| || quota, flush, stigma, mingle, tough as nails.quota, flush, stigma, mingle, tough as nails.
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.
10 comments:
Ok, I'm first in so I'll repost my combo poem FLN
Here were the J's from Friday combined with today's
Rebecca presented a mien of pure tranquility as she entered the Hall
A flush crowded her beautiful face not from any shame or fall
From grace but rather the stigma of being uncovered in public.
And mingling with a foreign authority whatever the rubric
Of ecclesiastic perogative, though slanted against the accursed race
And, notwithstanding the worship of the same diety, the serene face
Of the so-called sorceress was unlike the quivering of a caged canary.
Still the assembled knights and invited peasants were wary
For pity of the helpless Rebecca in the moment of her travails
Must be arrested. For the maniacal Master was tough as nails.
WC
Fear not, OMK, Sir Brian has an Ace up his sleeve. No hope to be expected from the Templar Master, his motto: Try and condemn"
But Mont-Fichet has insisted on "evidence". Hmm. This case and current events seem presciently similar.
WC
"Single Harry"
Harry's dates hit a quota,
none were left, so no coda.
While, drinking a soda,
he worked out which options to flush.
He decided no longer to rush
dates, leaving the all a-blush.
Instead of his manly stigma
he'd try to become an enigma.
Yet since he was single
he still wanted to mingle
so his charms he could jingle.
Well, dating was tough--
had he had enough
or should he still huff and puff?
In the end he was tough as nails,
he sent out a bunch of e-mails,
and decided so what if he fails.
And so we return to the coda:
Harry met a nice woman named Rhoda,
and soon she and Harry
decided to marry.
I'm on your side, W.C. It's the would-be dramatist in me that wants to see a heroine seriously challenged not just by formidable opposition but even in the reader's sympathies. In the end her victory can be all the greater if motive and plot can be swung around on both levels.
When I was a kid watching "B" westerns at the Rio theater, I always pulled (silently) for the villain in the black hat. I knew that the earlier he lost, the sooner the movie would be over.
No verse from me, at least not so far today. I got ten lines in but couldn't make it work by my deadline.
"You've gotta know when to hold 'em,
Know when to fold 'em..."
~ OMK
Misty ~
I take it we (the reader) must decide whether Rhoda represents a happy marriage for Harry, or "so what if he fails"...
For her sake, I'm pulling for his success, though I'm not sure he deserves it, given his enigmatic (or faked?) personae.
I appreciate your giving us verse to chew on.
~ OMK
Loved your Rebecca verse, Wilbur, and just hope she stays safe.
Ol'Man Keith, as you know, my verses are always pretty much dictated by the Jumble words and their possible rhymes, and that's what created the ambiguous and enigmatic Harry this morning. But I couldn't just let him stay adrift like that, so I brought in Rhoda for a happy ending. Will Harry fail? Who knows, but his persona doesn't make it promising, does it?
OK, Not my best, but I'll post it to keep my record up--and so I can take a future break with a clearer conscience.
This is partly autobiographical, but only partly. Maybe that's why it feels so awkward.
"A Reminiscence"
Our museum was an elegant arm of the state,
so serviced many a gubernatorial fete.
Whenever the "Guv" had guests on hand
we'd offer booze in the Henry Moore garden,
or black tie dining in the tapestry gallery
if the guests had earned such chivalry.
Our kitchen staff would shift to high gear
while division chiefs and upper tier
were required to show up and mingle well.
We knew in advance just whom to sell
for the good of next year's state budget line.
The museum's fate was on our mind.
We had a quota with whom to schmooze,
and a certain stigma if we'd rather choose
to hang out with friends at our fave shrimp bowl
or downed too many gins before reaching our goal.
I have to admit it was often a rush
to make small talk with folks who were flush,
one-percenters who liked to talk art,
not always the brightest but eager to start
into their well-rehearsed chatter on Vincent Van Gogh,
which they'd get half-right by rhyming with "cough."
(As nails, this was tough. So this is quite enough!)
~ OMK
Wonderful art poem, Ol' Man Keith. Loved the ending.
And Wilbur, you've done a great job today. Many thanks!
Lots of variety in our various poetical strivings. Also, I see I somehow left out QUOTA. I imagine that the Master had set a quota on how much evidence needed to be provided by the dimwitted.
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