Best Ipso Poems
He used words like blameworthy, obligation, and ipso facto
It was nice meeting kin, at once distant and adjoined
at the hip, though
I wonder if his blood runs cold or hot
Do you like what you are?
Or lament what you're not?
So seldom I see
Another
And wonder if they are like me
And are bothered
And then intrigued
By the language of our thoughts
The way they twist around in knots
In senseless mess to those around
Who blink and smile without a sound
Of indication that they even understand
The tricks in all the cards laid in our hand
I take another sip
And click
To find out more, what are you?
Do I know you?
Looks as if you are content to be
That thing I know I am, yet question daily
How do you do it?
Or maybe
Maybe there's not more to it
Maybe after talks of actions and causation
After hark'ning back to Grecian rumination
Your heart begins to flutter
Red cheeks
Laughs
And then a stutter
Yes you wonder what I wonder
Maybe?
Do you peek from under
Eyes that dry, or well, in shame
At the ever-looming pain
That something
SOMETHING does not fit
Of songs and cars and clothes and jewels
We simply can't keep up
As we slowly raise our voice to ask why down is down and up is up
Or wondering if there's someone else who thinks this same way too
Who hears my words and asks if I am someone just like you.
On fidelity
The heart, simplistic, gnawed if left exposed
Be covered, shuttered thus pinfold enclosed
Is certain that the fairer, man will draw
And ipso facto balance will restore
With ego’s filled to full capacity
That rip the very fabric; chastity
An eloquent stutterer he was,
whose anecdotes were luscious and true
he lived in the days of aesthetics,
but had no comeliness in size or stature;
His teachings were unadulterated and void of fallacy
Ipso facto he was condemned to the gallows,
he tasted of the legendary hemlock potion
And died before he lived.
The Labradoodle
It’s clear that the scamp is a Poodle
By its frolicsome dabble and doodle
But add a big part
Of the Labrador’s heart
And you’ve got the whole kit and caboodle
The Labrador Retriever (Lab)
The Lab a friend gave to his daughter
Had a chronic aversion to water
He’d cling to the shore
Like a rug to the floor
To avoid making waves like he oughter
The Lagotto Romagnolo
It caused quite a local kerfuffle
When he called a potato a truffle*
By the time it was done
A committee of one
Went and cancelled his license to snuffle
(*known for their skill at finding truffles)
The Leonberger
There are dogs that are bigger than these
Like some Mastiffs and Great Pyrenees
But few are more stately
Or admired more greatly
For their grace and perpetual ease
The Lhasa Apso
Just repeat: Lhasa apso not ipso
That’s a facto: I’m sharing this tip so
You don’t make a flub
With the whole Lhasa Club
While they contemplate your membership so
The Maltese
I once knew a Maltese named Tawny
Who was quick and ill-tempered and scrawny
While protecting a crumb
Nearly took off my thumb
Now he sleeps with the fish in the Suwannee
The Mastiff
The Mastiff’s a glorious sight
With a name that exemplifies might
Now imagine this house
The size of a mouse
A “toy mastiff” just doesn’t sound right
The Mutt
A mutt may show up with a rat
Do some terrible things to your hat
But he’s happy for sure
Just to roll in manure
And so grateful that he’s not a cat
The Newfoundland (Newfie)
One day on the nearby horizon
He encountered an ornery bison*
And though it was large
The Newfie took charge
Mattered not what the difference in size in
The Norwegian Elkhound
Look honey, look what I found!
It’s an orphaned Norwegian elkhound!
He’ll be easy to raise
With some love and some praise
And a pasture that serves as a pound
Lawyer Wainwright harrumphed and rose to his feet
To defend his client in front of the jury,
In what all thought would be an impossible feat,
But approached the jury in a manner unhurried.
He began, his eyes bright, his brow unfurrowed.
He looked to his left and he looked to his right.
“Ladies and gents, the evidence you’ve heard!
My client's guilty as sin, the case is airtight!
But decorum requires that I say a few words
And, you all must agree, that is only right.”
“I will be brief,” and then spoke for two hours,
And then continued on for four hours more.
He spoke of the freedom in this land that is ours.
He told of his parents born honest but poor.
He mentioned that his client liked puppies and flowers.
He said “ipso facto” and “caveat emptor”.
He cited twenty-one constitutional rights.
He reviewed all the evidence, each piece and scrap.
He asked all of them to keep justice in sight.
He spoke of the history and the making of maps.
He described some relevant Druidical rites.
He loudly complained about his property tax.
