Twas nigh on fifty years ago
That Humbert, a pervert he;
Longed for his Lo
So long and deep
And diddled her with lust 'n glee.

Lo - a pubescent lass, pre-teen
He fondled her where she'd never been
Lolita, Light of his Life, Fire in his dong,
Old Hum plucked her deep, he plunked her long,
Twiddled her strings with sonorous dong.

Seems he couldn't get enough of Lo -
Traveled together, to and fro -
Methinks she gave sex for comfort, this little tart
And he swapped comfort for sex ... but gave his heart.

Alas, both went their separate ways
Left ol' Hum in a frightful daze.
He killed Quilty, lost his mind
And Lo ... another Dick did find!

So, in summary, what sin did old Hum do?
Well yes, he twiddled 'n fondled our ingenue -
But in fact Lo was no naive 'n innocent lass -
She knew how to bounce her boobs and gyrate her ass.

So I ask you ... is old Hum a letch?
No, rather a moral leper, a bumbling wretch.
Our dilemma is the man's a jerk
But the story's a gem, a masterwork.
In fact, I myself feel slightly queerer
'Cause I see a bit of me in Nabokov's mirror.

Finally, my grade, a solid "B"
No timeless message, but a great storee!
 

Tonight we review "Tuesdays with Morrie"
It's really quite a simple story
Our dying prof can't walk-the-walk
So instead he tries to talk-the-talk.

It's neither deep nor too profound
Though aphorisms do abound
Our book is fueled by pure emotion
Alas, for the mind 'tis a tepid potion.

The great Secrets of Life are not found here
Instead, the secretions of Death I hear:
Bile, phlegm, poop, and snot
Imbue the innards of this plot.

Morrie's message:  Love's the bottom line -
Keep Love, give Love, we'll all be fine.
And as for one's final journey - don't look back
Just load lots of Love in your back pack.

Grades are rendered by Bibliofools like me
And old Mitch gets a "Consumptive C."

The fog rolls in
The Führer in his final foxhole
Hunkers in the bunker
A fortnight to finale
Wagner’s GotterDammerüng flows freely
The fulsome, foaming fog of war …

Führer’s orders:  Fight to finish
Starre Verteidigung … Stand Fast!
General Heinrici …  Capitulate, we are finis
Führer’s retort:  Keep Faith!
The eternally ethereal fog of war …

Americans on fast track attack
Reach the Elbe … no turning back!
Ike gets duped … a Russky fondle
Stops his foray … Decides to stay
Flummoxed by the Red Fog of War.

Now Generals Koniev and Zhukov
Whittle down the formerly ferocious Nazis
Zhukov’s ploy:  A Phalanx of 40,000 pieces
And a thousand arcs of light
To pierce the gloaming fog
And Le Femmes finessed these foglights
Defining Ground Zero for the fiery Deutsche weapons
Alas, only a few survived
The fuzzy, feeble, foxy fog of war.

Der Führer falling further, in a funk
Hunkering in the deepest, darkest recesses
Almost “Speered” by fatal gas
Wafting into his FührerBunker
But saved by a new SS flue
The capricious fog of war.

Berlin fortifications … simply wimpy
Siegfried, Maginot  … done with mirrors
Troops ill-prepared, old veterans of the VolkStürm
The flimsy, fleeting, flighty fog of war.

Führer’s Fortress … Gigantic Flak towers
His besotted fetid philosophy
He squints through the enveloping fog:
“Wo ist Steiner?  Wo ist Wenke?”
Alas he cannot see he’s run to empty
The stifling, churning fog of war.

Again Führer forbids surrender … fight on!
The final orgasm a ghastly gruel
Of gruesome gore ‘n guts
He finishes self as a crumpled coward
A bullet followed by a pill for Eva
Folded in rugs and set aflame.
Führer saved face – and jaw,
The rest was char.
The deadly, flaming fog of war.

The battle finally finished – its final hour
Herr Heinrich Schwarz … “Abu, Abu…”
The fluttering stork flies to freedom
And flora flourishes as Berlin’s rebirth ensues.

And so, the Fog rolls in, the Fog rolls out
And reminds us just what war’s about
Tis not to win or lose, I say
But to survive another day …
Until the next fog finds us ….!

Folly Fellacios

As an old soldier
May I be bolder
Barb's 'lil miss folly
'Tis a strumpet dolly

'Cause our approach to war,
Is to dance with a whore
In a slurry of fog
With her pit bull dog
And our balls they hangs
Within reach of it's fangs

Our generals are bright
But focus on yesterday's light
Those wars long past
Are the ones they hold fast
And their bosses spray blight
Spewing bad oversight...

So, alas, our Country's viscerals drain
Into war's mud, shit and rain
And though it's insane
I fear 'twil repeat AGAIN + AGAIN..!

PS:  Barb's march
twas flaccid..no starch
And my grade ..it do be..
A "noodly" C...kg..!

Reflections on New Orleans Katrina Hurricane

Don Tubesing          April 22, 2006

At a corner bar in the French Quarter I saw a special drink advertised.

