at eight;
the others said that to them she sounded of course
as though her bodily functions were working great.
“Well I agree my parts are working fine
the problem is I never wake up till nine.”
—JIM HAYES
38
A TYPICAL DISH
A Texan eating out in Mexico
was in a restaurant and was most ambitious
to try a local dish. “I’d like to know
what that man’s having. It looks quite delicious.”
“Those are testículos— a treat, Señor.
They’re from a bull that’s freshly killed each day.
We only have one fight. The matador
removes them and they’re cooked our special way.
“As that dish has been ordered, I’m afraid
there are no more until tomorrow’s fight
is over.” Hearing this, the Texan made
a booking for the dish the following night.
The next day he was served his special meal
and all was as he had anticipated—
the sizzling meat reminded him of veal;
the sauce so rich that he congratulated
the waiter, saying: “I’ve never had before
a meal so good. The portions, though, I’m curious—
they seemed quite small.” The waiter shrugged, “Señor,
at times the bull can also be victorious.”
—JIM HAYES
39
THE AUSSIE AND THE ESKIMO
Nanook’s had enough of snow and ice,
decides it is time he emigrated.
He searches the map. What’s warm and nice?
and finds himself Down-under, elated
to see the Outback stretching so far.
In order to get some miles from town
he buys for himself an old Ford car.
Days into the desert the beast breaks down.
Nanook doesn’t know what he should do,
he tries to start the engine—no good,
he’s sitting sun-baked and feeling blue,
but an Aussie stops and raises the hood.
“Mate, it looks like you’ve blown a seal.”
“So what? You have your sheep—big deal!”
—JIM HAYES
OVERHEARD ON A BUS
When the bus stops two Italians get on,
and engage in lively conversation
which the lady behind ignores until one
remarks, to her total consternation,
“Emma come first. Denna I come.
Two asses, they come togedder;
I come again, you heara some
pair asses come again. Ledder
I come again and pee-a twice.
Denna I come once-a more.”
“You swine, such foul talk isn’t nice,”
the lady gasps, shocked to her core.
“Hey, coola down lady! I jus’ tell Lippi,
my fren’, howa to spell Mississippi.”
—JIM HAYES
40
THE BALL GAME
A recent Scottish immigrant attends
a baseball game and hears the fans shout “Run”
after a base hit. The excitement sends
Hamish wild: “Hey mon,” he thinks, “whit fun!”
A batter connects heavily once again.
Hamish leaps to his feet and claps his hands:
“R-r-rrun ya p-r-rick!” He’s just sat down, and then
a third batter tips a foul into the stands.
“R-r-run ya bahstard, r-r-run will ya!” The Scot
show off his new-found knowledge of the game.
The next man holds at three and two; there’s not
a movement as the Scot yells out the same.
“Are you a fool?” a scoffing neighbor balks,
“he’s got four balls--he’s getting a free ride!
and with four balls, the umpire says he walks.”
The Scotsman stands and roars out, “Walk wi’ pr-r-ride!”
—JIM HAYES
WESTERN AUSTRALIA—THE STATE OF MIND
A trucker in Mundiwindi
grins from his dusty rig:
“Mate, ’ere’s fantastic country—
loik Texas, except it’s big!”
—TIMOTHY MURPHY
41
VI: CATS, DOGS, KIDS, & OTHER ANIMALS
CUSHIONING THE BLOW
We thought it best to leave the cat with Ted
along with Grandma, when we went away.
No sooner were we home from holiday
than, bluntly, he announced the cat was dead.
“Listen!” I said, “Bad news is better told
obliquely—such as, ‘Bess went climbing on
the roof, and fell. Her legs and back were gone.
They tried to save her but she was too old.’”
Ted—who’s direct but not a thoughtless man—
was chastened (so he said) and mortified.
“Don’t worry, Cousin Edward,” I replied.
“We all drop clangers. By the way, how’s Gran?”
“Not great,” he said. “In fact, to tell the truth,
last night she went out climbing on the roof……”
—DAVID ANTHONY
42
TALENTED
O’Reilly brings an octopus one day
into a bar and tells the patrons there
that there’s no instrument it cannot play--
percussion, wind, or string--however rare.
All the patrons think this is a hoot,
The octopus is challenged to a test.
“Alright,” O’Reilly says, “Go on thin, shoot.”
The octopod plays a saxophone with zest.
Accordion, banjo, guitar, piccolo too--
every instrument going it plays with ease,
till Hamish growling, “Here-r-r-re, let me get through!”
gives it his bagpipes. “Git the better-r-r o’these!”
The octopus fumbles a moment and looks confused.
“Ye canna play it,” says Hamish—“An’ weel Ah knew it!”
“Play it me eye,” says the octopus, getting enthused;
“As soon as I get its pajamas off, I’ll screw it.”
