Umbrella’s lighter offshoot

Julie Carter
M.A. Griffiths
Daniel Haar
Jerry Glenn Hartwig
Jan D. Hodge
Rose Kelleher
Frank Osen
Julie Stoner
Robert Schecter
Marion Shore

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Tailgaters Mixer

by various authors

Fool, said my Muse to me, look in thy heart, and write.
Or failing that, a tailgater might thy truante pen incite.

Those parts of thee that the world’s eye doth view
Are thanks to Dr. Young, Park Avenue.

Turning and turning in the widening gyre,
My clothes are almost ready for the dryer.

Arise from your slumber! Arise from your sleep!
And next week my sermon will not be so deep.

I could not love thee, dear, so much
were you less willing to go Dutch.

Arma virumque cano …
means somethin’ I don’t know...

They flee from me that sometime did me seek.
My dotcom’s bankrupt. Now I’m just a geek.

The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ,
leaves WASH ME and a smiley in the grit.

Not in a silver casket cool with pearls,
but down the toilet my dead goldfish swirls.

Look in thy glass and tell the face thou viewest
the chickens of thy youth have come to roo-est.

Whan that Aprille, with hise shoures soote
Returns, the IRS demands its quota.

Thanne longen folk to goon on pilgrimages,
Stayinge at Holiday Innes and Econo Lodges.

I do not like it Sam-I-Am,
I do not like computer spam.

Nobody heard him, the dead man
’cause if anyone can really excel at the silent treatment,
              the dead can.

My love is like to ice, and I to fire:
Together, we’re the Ben Gay of desire.

Had I the heavens’ embroidered cloths,
I bet they’d all be munched by moths.

I, being born a woman and distressed
will hit the shops and spend like one possessed.

Lord: it is time. The huge summer has gone by.
It’s time that I take down the Christmas lights.

The time you won your town the race
Your blood revealed a steroid trace.

The time you won your town the race
those hanging chads were a disgrace.

”Why so pale and wan, fond lover?”
”I’m freezing cold! Quit hogging the cover!”

Do not go gentle into that good night,
but do go soon … and please turn out the light.

They are not long, the days of wine and roses:
Too soon, the days of laxatives and support hoses.

The world is charged with the grandeur of God
and I forgot my credit card!

Look thy last on all things lovely,
Prepare for earth that’s dark and shovelly.

O who will sing for Lycidas?
He was so buff and kissidous.

Surprised by joy, impatient as the wind,
the colicky baby farted, and then grinned.

Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord,
But having been to Circus, Circus, frankly I was bored.

Barb’rous Nations and more barb’rous Times.
Debas’d the Majesty of Verse to Tailgater Rhimes.