I’m compelled to condemn the cliché.
When I hear one, I’m rubbed the wrong way,
Also irked and annoyed.
They are best to avoid
Like the plague … at the end of the day.
(Cliché Day is always observed on November 3rd.)
I’m compelled to condemn the cliché.
When I hear one, I’m rubbed the wrong way,
Also irked and annoyed.
They are best to avoid
Like the plague … at the end of the day.
(Cliché Day is always observed on November 3rd.)
My mind is a jumble, confused
Because “jargogle’s” no longer used.
When a word’s fun to say,
It should NOT go away.
Its abandonment can’t be excused!
(JARGOGLE: An obsolete word that means to confuse, jumble, mix up.)
Applaud or compose
Sesquipedalian prose?
Today is YOUR day.
Happy “Big Word Day!” (April 21)
I used to speak French fairly well,
But my accent is no longer belle,
And my “je ne sais quoi”
Is reduced to a blah.
(That damn phrase is a struggle to spell!)
(Happy UN French Language Day! — March 20)
It’s “National Puzzle Day,” which gives me a good excuse to post this limerick:
I never play Wordle in “hard mode.”
It feels like a feathered and tarred mode.
I would rather control
All my moves, on the whole.
It’s too bad they don’t offer a “bard mode.”
It’s “National Word Nerd Day.” Yay!
I’m a “word nerd.” It’s true. Ev’ry day
I try to learn new words,
Recalling but few words;
In my brain they’re reluctant to stay.
Dear Bee, though I hate to complain,
Your word list is clearly insane.
How dare you exclude
“Trayf” and “ranty!” That’s rude!
And no “tarty?” You’re taunting my brain!
I’ve been bilked once again by the Bee.
It rejects kosher entries with glee.
My claim’s not debatable:
Spurning “deflatable”
Violates fairness! (Says Me!)
It’s “National Dictionary Day,” which gives me a good excuse to post a limerick about another new-to-me term: “Dawn Chorus.”
(For the record, all the names have been changed to protect the guilty.)
“Let’s go back to that lovely ‘Fowl Inn,’”
Said my spouse, quite forgetting its din.
’Twas no use telling Boris
(A bull-headed Taurus)
That its dawn chorus drove us to gin.
*****
Happy birthday to American lexicographer Noah Webster, of dictionary compilation fame. He was born October 16, 1758.
“Nemonic” is tricky to spell,
And my efforts to spell it: Pell-mell!
Since my problem is chronic.
I’ve tried a “kneemonic,”
Which hurls me to memory hell.
“After seeing your farm, I’m agog
At its beautiful pigpen. My dog
Doesn’t live half as well!
The big barn where pigs dwell
Is superb! They live high on the hog.”
*****
Happy World Farm Animals Day! (October 2)
How to punctuate: That is the query.
Ill-timed marks can be irksome and dreary.
Bangs, ellipses, and dashes
Add drama in flashes.
Overuse is abusive!!! — Be leery!!!!!
(National Punctuation Day is celebrated yearly on September 24th.)
My self-challenge for today was writing a limerick using the new-to-me word “fugleman.”
An assertive, decisive, and frugal man
Was also an excellent bugle man.
He would make extra dough
Playing band gigs and so
In parades, he was always the fugleman.
I use new-to-me words in my verse;
Vain attempts to cajole and coerce
My old brain into learning
Their meaning. But spurning
Those efforts, my mind makes me curse.
So I’m forced to confess with veracity
That I wish I had greater capacity
To remember cool words,
But my brain’s for the birds,
Which explains all my failed orchidacity.
Sometimes I challenge myself by using a hard-to-rhyme word in a limerick. In today’s case, it’s “latrinalia,” which means stuff written or drawn on bathroom walls.
Now before you say, “Lots of things rhyme with latrinalia, according to Rhymezone,” let me add that Rhymezone is WRONG!
Since the Final Stressed Syllable of latrinalia is NAL, true rhyme words must end in “alia” preceded by a Different Consonant, such as AuSTRalia, or mamMalia, or reGalia, or the two words I use in this limerick:
If you happen to read latrinalia,
You won’t find any sesquipedalia,
You’ll see swear words and gripes
Writ by marginal types,
But no poems inspired by Thalia.
How can I resist using “bombilation” in a limerick?
Bombilation is driving me nuts,
And it comes from a home that abuts
My backyard. I complain,
But I’m met with disdain.
My revenge? A large doghouse with mutts.
Since Wordsmith’s “Word of the Day” today is “Hotheaded,” I decided to use it in a limerick:
A hotheaded fellow named Hugh
Was irked by a huge check-out queue.
To disperse the long line
He yelled “Gun!” — the damn swine.
He wears stripes now; “lines” up the wazoo!
A mother-to-be gave a shiver.
Her whole body was soon all-aquiver.
She sobbed: “As predicted,
My diet’s restricted.
Doc told me it’s time to de-liver.”
Sometimes, when I play with a new-to-me word, I get a bit silly:
“What color’s your purse?” asked a nurse.
“A deep purple?” The answer: “It’s ‘perse!’”
“Yes, I know. But what shade
Is your pocketbook’s suede?”
“I said ‘perse!’” (Plus a colorful curse.)