—JIM HAYES
THE THIRSTY GORILLA
One day a huge gorilla entered Joe’s
Bar and Grill and said, “I’ll have a beer!”
Joe thought, “I bet that no gorilla knows
the price of things,” then said, “You’re welcome here,
but drinks cost fifty dollars. Can you pay?”
“Of course,” the ape replied, and did just that.
“Wonderful,” said Joe, “then you can stay.”
Joe served the beer and then sat down to chat.
“My friend,” he said, “my normal clientele,
though quite diverse, has never been comprised
of jungle beasts like you.” The ape said, “Hell!
At fifty bucks a beer, I’m not surprised!”
—ROBERT SCHECHTER
43
FAMILY TROUBLES
We had our problems. John, my younger brother,
was burdened by a speech impediment;
and Father (who’d been wounded when he went
to war) had one leg shorter than the other.
John said to him, while battling with his stutter,
“D-D-D-Dad, I do believe I know
a way to fix your limp. W-when you go
out walking, keep w-one foot in the gutter.”
Dad tried it, and he thought he was in clover.
His limp was cured and he was walking well,
till much to his chagrin he tripped and fell.
A bus was passing by and ran him over.
He said, “Your stutter can’t be fixed, Son, but
it helps if you could keep your big mouth shut!”
—DAVID ANTHONY
THE WISDOM OF THE AGES
Because her man was shooting blanks,
a woman, out of desperation,
decided she’d get pregnant thanks
to artificial insemination.
Genetics is a game some win,
some lose; the mother’s fate was grim:
she bore a boy so homely, sin
was comely when compared with him.
A neighbor looked. He scratched his head
in wonderment, and then he smiled:
“I guess it proves what grandma said,
“‘Spare the rod and spoil the child.’”
—RICHARD WAKEFIELD
44
ADVICE FOR BEAR COUNTRY
A black or brown will never do you harm
if he can help it. Simply wave your arm
while pointing at him with your walking stick
and shouting “Go away!” Then make a quick
but quiet exit. Go home a different way.
A grizzly, though, might see you as his prey,
and if he does there’s no deterring him.
He’s mean. He’ll disembowel you on a whim.
You’ll merely piss him off by shouting “Shoo!”
and pointing your walking stick. He eats those, too.
Three things that you can do for safety’s sake:
wear little bells whose noise will gently wake
a sleeping bear before you get too close.
And carry pepper spray. A well-aimed dose
might slow him down, a bit. And watch the ground
for droppings so you’ll know if he’s around.
His crap is easily recognized. It smells
like pepper and is festooned with little bells.
—RICHARD WAKEFIELD
THE PET SHOP
A girl entered a pet shop, saying “I don’t have much money,
“But I think this is enough, sir, so I’d like to buy a bunny.”
“You want a widdle bunny?” asked the man who ran the shop.
“We have bunnies by the basketful, bunnies, hippety-hop!
Come pick your Peter Cottontail! He’s huddled in this hutch.
Do you want an English spotted, or a cuddly-wuddly Dutch?
Or a fluffy Flemish giant, or a fuzzy Jersey wooly?
Or a jaunty jack jackrabbit? An angora wooly-bully?
Or a floppy-woppy French lop, or some handsome Belgian hares?”
The little girl responded, “I don’t think my python cares.”
—KEVIN ANDREW MURPHY
45
CIRCUS TRY-OUT
“This dog of mine,” the man proclaimed, “can talk.”
P.T. Barnum said, “My God, that’s great!
If what you say is true, the crowds will gawk.
Proceed at once, kind sir, to demonstrate.”
The man turned to the dog and said, “What is
the hardest place to hit a golf ball from?”
“Rough!” the dog responded to this quiz.
P.T. Barnum said, “Do I look dumb?”
“No, wait!” the man continued. “Here’s more proof.
Rover, tell us what the top part’s named
that sits upon a house.” The dog barked, “Roof!”
Said P.T. Barnum: “You should be ashamed.”
“No, let me try again!” the man cried. “Say,
who’s the finest baseball player ever?”
“Ruth!” the dog responded. “Go away!”
said P.T. Barnum. “That’s not even clever.”
He threw them from his office on their butts.
Stunned, they sat. The man commenced to sob.
The dog said, “It’s my fault. I’m such a putz.
I knew the proper answer was ‘Ty Cobb.’”
—ROBERT SCHECHTER
46
MULLAH NASRUDIN AND THE PARROT
The Mullah bought a parrot, a wicked evil bird,
Who like all others of its kind, said everything it heard.
Belonging to a sailor, a harlot, and what’s worse,
A poet, this foul bird now spoke its blasphemies in verse:
“O son of twenty infidels who once were billeted
And hosted by a woman who makes water in her bed,
May Allah curse your testicles, your buttocks and your eyes
And the fat of fifty camels make a new home on your thighs.”