He freely admitted the DA was right
When he sought to see his client at the end of a rope.
But urged the reporters to continue to write
Of this grave travesty of justice, in the hope
That one day this horrendous wrong they would right,
And "peace, justice and mercy would circle the globe."
By the time he’d left off in his defense summation
No one in the courtroom thought to begrudge
His client when, after due deliberation,
They found him not guilty and convicted the judge.
Of all the vices humanly known,
Death, you're the most cruel!
Beyond doubts you have always shown
How pleasurably in griefs you dwell.
And what is pathetic of you the most
Is your unrepentant untimeliness:
Too adept at making one's life a ghost
Subjected to shameless nakedness!
Ipso facto I cannot but accuse you
Of your partiality and misjudgement,
Which whether or not you agree is true,
I still wouldn't rescind my comment.
Yet it should never of me be said
That I have spoken at you too rudely
—Not when for you I have no such dread
That would make me act so cowardly!
"Every man his fears; Death, you're not my dread!"
"50 Words for Poe: cor unum"
"cor unum"
cor ad cor loquitur
confessio
crescente luce
de profundis
lux vitae lux
et lux in tenebris lucet
de nobis fabula narratur
fons vitae caritas
lux vitae lux
(LadyLabyrinth/2019)
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=x8k9f88gEbE
et super omnia
ad te ipso sit tru
et deo
It's because of the bacon.
Yeah, it looks good on the menu, sitting there at the rim of the plate. Glistening. Archetypally ridged and ruffled. Positioned perfectly next to the eggs over easy, the pancakes, buxom and buttered, the sausage links, dwarfed but respectable.
Net, the Grand Slam holds its own. At $5.99 ($7.99 in select areas), it's still a bargain. The eggs are fine. The pancakes are as good as any. The sausage links are, you know, OK.
But the bacon... The bacon b-a-con. A swindle, a masquerade, a false promise, a double-cross, tissue-thin, gossamer, anorexic, nervous (nervosa in Spanish), frail, skittish, fragile, and afraid. Overcooked, ipso brittle, short crust, and crumbling. Try to cut a slice, and "snap-chink!" Chips fly everywhere. The knife (if you use one) smacks the porcelain. The fork is stunned, helpless; its tines useless as the spoon.
"Crack!" Oh, I'm sorry ma'am. I didn't mean to do that. Do you want me to brush it off your plate? Hey, a little piece went in your salad, a bacon bit. Do you like bacon bits? I think they're good. And there're not usually made of real bacon."
What are you gonna do with your eggs now? The Grand Slam doesn't come with toast. Everybody's looking at you, waiting to see your next move. "Yeah, I like to mix eggs with my pancakes. You don't do that sometimes? Really? It's good. You want a bite? No? OK..."
It's not the cook's fault. What's he supposed to do? He can barely see the damn things on the grill. Can't blame the waitress or the shift manager. The pigs are probably regular size. You can't expect the stock holders to take up pitchforks. What do you want for $5.99 ($7.99 in select areas)?
That's why I stopped going to Denny's.
Note: The person who lived next store to me growing up invented bacon bits for McCormick. True story.
Getting older it seemed I was losing my grip.
Glasses would tumble before I could sip!
There must be an angle.
If it just had a handle...
There's nary a slip 'twixt the cup and the lip!
awaiting interpersonal subsequent situation
aye tend to get ants
see when in the midst awaiting
said sub routine involving
outcome of circumstance
the parameter, perimeter, potentiometer,
et cetera extents
sifts out the destructive sycophants
versus real boot not nacho
munching macho gents
thus ipso facto fur cher
pro bono, and hence
gaining kudos for fas innocence
je nais sais quois joie de vivre personal aim
finds this lapsed passive pen sieve blame
less body electric alternating
between defendant versus claim
"FAKE" aunt Emma, who wrote to said
real or fictitious dame
purportedly gave solicited feedback exclaim
ming absolute zero tolerance
for acquiescent docile frame
within the real versus make believe
Milton Bradley board game
of LIFE as well my late mum (Chris Anne)
whose maternal sermons
included a ban
against blindly enlisting
into any sect chew will clan
purporting pretending posturing
as Dudley Do-right dan
sing with the stars amidst a Euclidean
Geometry auditorium,
where the glitzy dazzling audience
flush with many a fan
gnat tics toward a particular couple
said open eyed spectators
focused glazed eyes and grand
huzzahs on a man or woman,
who took charge hand
dilly directing his/her partner
acrobatic aeronautics inland
pro active with guiding he or she
toe till lee tubular counterpart re
speck ting decorum, yet pre
zen ting a choreographed production nee
an utterly out of this world with lee
ping skyward ward jumps key
pin equipoise holy jee
purrs, which scenario
analogous to taking bold
measures tubby
forthrightly assertive fold
ding arms crosswise
across chest, taking hold
din stance without conveying
a haughtiness mold.
