My attempts to produce marmalade
At first had me slightly dismayed
'Cause the jars would explode.
But I've now cracked the code.
I just label them “Fruit Hand Grenade.” 

Based on the suggestion: “marmalade”

A stench that's described as “mephitic”

Is so bad as to be paralytic.

Which is why my dog's name

Is a mark of his shame.

Old Meph sports an odor armpit-ic.

There are smells that are classed as “mephitical”

For example: reviews harshly critical.

But a fetor far worse

Can aggrieve and accurse:

It's the hot air that's labelled “political.”

Based on the suggestion: "mephitic"

An oboe walked into a bar
And was cruised by a Spanish guitar.
She said, “Only six strings,
“And you're flaunting those things?
“You're close, but you're just no sitar.”

Based on the suggestion: “oboe”

I grew my own corn on Nantucket.
It took ages to reap it and shuck it.
But my chowder won't sell
(That damned clammer cartel!)
So I'm left with no choice but to chuck it.

The houses you find on Nantucket
Can cost quite a damnable ducat!
So I guess, on that isle,
I won't live in style,
Until, filthy rich, I have struck it.

Last summer my house on Nantucket
Was attacked by a lunatic duck.  It
Kept hitting the screen
While attempting to preen.
So to keep the thing safe I would pluck it.

Based on the suggestion: “Nantucket”

So I visit this great radiologist
Who is also a famous phrenologist.
“I want,” I explain,
“To examine my brain.”
So he sends me to see a psychologist.

Based on the suggestion: “radiologist”

I came up with two variations on the same idea.  Which do you think works better?

 “Your disease,” said the naturopath,
“Is provoked by an excess of wrath.
“There's a cure, though, (you're lucky):
“Just sing to your duckie
“Each night as you soak in the bath.”


“Thy disease,”  said the naturopath,
“Will respond to a mineral bath.
“If thou wield'st, as a scrubber,
“A fowl made of rubber.
“Hath thy bathtub a duckie?” “It hath.”

Based on the suggestion: “naturopath”

A poem for the historical lovers Abelard and Héloïse.  In the early 12th century, brilliant scholar Héloïse lived in the house of her uncle, Fulbert. When the famous philosopher and teacher, Abelard, convinced Fulbert to let him move in and become tutor to Héloïse, things got a little licentious...

He seduced her; she gave no resistance.
She fell pregnant, and through his insistence
Hél was shut up in cloisters.
Fulbert severed Ab's “oysters.”
And they loved – evermore – from a distance.

Based on the suggestion: “Héloïse and Abelard”

Bonus fun fact: Lest you think modern celebs invented the practice of giving their children bizarre names, Héloïse and Abelard named their son “Astrolabe,” after the scientific instrument.