The Asses of Parnassus

The sweetest berry’s born Beside the sharpest thorn.

"Peace on earth," the angels start, and optimism floods my heart. But then my hopes for peace diminish: "To people of goodwill," they finish.

A lovely and lit'rate Odette, A proofreading Penthouse-like pet, By the parts of soft writers Who fail to ignite hers, Notes, Stet, oh God stet, come on stet...

See this fool. May his end be bad, May heaven expose his sin. He has his flock, but, for mercy’s sake, He’d gather the poor man’s in. His foreskin’s his, but to save on wear He’d rather stick his neighbour’s in.

Swindlers have a certain gift for kickbacks, even petty grift. Others shoot for the master craft where the vowel changes and it’s graft. Some aim even higher: fleecing folks through statecraft. 

If you had called, it would not matter, but I remember when it would. I am not mad and feel no sadder, but wish I could.

You follow laws that teach the love of lawn with hollow honey-tonguèd eulogies to our beloved butterflies and bees? O statesmen of suburbia, they're gone for want of weed to feed upon.

Two trades are not worth getting into: That’s dealing drugs and trading crypto.

As second childishness and mere oblivion Draw near, I leave the lights above the privy on.

Rich puppeteers might think they pull some strings, But how naively they make bullies kings.

I'm not a prude, but having viewed

this multitude of nude, nude, nude,

I'm in a mood that's far from lewd.

My attitude is "Really, dude?"

There has to be a reason I hate "Wonderwall" so much,    Though frankly I'm unsure about the basis: Do I despise the song--the lyric, melody, and such--    Or is it that I simply loathe Oasis?

Robert sure had balls. This gum-gatherer is none other than Wordsworth’s leech-gatherer in flannel shirt and overalls.

For the first time in oh-so-many years I hear mosquitoes whining in my ears.

A poem-hating critic might, Say that tiresome poems just say, "Life is fleeting." That could be right, It might be trite, But the message somehow bears repeating. 

I understand that a correct plural of index is indices, but please don't expect I'll blow my nose in kleenices.