(alternately titled: excuse me while aye...
touch the sky, hen derrick lee
and pull lightly gag.)
September third tooth house sand
and eighteen didst find me
to awaken with a start
during the wee
(Willy Paine Weber) re
duck tee yo absurdum painful hour
of predawn this morning
with an experience
nada so grew vee -
feeling (the unstoppable) tree
men diss urge (lance
sing arm) strong
sensation to regurgitate,
which tum me,
(and ma tummy)
prima facie (pre
mud Donna Brownian
bow will Movement)
processing) ranks as
the moost unpleasant –
basic bodily condition,
(hence disqualifying this former
anorexic tib bee ya
bulimic), which nauseous repulsion
to stomach tomb muss elf
(yea - pertaining to
yours truly: Ma
Thee You Scott) a tinny
brass, heartless, and
dis straw hit cow
word lee lion
dew wing ever re:
thing in my "FAKE" NON GMO
gluten, lactose (i.e.
dairy substitute), and
monosodiumglutimate free,
wand door full
wizard ding once fore mid
able superman, (and now fee
bull powerless reign jars
ipso fact-so) dee
did immediately whee
kin n ding excess see
ville lee more, dee
pull lore rib hill
den das bloviation
spattering, Obi
Wan Kenobi, Casanova,
(Don Quixote) key
ping figurative lid, prithee
a boot mine gag reflex
within very limited nee
zero printed edition on reek
quest not to
publish very disagree
hubble reader's un
digest tib bill
(authored by this atheistic
secular humanist gib
brush gabbling, (sans
reincarnated doubting Thomas pre
lapse Aryan) Unitarian scree
ming cowabunga herbivorous
droning baby bee
nix nox zippity doo dada
lix lox nicks nox hip pea.
Man O’ Man can’t conquer the mother!
Hitherto, the quoth be gather.
To the havoc, thy avarice, foment;
The virulence is a channel of chastisement.
Man O’ Man can’t conquer the mother!
Hitherto, the quoth be gather.
The virulence is evil of discrete; say vox populi.
Is this matter fit to greet; nay Mehdi.
Man O’ Man can’t conquer the mother!
Hitherto, the quoth be gather.
Ipso facto, there will be a Jenner;
But the limbo, thence, ratifies the beginner.
Man O’ Man can’t conquer the mother!
Hitherto, the quoth be gather.
If rectify means to right a wrong
Shouldn't singify mean to sing a song
Then again, there's the word, compose
Which would thereby be composify
Back to good old singify, which looks like
I can't spell signify...though I sincerely think
That singification should never replace song
Just as wrongification must never replace wrong...
For if so, ipso facto, a simple composition
Would turn into a composifiication --
Which would be as complexify is to complex
And complexification is to complexion --
You thought 'twas on me to write 'complexity'
~ 'Twould've nullified my rhymificationity...
January 27, 2019
Entry in "Failed Sonnet" Contest
Sponsors: Mo Howard and Larry Fine
A dentist was having no luck
Because Freddie’s teeth were so buck.
Clearly braces he’d need;
Dad and mom disagreed.
Every argument left them all stuck.
Freddie’s dentist did not intervene,
Giving simple advice – “Keep them clean.”
He deserves some acclaim;
Ipso facto, the same
Jutting teeth sang the lyrics of Queen.
January 10, 2019
Be it day or night
ever open it is;
growing dark or bright,
The big eyes never cease.
Seeing all is Her might,
loosing not Her glance in the breeze
but only come to ireful weeping fright
for any drying sea.
Saints doth make it bright,
standing upright to their service,
all is but open to Her sight;
excluding not the secret phiz.
Something doth keep me straight
for bad upcoming peels off,
all like peels of yam
and free I always be as overflowing water.
What a revealer the BIG eyes is!
As slumber rides in man,
Never does it ride the BIG eyes
for they're but contrasts;
division of flesh and spirit.
The sun shines to the earth,
In open and secret it does;
The tranquil breeze breathe breath to earth
whistling a bit of the BIG eyes.
White and black deeds she sees
The bounty of actions from head to toe;
why do we not with conscience live
all going ipso facto.