Thursday, December 31, 2015

Mainly Mania, 33



(obsession doggerel)


Teen-Freak: ephebeomania

Because he was obsessed with teens,
He never thought of what it means.

So with his thumbs he tried to text,
To guess what fashion fad was next.

He dressed the way he saw teens dress—
Though he could never quite impress

The teens themselves. And so his cell
Lay silent. Soon, he wasn't well

And realized this wasn’t great,
Returned to being ninety-eight. 

Wednesday, December 30, 2015

Mainly Mania, 32



(obsession doggerel)

Shopper: oniomania

Obsessively, he loved to shop—
And, yes, until he had to drop
And hit the floor—a loud ker-PLOP!

He had no interest in a cure—
You'd offer one; he would demur
And claim, “My motives, yo, are pure!”

But soon he had no cash to spend,
And even friends refused to lend.
His cards were maxed—this had to end.

And later on, celestial grace
Returned the smile upon his face:
He’d wished he’d find a shopping place

In heaven. And he did. But smells
Were awful, residents were fell.
He realized: He’d gone to hell!

Tuesday, December 29, 2015

Mainly Mania, 31



(obsession doggerel)

Rhymester: metromania

Inside was so much doggerel
He feared he would one day explode.
Words were his banquet—he was full.
He’d hit the poet’s mother lode.

But “poet” is too generous
To use for him, an amateur.
To label someone giftless thus
Is to award a heartless boor

A Nobel Prize for Peace. But on
He scribbled, day and night, until
His words, at last, were finally gone.
He paused, then wondered if some pill

Could make the vanished words return.
He tried them all, found no relief,
Then realized he had to learn
To live alone in wordless grief.

But Love arrived one day in spring,
And words that had all flown away
Returned (yes, Love can do this thing),
And words again, both night and day,

Flew from his fingers, and his mate,
Who read his output every day,
Thought all of it was just first-rate.
And thus Love grew, in every way.

Monday, December 28, 2015

Mainly Mania, 30



(obsession doggerel)

Ice Cream: klazomania

Doyle probably had just misheard—
It all can be so difficult, The Word,
Confusing as an unknown bird.

And so when someone cried, “Ice cream!”
He thought that he had heard “I scream.”
To Doyle, it was his dearest dream—

The answer to receiving treats
Was simple: Nothing ever beats
A scream (among his greater feats).

Thereafter, Doyle would simply yell
For what he craved—and what the hell:
It seemed to work so very well.

Until those men arrived—in white—
And dragged him off into the night
And took him to a room so bright

Where he now lives—with pads on walls.
Where he hears voices in the halls.
And no one answers when he calls. 

Sunday, December 27, 2015

Mainly Mania, 29



(obsession doggerel)

Workaholic: ergomania

Sue was a ergomaniac—
She left for work, did not come back.

Instead, she sat there at her desk,
And soon she looked a bit grotesque.

She had not bathed in oh so long;
She sat and hummed the same old song.

A crazy smile sat on her face,
As if to say, “There is no place

I'd rather be!” It ended soon.
One day, in early afternoon,

They heard a thud. They saw her head
There on the desk. And she was dead.

The coroner was quick with such:
“Sue just loved working far too much.”

They buried Sue, still at her desk.
I know: so very Kafkaesque. 

Saturday, December 26, 2015

Mainly Mania, 28



(obsession doggerel)

Jumper: catapedamania

As soon as he could stand, he jumped—
And soon his body, bruised and lumped,

Bespoke his fondness for the leap.
Much later on, he bought a Jeep

And outdoor clothing—just the best—
For now he’d picked his final test:

That canyon Grand—so vast and broad,
But also deep. They’d all applaud

When he jumped to the canyon floor,
Then walked back up to do some more.

It didn’t quite work out like that:
He jumped and landed—loud ker-SPLAT!

Friday, December 25, 2015

Mainly Mania, 27



(obsession doggerel)

Holiday: noelmania [I made this up, I think]

He had a strong fixation that
Commenced in late November. He
Became a Christmas autocrat—
Expressed in Christmas lunacy.

His lights went up; the music played;
He dressed like dear old Santa Claus;
He bought a reindeer (named it Wade)
But soon was ostracized because

He was a little past the pale,
The fence that most of us observe.
And soon he found himself in jail—
A sentence now he had to serve.

They let him out on Christmas Eve.
He raced to check upon his elves.
And found he still had time to leave:
They’d done the needed work themselves.

He loaded up his fabled sleigh,
With Rudolph leading at the head,
And off he flew—he knew the way—
Delivering each doll and sled.

Thursday, December 24, 2015

Mainly Mania, 26



(obsession doggerel)

Grinder: bruxomania

For reasons that we’ll never know
Duane just loved to grind his teeth.
Perhaps it eased his human woe?
Or offered him some weird relief?

But—sad to say—it wasn’t long
Before he realized his flub,
Before he knew that he’d been wrong:
He’d ground each one down to its nub.