In hopes he might reform the bird, he read it the Quran,
Yet still the parrot screeched and cursed as only parrots can:
“May fleas infest your armpit hairs, o husband of a boar!
Your father’s a musician and—” The Mullah heard the door.
His wife was home! His sainted wife! He knew this would displease her,
So Nasrudin took book and bird and hid them in the freezer.
Yet soon the day grew very hot, and nothing would suffice
But that the wife of Nasrudin would have a drink. With ice.
She opened up the freezer door. Beside the frozen turkey,
She saw both parrot and Quran. The first said, herky-jerky,
“M-may Allah keep and b-bless you b-both on this most b-blessed day.
I have reformed, yet m-may I ask, w-what did the t-turkey say?”
—KEVIN ANDREW MURPHY
47
VII: POEMS OF THRIFT & PROBITY
KEEPING TO A SCHEDULE
Brian was punctilious with time.
Each day he woke at seven fifty-five,
brushed his teeth by seven fifty-nine,
quickly showered, dressed, and would arrive
at nine-o-seven to catch the nine-o-eight
ferry boat for his commute to work.
One day it happened. Brian woke up late.
He fell into a frenzy, went berserk,
skipped his shower, cursed the extra sleep,
and sprinted to the pier to see his ship
six feet off the dock! He took a leap,
crashed onto the deck and broke his hip.
“He’s mad!” the captain cried, confused and shocked.
“In just another minute, we’d have docked!”
—ROBERT SCHECHTER
BILL OF FARE
Jock and Isaac are having a lavish meal
and all is most enjoyable until
the waiter calls and one of them says “Weel,
Ah dinna care the cost. Ah’ll pay the bill.”
The next day’s headlines were seven inches tall;
“Jewish Ventriloquist Killed in Café Brawl!”
—JIM HAYES
48
SCALPED
Pat and Mick were in the old Wild West,
both were broke, but entering Dodge City
they saw an ad that offered them the best
chance to supplement their meagre kitty.
A buck for every Redskin you can get!
Straight away they head back on the trail;
for days they search—no Indian is met;
their pot is empty and their spirits fail.
Of luck or fortune not the slightest bit
has come their way, they’re tired and have enough,
but just as they decide it’s time to quit
ten thousand braves appear upon a bluff.
“Praise be to God!” both cry, “There go our cares,
the two of us are surely millionaires!”
—JIM HAYES
LAST CALL
One day a barnstormer lands beside
Jock and his wife, and the pilot says,
“Jock, do ye yearn to go for a ride?
Five pounds I’ll charge.” Said Jock; “No ways,
’tis far too dear.” “Well here’s what I’ll do,”
says the pilot, “Instead of charging ten pound
I’ll charge for the baith o’ ye nothing for two
as long as I hear ye make no sound.”
"Reet," says Jock and away they flew.
They looped the loop, they dove like a bird;
the pilot tried every trick he knew,
but Jock and the wife never uttered a word.
“Ye’re braw,” said the Pilot. “I thought ye’d shout.”
“Twas close,” said Jock, “when herself fell out!”
—JIM HAYES
49
TO DIE FOR
Aunt Bessie has a talent: when she bakes,
the flavour drives you wild. My cousins say
that Uncle Tim, a regular gourmet,
married her for love—of chocolate cakes.
Poor Timothy was feeling far from well—
in fact, was on his deathbed—when the scent
of baking half-revived him. Off he went
to find the source of that seductive smell.
Each step was painful, as he tottered down
to taste the treat. At last his feeble hand
grasped hungrily. Bess slapped it sharply and
dismissed him with an irritated frown:
“Clear off to bed, and put the buns back too.
I made them for the funeral, not for you.”
—DAVID ANTHONY
THE LOTTERY
Poor Jock, who’s going bust and losing all,
decides to try the lottery. On his knees
in desperation he gives God a call,
“I’ve lost my wee bit store. Dear Fither, please,
if Ah dinna get some money I’ll lose my hoose.”
The lottery comes, but some one else has won.
Jock prays again; “Dear God, Ah’m going to lose
my car as weel, and now my wife has gone.”
But still he has no luck, and tries once more.
“God, Ah lost my business, my hoose, my wife;
my bairns are starving; I dinna ask before
an’ Ah’ve been a servant to Ye all my life.”
The voice of God then thunders; “Jock— go stick it—
you could’ve bought yourself a bloody ticket.”
—JIM HAYES
50
VIII: IS IT WHISKEY THAT ALES YE?
A GOOD END
Mick worked in the brewery alongside Pat,
but one day as he walked upon the edge,
he slipped and fell into a Guinness vat.
