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Sunday, February 26, 2017

Killer Poem

Reader, you've been villanelled to death:
Limericked, coupleted, doggerelled to death.

If I've tolled you once, I've tolled you a thousand times:
No man is an island. Knelled, belled to death.

Your Irish eyes squint at ancient pages
In Celtic lettering. Book-of-Kelled to death?

Rhymes assault your ears from the nursery:
Little-lambed and farmer-in-the-delled to death.

On Cupid's bow, how are my heart-strings bent:
O Stella! I've been Astrophelled to death.

This impecunious oenophile, poor wino,
Drinks on the cheap. He's muscatelled to death!

Starting earlier every year -- Halloween? Really? --
The Christmas season. Joyeux Noël'd to death.

Her mind was a victim of glossy magazines:
Cosmo'd, Vogued, and Mademoiselled to death.

Talk-radio addicts binge on bluster:
Bickered, shrilled, harangued, and yelled to death.

The sheets grow heavy as a lecher's kiss.
Sylvia Plath's line. Arielled to death.

If I were a rich man, I'd biddy-biddy-bum ...
You'd find yourselves Zero Mostel'd to death!

Like Terence Trent D'Arby in 1988,
The weary world's been Wishing-Well'd to death.

Ground Control to Major (or Minor) Tom:
Where's the Rocket Man? Jet-propelled to death.

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