They called it, “The Katrina Hurricane.”

It was very expensive.

I began to wonder, “What’s in it?”

But I didn’t need to ask.

I knew in my heart it must be a potent “morning after” drink.

….And here’s how it’s made.

First, you create a large handcrafted cup out of the soggy first page of your last year’s tax return and the ink-smeared back half of the first letter your daughter wrote you from college. You decorate the outside of this cup with a torn family photo and the tangled residue of a broken cassette tape for the ribbon—all of these items you easily find floating in your back yard.

Into this cup you pour

Two cups of water—the elixir of life -- living water,

          ……..Well, yes, it’s river water and a little cloudy, but

                    Hey, it’s still drinkable—

That is if you let the gunk settle to the bottom first.

And you drop in a little sparkle—the joy of finding that your neighbor has returned…. alive, Ah…..

          But you also drop in a nugget of asphalt for spice,

along with an ugly drop of old oil as well.

You mix in the honey of remembered friendships that make you smile,

But into the cup you also wring out a bitter tear or two

from your tattered favorite shirt

          That you found under the upturned chunk of sidewalk.

You pour in a half cup of graded gratefulness for the day’s warm sun,

          And for the knowledge that your sister is now safe in Atlanta,

And for the fact that you have finally found a store

that will fill your dad’s Arthritis prescription.

…Yes!

Then, on top you sprinkle some

semi-toxic-blown-around-the-streets-dust
you found gathered at the curb     
—just to add a burnt coffee aroma to the brew,

A choking smell that burns into your nose

and stops your breath short.

With a piece of broken board you find in the yard next door,

you stir all this together,

          Until it turns into a pasty thickness—

Finally, you add a gob of soggy, damp, moldy insulation

to supply that whip-cream-topping-cotton-candy effect.

You warm it all with a caring, sweaty-t-shirt-hug
that you are offered—

that you relax into,

because it offers you the fleeting feeling of belonging
and comfort.

Then, you prepare to drink down your daily concoction—

A bittersweet, Maundy-Thursday type mixture, 

Reeking of life on the edge of loss, trauma and uncertainty.

You find yourself wondering where you will sleep tonight.

AND with an unsteady hand

you hold this Cup of Contradiction up to the Sun

and examine it carefully.

Finally ……., satisfied that you cannot see through it

to the light of the day on the other side,

          You exclaim, 

“Ah……..THIS….IS….

The real KATRINA HURRICANE!” 

     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

New Orleans, April 2006.

·        Not rational,

·        Not comprehensible,

·        Tough to swallow,

·        Impossible to digest.

New Orleans, April 2006 – a dynamic and disparate community of resiliently-loving and ever-hopeful people hampered for the moment by crushing loss, overwhelming unknowns, and a decade of rebuilding ahead.

     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     (return to top of page)

In Memory of Edgar "Ben" Smith our beloved colleague and devoted friend. 2 June 1932 - 12 May 2005 He brought much laughter to our meetings and taught us to love the Red Sox, Flashman, and Cuban cigars.   We will miss him today, tomorrow, and every Last Thursday.

Ode to Ben Smith                                         [ 6/2/32 to 5/12/05] To our beloved Book Club buddy, Ben Alas, we say with angst...Amen.    This man of letters, good ken and books,       Sterling successes abound in many nooks.    Ben's words, soft and crisp, spoken with sardonic smile, Gave insights which radiated a "Texas mile."    Ben savored hats, bolos, and sumptuous cigars by the box, And he'd carved a warm niche for his bodacious Red Sox.    Now that Ben has finished his "Book of Life," May we tender thought bouquets to Elaine, his wife.    Hark, I hear dapper Ben rapping gently on that Pearly Gate, St. Peter surely will not make Ben wait!    "You were a magnificent maestro, Dr. Ben, Good life, friends, books – you're a Perfect Ten !! "    "And guess what, Ben, our spring training starts today, You'll be team physician and scout ... Play ball I say !! " Adios, Amigo

Memorial Service in Albuquerque: Saturday, 11 June 2005 at 10 am: Central United Methodist Church:  1615 Copper NE   Albuquerque 87106 Flyer (MS Word)  (PDF)          Obituary (ABQ Journal)

"I shall ever regard as the best and wisest man I have ever known."     -  Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, "The Final Problem"

Don, our long-time Book Club brother, was the consummate gentle-man.

Generally our raucous sessions initially displayed Don's non-verbal communication skills - 
featuring his pixie chortles and guffaws!

In reviewing a book, Don always prefaced - 
" I just don't know, but..." 
And what followed was a measured, incisive analysis which offered immeasurable insights!

Alas, Don closed his book of life Last Thursday ... but he bequeathed to us bibliophile buddies a marvelous menagerie of radiant memories.  

We will not soon forget you, Gentle-Don... 

This page provides Collected Works of the Poet Laureate:  LTBC All Material is copyright protected by Keith Gilbert.  This page last updated:    08 August 2008

Return to:  LTBC Home Page.

Coffee Table Email the LTBC via  Mike@Blackledge.com