’Tis well, thought Pat, he didn’t take the pledge.
Someone had to go and break the news
to Mick’s wife. Pat was chosen for the chore.
“Are ye the widow Reilly?” was the ruse
employed to tell her gently at the door.
“O tell me that he didn’t suffer there!
He was a good man, was me husband Mick,”
she said to Pat, “An’ ’tis me fervent prayer
the end came to him merciful an’ quick.”
“Tis sad I am,” said Pat, “to tell ye this—
the truth is Mick got out three times to piss.”
—JIM HAYES
UNDER THE WEATHER
I went to see the doctor since
I wasn’t feeling fit.
My head was hurting and my hands
were shaking quite a bit.
He asked me if I drank a lot
(the nosy little git).
I answered, “No, in fact I spill
the greater part of it.”
—DAVID ANTHONY
51
HOME LATE
Finnegan, out drinking with two mates,
becomes a little bit the worse for wear,
so they link him home to where herself awaits—
and she is boiling mad and fit to tear.
“Are youse the Missus Finnegan?” they begin.
“Ye spalpeen blackguards know full well ’tis me!”
“Would ye mind then tellin’ which is Finnegan—
so’s the other two can go home to our tea?”
—JIM HAYES
THE SNATCH
The bar has closed; the hour is getting late,
and Patrick has his car keys in his hand;
he staggers round the road in parlous state,
a danger to himself and all Ireland.
Two cops approach and ask “Where is your car?”
“Right here,” says Pat, “just where the key end stops.”
“Begorr,” they say. “You won’t get very far—
there’s no car there.” “Tis stolen! Call the cops!”
cries Pat, who flails about and props a wall.
Then one cop cautions Patrick that he’s lewd;
his zip is open wide, displaying all—
poor Pat looks down and sees his fly unglued.
“Dear God,” he cries. “Don’t tell me this is true—
the bastards went and took me girl friend too!”
—JIM HAYES
52
DOUBLE TROUBLE
A young man sat in an Irish bar in Boston;
another came in and said, “How do ye do?”
The first man said, “Hey, barkeep! Bring me anither one
an’ give me friend from Ireland a whiskey too.
“Which are yez from?” “Begorr I hails from Clare.”
“Be the saints, but I comes from that very place—
which town would it be now?” “Tis near Adare.”
“I knows it well! Hey, barkeep, anither brace.
“Tell me now, do ye know O’Connell Street?”
“Know it? Sure, I was born right there an’ raised!”
“Bejaypers, ’tis a miracle we should meet--
I was born there meself, the Lord be praised!”
The barkeep sighed—the circumstance was plain;
The Reilly twins were getting drunk again.
—JIM HAYES
EPITAPH
Here lie the remains of Mickey McGuire,
now buying a round for the Heavenly Choir.
As one of Mickey’s last requests
a bottle was poured here where he rests
by friends afflicted with the thirst,
who passed it through their bladders first.
—JIM HAYES
53
IN A VILLAGE PUB
Scully bought three pints of ale each night
and sat alone in silence, sipping one
and then the next and then the next. When done
he’d nod “good eve” and go his way, polite.
When asked about his eccentricity,
“Me brothers Pat and Mike have emigrated,”
Scully said, “but though we’re separated
it’s like they’re at the table here with me.”
The sentimental pub-folk, teary eyed,
were charmed at such a loving thing to do.
And then one night he ordered only two.
The pub fell silent. Pat or Mike had died!
The pub man said what all of them were thinking:
“We’re sad to learn that Pat or Mike has died.”
Scully looked confused, and then replied,
“It’s just me wife. She’s made me give up drinking.”
—RICHARD WAKEFIELD
BEARING THE NEWS
She heard the sound of banging at the door:
“Are you the Widow Murphy?” Jimmy cried.
“They call me Mrs. Murphy, that’s for sure,
but no, I ain’t no widow,” she replied.
Says Jim, “That may have been a fact before;
but take a look what’s on me cart outside.”
—DAVID ANTHONY
54
THE LOCAL
Pat, Luigi, and Ivan, the endless shift
complete, debate on where to quench their thirst;
“O’Toole’s,” says Pat, “will give us all a gift--
a pint of Guinness. We should go there first.”
“That’s good,” Luigi says. “But at Baldini’s
we’d get another round for free the third
time one of us sang out for more martinis.”
“Well, that sounds great!” says Ivan, “but I’ve heard
at Gouvstof’s we can drink for free all night—
anything that we’d like. We’d have it made,
and when the night was up we’d all be tight,
and in the parking lot we’d all get laid.”
“Begorr,” says Pat, “That’s too good to ignore!
Sure passin’ a place like that would be a crime—
Ivan, yer sure—have ye been there before?”
“Niet, but my wife goes there all the time.”
—JIM HAYES
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