| || error, gourd, winner, floppy, floundering.
Image from the Internet.
The opening poem contains all the words (or variations of them) from today's Jumble.
Comments are welcomed!
Do not explicitly reveal any of the actual answer words until after closing time, but embedding them surreptitiously in comment sentences is encouraged.
Gosh! Usually the long words make solutions difficult, but once the clues gave me the letters this solution popped right up. Kinda cute.
ReplyDeleteI'll look in tomorrow for any poems, and other comments.
Jimmy was floundering, ᅟhe couldn't find a word.
ReplyDeleteTho he wracked his brain, ᅠnothing entered in his gourd.
He thought he was a poet, ᅠbut the claim was made in vain
If he couldn't find the word ᅠhe needed for his strain!
So to Thalia he prayed, ᅠthe Muse of lyric verse.
If she couldn't give him better, ᅠshe couldn't give him worse!
And lo!, the room grew brighter, ᅠas from a light-bulb in the air;
And from the glowing aura ᅠstepped a floppy, drunken pair!
"I'm Thalia." "I'm Erato." "We're here to pull you thru!
When it comes to verse there ain't nothing we can't do!
Ya wanna be a winner and earn a million bucks?
Then poetry's your error, 'cuz no one gives the fcuks!"
(to be continued... I hope!)
A very funny, and all-too-recognizable situation with Jimmy. Owen<, you capture much of the toil I am re-discovering in the honor of the muses.
ReplyDeleteToday's solution:
When I began fencing lessons as an undergrad wannabe Errol Flynn, our Belgian coach--whom we addressed as "Maestro"--checked us on our "parry," i.e. our ability to block his thrust by pressing it to one side or the other.
I was proud of my skill, but as I finished demonstrating it to him, I was surprised to feel the tip of his foil planted firmly under my heart.
"But Maestro," I protested, "I blocked your blade."
"You must never be content to parry a single attack without countering. A riposte is expected. You hesitated, and so--pfft!"
~ OMK
FLN, no wonder I couldn't find the riddle-solution, I had defile instead of FIDDLE, thus no D.
ReplyDeleteQuick one today. As Sandy said, once I had the letters the riddle-solution dropped .
Actually poetry made big bucks for the writers of Hamilton and Owen writes much better. My version of Hamilton is Ivanhoe, I have to find an online version.
In my version , Deus ex machina abounds, fe, the jousting is done closed circuit. Or perhaps announced, Cosell-style. And... Ivanhoe is never seen nor heard. As Scott intended, Brian de Bois Gilbert is the protagonist.
WC
And of course there's "King" John. The ultimate anachronism will be royal tweets.
WC
Carrier pigeon?
DeletePoppy'd often pass out in lowly bars and seedy flophouses
ReplyDeleteThe once respectable Roger became the king of the souses
Unlooked and unhoped for, he saw the error of his ways
Went to meetings, got a sponsor and now he even prays.
No more floundering around, dazed and off his gourd
He's now a winner in sobriety of that you can be assured
WC
My goodness, the poetic talent on this blog just blows my mind. Owen, the way you put those Muses to work just cracked me up. And thanks for giving Poppy (?) a positive, and not a floppy, outcome to his problems, Wilbur. Also, sorry you didn't turn out to be a winner in that fencing competition, Ol'Man Keith, even though you did your best to stay on your gourd. Sorry, I can't contribute myself, but I'm afraid poetry's my error.
ReplyDeleteHave a good day, everybody.
Misty, you've come up with some good stuff.
ReplyDeletePoppy? Originally a rhyme for floppy that RETRO* storage device. But our souse needed a name and all the old drinks had nicknames.
Before I left town and had my tour of duty there was one who had seemingly "recovered". He used to walk home from church with his wife after Mass, a beatific look on his face. I heard 19 years sober circa 1966.
Later, on the docks in Boston I saw him with the winos, as bad an alkie as imaginable. He had one of those names every Irish character seems to have. I've forgotten it.
So, Poppy had to do.
WC
* RETRO for cassette tape showed up in a xword. Perhaps Evan Birnholz Wa-Post.
What a sad, real-life outcome for "Poppy." Your poem gives him a happier ending, W.C.
ReplyDeleteA case of art improving on life? May we say it is your way of wishing him well?
I really like the compression of your lines, especially "Went to meetings, got a sponsor and now he even prays"-- great way to use trochees to drive home his life change!
~ OMK
So sorry Poppy's recovery didn't last, Wilbur.
ReplyDeleteThanks for the technical appraisal, OMK. It's virtually incredible that one fine day Bill Wilson hit upon a message to use the existing spiritual and psychological tools along with what is now called group therapy to produce a system that has led millions to recovery where the doctors had thrown up their hands .
ReplyDeleteI haven't had a drink in 42 years despite modern marketing trying to convince me otherwise.
WC
Good on you, Wilbur!
ReplyDeleteProud to know you, Man, even in this socially distant way...
~ OMK