So now it’s Jell-O for his meals—
Or yogurt if he’s in the mood.
He rarely talks of how he feels
While slurping but not chewing food.

Wednesday, December 23, 2015

Mainly Mania, 25



(obsession doggerel)

Wisdom: sophomania

His parents named him Socrates.
He hated it and begged them, “Please,
Dear Mom and Dad—it’s awful! Geez!”

But they refused. And later on
He found (all his resentment gone)
He was a king—no, not a pawn!

“Oh, I’m a genius!” he maintained.
His therapist had then explained
That he was not—and had him chained

And kept the poor guy tranquilized
Until, perhaps, he realized
His error. Then he stabilized!

And cried, “I’m just a normal man!
Oh, let me go, please, if you can.
I’ll settle for the name of Dan,

A name that fits a slower dude—
I hope you don’t think I am rude?”
Thus chains can change your attitude.

Tuesday, December 22, 2015

Mainly Mania, 24



(obsession doggerel)

Liar: pseudomania

I saw the boy, his pants on fire.
That shepherd boy will soon expire—

But not from flames (he put them out)
But from those wolves he lied about.

His lying fed his playful mood—
But soon he’ll serve as lupine food.

And so this boy will lie no more:
He’ll be inside a carnivore.

Monday, December 21, 2015

Mainly Mania, 23



(obsession doggerel)

Days Are Numbered: arithomania

“You seem obsessed with numbers,” said
The doctor with the chart.
“The numerals are everywhere—
Inside your head and heart.”

"I know," sniffed Boris, “and I'm glad
In ways that I can’t count.
I love that numbers multiply;
Forever they will mount.”

“Oh, they will stop,” the doctor sighed,
“Inside your heart and head.”
“When’s that?” asked Boris skeptically.
“When you,” he said, “are dead!”

“You’re wrong!” cried Boris, self-assured.
“Now listen well—attend!
The years will still accumulate
And Time will never end.”

“It ends for you the day you die—
A fact you can’t surmount.
The numbers really stop for you
When you aren’t there to count.”

Depressed, poor Boris headed home
Inside a sort of daze.
He was unhappy—angry, too.
Oh, let me count the ways!

Sunday, December 20, 2015

Mainly Mania, 22



(obsession doggerel)

Mealtime: deipnomania

He loved he breakfast, loved his lunch—
He really loved his meals a bunch.

He loved his supper, midnight snacks.
But then … here came his heart attacks.

He’d added weight—he wasn’t well—
’Twas Gluttony sent him to Hell.

He asked old Satan, “What’s to eat?”
“Oh, we have lots of roasted feet!”

That sounded good, so down he sat,
And eating feet, he kept his fat. 

Saturday, December 19, 2015

Mainly Mania, 21



(obsession doggerel)

Beddie-Bye: clinomania

He spent so many hours in bed
That folks suspected he was dead.
But no! He just had in his head

A love for lying ’twixt the sheets—
For him, among life's greatest treats,
Right near the top with sex and sweets.

But sex was complicated stuff—
And sweets? Well, he had had enough.
So he would lie there, in the buff,

Until at last he could decide
If he preferred his back or side.
But then one gloomy day he died.

His will required that in the grave
His bed must go. And so they gave
Him his desire: He’d had them save

His final bed beneath the ground—
With pillows (fluffed), a blanket ’round
His body—such a cozy mound

To lie beneath while you’re below.
And if you really want to know,
He’s happy that he’s resting so!

Friday, December 18, 2015

Mainly Mania, 20



(obsession doggerel)

Reflections: catopromania

With mirrors hanging everywhere—
With time galore to stare and stare—

Narcissus and the Evil Queen,
The weirdest couple ever seen,

Did not have kids— no, not a hex.
They simply had no time for sex.

They loved their faces—quite enough.
No need for any … funny stuff. 

Thursday, December 17, 2015

Mainly Mania, 19



(obsession doggerel)

Deep Fears: bathymania

Poseidon? Bathymania!?
Oh, don’t be such a creep!
Of course the ocean God is fond
Of all things dark and deep!

Would you say Noah Webster was
Too mad about the word?
To say such things is ludicrous,
Embarrassing, absurd.

Besides, our own obsessions—from
The weird to weirder, too—
Make absolutely perfect sense
To us, if not to you. 

Wednesday, December 16, 2015

Mainly Mania, 18


(obsession doggerel)


Chewy: phaneromania (biting nails)

While mad for cats, she buys a gross.
While mad for boats, she sails and sails.
While mad for drugs, she takes a dose.
But best of all? She chews her nails.

She chews them down, right to the quick,
In public—private—anywhere.
Her chewing makes her family sick,
But she keeps chewing—doesn’t care.

But then she grows far too obsessed—
And chews all night and chews all day.
She gives herself no time for rest
And soon she'll chew herself away.

Tuesday, December 15, 2015

Mainly Mania, 17



(obsession doggerel)

Web of Wonder: arachnomania

The spiders there in Middle-Earth
Suggest arachnomania,
Perhaps, was present at the birth
Of J. R. R. Tolkien—
Of fantasy, the reigning dean.

