[Douglas G. Brown]

Eric,

You might consider substituting

top-
most floor

for the end on L7 and the beginning of L8.

[Erik Olson]

Douglas. I had thought of that, yet for some reason was unduly resistant to repeating floor, so that I dismissed it. But now that I look at it afresh it's so obvious. Thanks
EO

[Erik Olson]

A SWAT Team Arrives at a Suspected Kingpin's Stash-House

A crack team came, guns readied, warrants granted,
Her window having showed green plants she planted.
Those guys were used to slums with traps beset,
Gates triple-bolted, dogs and bullies hardened.
But when they rang a lapdog sang. They met
A slow old lady whom they promptly pardoned.
What copper would refuse an elder's cookies?
What world! were seniors cuffed and frisked by rookies!?
The hoary head proved too respectable;
The shaky hand diffused their trepidation;
To search her seemed a classless trick to pull.
One murmured “Sorry, got bad information.”
“OK” she chimed while waving to each cop.
The team felt bad they'd bothered one so old,
Yet missed that room on top, a mother-load
Where grandma grew what gangs supplied nonstop—
What she thought spinach was a different crop.

[John Whitworth]

It's true though. Four-eyed men are losers in the sexual stakes. Unless they are Harry Potter of course.

Room on Top

I once was young and clever many, many years ago,
But now I’m old, I’m mad and bad and dangerous to know.
I hardly got a start with girls but now I never stop.
I’ve got no brain, I’m quite insane, there’s lots of room on top.

Girls go for guys with roving eyes, not guys who get the grades.
It’s how you feel with sex-appeal, a thing I’ve got in spades.
For floozies in jacuzzis I’m their A1 lollipop.
No more a klutz I’m simply nuts with lots of room on top.

To pull the birds quadratic surds are never quite enough.
But devil moons and loony tunes are more the sort of stuff
At any time I’m so sublime who used to be a flop
I’m off my head from A to Z with lots of room on top.

For every lady something shady makes a sexual star,
And being daft both fore and aft will win you the cigar.
What’s not to like? You’re on your bike, I party till I drop,
Cos oopsa-daisy, I’m plum crazy, lots of room on top.

[Erik Olson]

An upstart thinks he sees some room on top,
And once he starts to climb what's there to stop
His rise? Some high-ranked hold his moving all in
Their zip-codes as if they themselves had fallen,
Closer to him who sows, not oversees
A crop, or her whose job skipped overseas,
No sooner snobs see upstarts shop their shop
Than raise a higher story to restore
The vantage but themselves beheld before.
The trouble is, underdogs meet their top,
The selfsame sequence plays again nonstop.

[Erik Olson]

I asked a conductor, an Indian,
Why he allowed more passengers on in
The cars so packed, men hang out on the side?
I said "conductors where I'm from would stop
Another soul from boarding." He replied:
"In India there's always room on top."

.

[Erik Olson]

As suited his career was how he drove
His cruse ship. Skirting rocky coast and cove,
The views secured unnumbered tourist
And got him stars, although it barely missed
Sharp reefs. Still lusting corporate rooms on top,
He cut round corners, every trip, non-stop.
Emboldened on the day they might promote,
He cruised too near. Assailed by rocks, his boat
Gave way to blue Mediterranean;
At last, what raised the captain sunk the man.

.

[RCL]

Toop Doon

I brook my noos, oond stoopin doobl
noo my noos woos soo oon troobl,
blood ooxploodoon froom my noos
droopin doon oontoo noo shoos—
I loost a loot oof blood, groo mOOny,
soo soon fooks spook oof me oos lOOny.
Rood blood wood look too soom too spooky,
boot bloos froom footbool mood me kooky.
Oof yoo shood proov my woords booloony,
yoo cood goo too coort oond soo me!

[Erik Olson]

"Why here?” one asked, “we couldn't get more low."
The leader said “That is the point, I know.
Our subterranean dens don't spell defeat;
Brothers! This is a tactical retreat!
Let Rome build pompous temples to the sky,
There comes a point they'll reach their highest high;
When they cannot surpass their broadest domes.
Nay, let us thrive in caves and catacombs.
Up there they can't grow higher without stop,
But here, in tombs, we've always room on top!"
m

[RCL]

Top o’ the Season

I’ve washed the brainwash from my brain,
but I’m not sure yet that it’s sane
to just forget what I’ve been taught
and seen of ancient memes that wrought
a pattern even for non-Christians—
those tainted by religion’s missions
to spread abroad sectarian hate
at an abominable rate;
and foster trade that feeds the need,
as each year ends, for gargantuan greed.
So though the zeitgeist is profane,
I write its mythos in my brain.