a rock ‘n roll rant with hidden Easter Eggs

source: Sun City Music Festival

Your love handles are not the issue
Though they’re not what I came to see
I can barely spy the band
‘Round your backside’s periphery

Oh, sweet child of mine
Do you have to let it linger?
Must you be the only one
Eye-level with the singer?

You been gettin’…

sealed, with a bitter kiss

source: Scottish Country Dance

in response to Denise Shelton’s The Selkie’s Sonnet, which slandered and whitewashed our brief but genuine love affair

Now hold on just a minute, little Miss,
I feel I’m undeserving of your dis.
It’s true our story ended as you told,
but not quite how it started to unfold —

a verse translation

with each word her ego stoked,
pride and vanity cajoled

Creative Commons / pxhere

The Raven and the Fox

T’was a grinding, snowy freeze
Raven clutched her looted cheese.

Landed on a branch, held steadfast:
“A worthy midday meal — at long last!”

Wily Fox took note from afar
through the thicket, his eyes ajar:

Mouth watering, stomach grumbling

The Wise Man, The Strongman, The Handyman, The Scatter-Brain (#3)


Translated by Joe Váradi and published here with the permission of the original author Lackfi János, and of the brilliant illustrator Jacqueline Molnár. Scroll to the end for previous chapters.


Mr. Sage sits in the arcade,
his hair gleaming white
just like clothes fresh
out of the machine in a
commercial for laundry detergent,

a kid-inspired poem

Roblox obby! — Parkour

my seven-year-olds know
the word parkour —
it’s an obby” they explain
but more hardcore

they say it so plain,
so matter-of-fact — 
I nearly fall out of
the swing and I laugh

as we sit in the playground
this bright Sunday morning —
my lovelies always do
amaze me without warning

The Healer, The Cat Lady, The Businessman, The Daredevil (#2)


translated by Joe Váradi and published here with the permission of the original author Lackfi János


Ms. Zucchini lives in the garret,
the garret is a tiny attic room just under
the roof, with its own tiny staircase leading up
to the roof, to the sturdy little cages that
Mr. Beet built, Ms. Zucchini…

The Surly Super, The Artist, All Nerves, Milkoholic


translated by Joe Váradi and published here with the permission of the original author Lackfi János


Mr. Melon, the super, carries a giant
broom wherever he goes, it’s one of his weapons
as if he were a knight with a lance, or a pole-wielding
samurai, he keeps the peace, as he likes to…

verse translation of a poem by Krisztina Tóth

artist: Courtney Wirth

On the nature of agony,

which defies comprehension, at its core.
Some just stay silent. With eyes that lack
focus, stare and sway forward and back,
to a deep-within cadence. Or,

in best case, stand, shove the chair aside
and, without a backward glance, except
in thoughts repressed, silhouette
aquiver, leave with uneasy stride,



source: macards.ru

made you look
ㅤㅤdidn’t I —
ㅤㅤㅤㅤtry my fresh
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤclickbait pie

five reasons?
ㅤㅤ(double take)
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤit’s a fake

earnings rants
ㅤㅤmake me sick
ㅤㅤㅤㅤI couldn’t
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤgive one lick

'bout how you
ㅤㅤfeel short-changed
ㅤㅤㅤㅤit’s whiny
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤand deranged

ㅤㅤㅤㅤgreedy en-

why are you
ㅤㅤreally here?
ㅤㅤㅤㅤwhat do you

a sonnet of schadenfreude

Caravaggio: Judith Beheading Holofernes (circa 1600)

Behold poor Hogan Torah and his Ex
— Alas, the lengths we go to for some sex —
For years he praised her highfalutin verse,
Although he found it labored and perverse.

“Which word artiste shall I compare thee to?
Shel Silverstein? Bukowski? Angelou?”

She soaked up all the ornate compliments,
And let her artsy ego grow immense.
“Sweet pea, I’m going back for my M.A. —
One thing. I’m broke, and need, like, 30k …”

What choice indeed for our love-tainted friend?
Left pennyless and blue-balled in the end …

The greatest tragedy, in all this strife?
He’s spurned the art of poetry — for life.

inspiration drawn from Hogan Torah’s Nobody Wants to Read Your Poetry, Ever, and Denise Shelton’s subsequent playful taunt

how’s this for constructive trolling, Darius, Greg, marjorie … ?

Joe Váradi

Editor of No Crime in Rhymin' and Language Lab | the Woke Bloke ..."come for the sarcasm, stay for my soft side"

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