Thursday, October 26, 2006

The Execrable Scottish Verses

[Disclaimer: No Scots were harmed in the making of these wretched,
indeed quite pitiable verses, for they were paying no attention to the concerns of others.]

I. This Is A Bill

We here at John Chapman's Broadcast
Might wish to start a poetry podcast.
Certainly we'll publish poetry on CD.
But how to do this whilst in poverty?
Now our man in accounts receivable
Is telling us something unbelievable.
You've failed to pay for our book of poetry,
Despite its fine, cadenced ebb-and-flow-etry.
This kind of thing makes our funds kaput
And up with it we will not put!
Please send promptly your check for 13 dollars.
Plus, should you need more copies, give a holler.
And, when you're stuck on your holiday shopping list,
Remember our books make lovely Christmas gifts.

II. This Ith Not Therapeutic!

Mary S. Robinson, SW III,
Licensed practitioner of therapy,
When will you be
Responsive to me
And pay for my book of poetry?

III. Danny Clark, You Still Owe Two Dollars

I usually charge a dollar thirty-five
When I have to hassle people for payment.
Keep it! You need money more than I.
And keep the book for its entertainment.

Hang onto that dollar
'Til your hand gets cramps.
You could need penny candies,
You might need stamps.

You know, when you pay bills.

IV. Collections, for Laurie McCann

Missy McCann,
Now listen to me.
You may think
You got off Scot free,
But you haven't been chased
'Til you're chased by me.

V. Mr. Stone, an unryhmed verse

Mr. Stone was busy today
Giving Blood. You know, to the Red Cross.
(I know, it's a likely story.)
And he was busy advancing science.
Also giving interviews to the papers.
Various other noble things, as well.
For example, he visited his kids.

So he had no time to pay your bill,
John Chapman.
He'd no time to pay your bill.

VI.Pammy Lou

Oh, Pammy Lou,
Your eyes are the hue
Of the highland skies,
Of seas off Hebridean isles!

You got your acquisitive
Hands on my books,
Yet paid for your copies
With your good looks.

Or my memory of your looks
In auld lang syne.

I met you, my bratty dear,
On the eve of a new year
In days gone by,

That midnight kiss
'Neath fireworks
Has done me in.
And for all time.

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