Monday, December 10, 2018

December 10, 2018



When Teetotalers Go Caroling
with a nod to whomever wrote the original

Here we come a-wassailing awash in naught but tea.
We seldom feel the urge to puke (though frequently to pee).
Drier joys come to you, with a mug of sober brew.
May God bless you and send you a year with no beer,
May God send you a year with no beer.

We are not red-nosed revelers that lurch from door to door.
Our noses are a righteous blue the bibulous deplore.
Lemonade come to you. Ardent spirits we eschew,
Yet we ardently wish you a year with no beer.
Raise a cheer for a year with no beer.

We're morally superior to all you sodden lot.
We smugly shake our heads when you're hung over and we're not
Temperance tunes come to you as our soft drink-swilling crew
Belts our anthem that drunkards might draw near and hear
Word of year after year with no beer.

by Chris O'Carroll
in volume 5 issue 2



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www.parodypoetry.com

Monday, December 3, 2018

December 3, 2018

A Visit from St. Zachary
with a nod to Clement Clarke Moore
‘Twas the week before Christmas, and all through the house
not a new piece of clothing, not even a blouse.
The papers were graded with consummate care
in hopes that my students would say I was fair.
The pencils were nestled all snug with their lead
while visions of movie screens danced in my head.
And my Lab in his collar and I in my cap
lay down on my loveseat to take a long nap,
when out on the lawn there arose such a hubbub,
I turned to my dog and asked him, Wassup, Bub?
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
tore open my notebook to show some panache.
The sun on the drops of new-fallen rain
gave a hint of the warming we hope to restrain,
when what to my bloodshot eyes did appear
but a yard full of students, some heads dulled by beer.
More sluggish than turtles the stragglers they came
and I whistled and shouted and called them by name:
Now, Jaedyn! Now, Kaelyn! Now, Lucas and Lizzie!
On, Vixen with short shorts that make my head dizzy!
Put your cellphones away, read the sign on my wall,
take those dang earbuds off—I’m done with them all!
And then, from the bushes, I heard someone say,
Is it true that we must have our textbooks today?
As I drew in my breath and was turning around,
down the driveway St. Zachary came with a bound.
He was wearing no headphones and chomping no chaw,
and he knew where to place a comma and clause.
A bundle of stories he’d flung on his back
and he looked like St. Nicholas opening his pack.
His verbs—how they twinkled! His headlines—how merry!
His leads were like roses, his prose like a cherry!
His sweet little kickers were tied like a bow,
and his nut graphs were followed by just the right quote.
He was timely and stirring, an eloquent elf,
and I smiled when I read him, in spite of myself.
His narrative leads and well-crafted heads
soon helped me to know I had nothing to dread.
He spoke not a word but went straight to his work,
not at all like some pothead or arrogant jerk.
Using no danglers, not padding his prose,
up and beyond the grade scale he rose.
At the end of the hour I gave him a shout
and told him it’s time for an internship bout.
But I heard him exclaim as he walked out of sight—
It’s Christmas, Professor. Go have a Bud Light!

by Margaret DeRitter
Parody Online

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Monday, November 26, 2018

November 26, 2018





My, How Things Change!

It's now two thousand sixty-five.
You'll hardly recognize
old Santa Claus. He's been revamped
from boot tips to his eyes.

Concerned for him, Mrs. Santa hired
a trainer. Gladly, he
worked hubby hard, and now that gut's
as flat as it can be.

Then all those suits made magically
were way too big. The mass-
produced ones, an insult to him,
he'd not wear. They were crass!

The elves who made the suits and toys
left Santa long ago
for better jobs. Now seldom does
he utter, "HO, HO, HO!"

Next, Santa had to lose the pipe.
We've long known smoking's bad.
The kids must not see one more puff.
This change made Santa mad.

The last straw—Santa went to jail
for animal abuse.
He lost his reindeer; now his sleigh
no longer is in use.

How will you recognize him now?
Look for a hot, buff guy
who works full-time for Disneyland.
This sight might make you cry.

He wears a patch on his right arm,
since he still craves the pipe.
He still works out four times a week
just so the wife won't gripe.

The last time he had fast food and
a Coke was long ago.
Give him a four-meat pizza and
he'll holler, "HO, HO, HO!"

by Janice Canerdy
in volume 6 issue 2

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Monday, November 19, 2018

November 19, 2018






Trying on Clothes on a Winter's Evening
with a nod to Robert Frost
Whose shoes these are I think I know.
She's gone to town in snow boots though,
She will not see me try them on
Or at least give them a go.

Alas, my feet are just too long.
My little cat must think it wrong
To see me in my girlfriend's shoe,
But better that than in her thong.

He gives his collar bell a shake
And, though I know it's a mistake,
I don her dress so soft and sheer.
Oh it's a risk I should not take,

To wear this feminine veneer,
And soon my girlfriend will be here,
So I must change and quick, I fear.
Yes I must change and then, a beer.

by M C Green
in volume 6 issue 2

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Monday, November 12, 2018

November 12, 2018






Merchants of Vehemence

The effort of their lying is not strained;
It droppeth as white-washing dew from pigeons
upon all those beneath. It is twice cursed;
It curses those who speak and those who would believe.
'Tis baseless in its baseness;
it becomes their monarch better than his smirk.
His sceptered cabinet make farce of power,
where attributes of awe and majesty fail
'neath the dread fear of tweets.
But truth is beyond their scepter's sway,
enthroned not in their un-kingly hearts;
Such attributes of higher power do not show
where untruth seasons justice.

by Ken Gosse
in volume 6 issue 2

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