They were of such colossal size
(Remember Shelob? Oh, so huge!)
Well, she came from the mind and eyes
Of J. R. R. Tolkien—
Of fantasy, the reigning dean.

Miss Muffet—could that lass have been
An ancestor? Here’s what I mean:
Did she bequeath from way back then
That spider thing of old Tolkien?
(Of fantasy, the reigning dean.)

Monday, December 14, 2015

Mainly Mania, 16



(obsession doggerel)

James’ Paradox: xenomania

So Bond (James Bond)—an agent for
Her Majesty (of course)—
Adored his foreign travel, be it
French or Swiss or Norse.

He said he loved dear England most—
But could this claim be true?
He was abroad so frequently
That no one had a clue. 

Was he a loyal Englishman
With xenomania?
Or what about an an agent for,
Perhaps, Albania?!

Sunday, December 13, 2015

Mainly Mania, 15



(obsession doggerel)

Lizzie’s Last Lament: toxicomania

“You poison people!” Lizzie cried.
“It’s slow and boring—those are facts!
I wonder: Have you ever tried
A few quick swings, a sturdy axe?”

Lucrezia just thought a bit,
Her anger hot, right at the brink.
“Well, Lizzie, hmmm … Why don’t we sit?
And just for fun, how ’bout a drink?”



Saturday, December 12, 2015

Mainly Mania, 14



(obsession doggerel)

Ferdinand’s Horns: satyromania

“Yo, Ferdinand, you seem to be
A little horny, dude.
Is there a woman on the earth
Whom you would, like, exclude?”

“Well, maybe that Morticia girl—
From Transylvania?
But maybe not. I suffer from
Satyromania.”

Friday, December 11, 2015

Mainly Mania,13



(obsession doggerel)

Pick, Pick, Pick: rhinotillexomania

He picked his nose from dawn to dark.
He picked it in the city park,
Disgusting every dove and lark.

He picked all throughout his life.
He sometimes used a pocketknife—
No wonder that he had no wife!

Before he died, he thought a lot
About a cemetery plot—
And so he picked a decent spot.

But no one came to visit (sigh)
To see the spot where he did lie.
A picture that makes grown men cry.

Our story ends--and so it goes:
In life we suffer many blows—
Especially if we pick the nose!

Thursday, December 10, 2015

Mainly Mania, 12



(obsession doggerel)

Bucks (and Ducks?) Up: plutomania

Old Scrooge McDuck loved money, so
He kept it all in massive piles,
The sight of which brought greedy smiles.
Yes, Scrooge could roll in lots of dough.

And Ebenezer Scrooge—yes, he
Of Charles Dickens’ lasting fame—
Gave to the greedy his harsh name,
A kind of immortality.

And Dyer? Well, he has lots of dough—
But just the kind for baking bread.
Yes, sourdough keeps family fed—
It is his favorite, don’t you know?

He doesn’t drive a Cadillac—
But they have bread to share and eat.
He makes a mess (he’s not too neat),
This baking plutomaniac!

Wednesday, December 9, 2015

Mainly Mania, 11



(obsession doggerel)

Dead On: necromania

The Ghouls were really kind of odd—
Not just a normal family.
They hated salmon, steak, and cod.
Instead they favored what was free—

Like girls and boys and women, men—
Whomever they found lying ’round.
And what they ate? A mortal sin.
Their food was dead—and under ground.

The graveyard was their grocery store—
And also their beloved café.
They ate there every night—such gore!
A very special grim buffet.

There are few families like the Ghouls—
They live in ghoulish little packs.
Oh, do not think the Ghouls are fools—
Instead, they’re necromaniacs. 

Tuesday, December 8, 2015

Mainly Mania, 10



(obsession doggerel)

One Thing … monomania

Yes, Ahab had it—to the max—
All due to Moby-Dick’s attacks.

And so did Stanley—he’s the one
Who searched for Dr. Livingstone.

And Custer was not really through
Until he met some swarms of Sioux.

And then there was poor Elmer Fudd,
Whose hunt for Bugs was such a dud.

And I loved cookies chocolate-chipped—
Which took me quickly to my crypt.

The message here (or so I guess)—
It’s not too good when you obsess. 

Monday, December 7, 2015

Mainly Mania, 9



(obsession doggerel)

Words, Words, Words: logomania

He had words stitched into his shirt—
And tattooed all across his back.
He scratched words in the very dirt—
Before he had his heart attack.

His favorite soup was alphabet,
And Scrabble his beloved game.
He owned the OED (a set)—
To memorize it was his aim.

But then there was that heart attack,
And words just failed him after that.
His mood declined from blue to black,
And he became a total prat.

But one day a librarian—
Oh, you know how this story ends:
Yes, they got married, had pure fun
With frequent games of Words with Friends. 

Sunday, December 6, 2015

Mainly Mania, 8


(obsession doggerel)

Ring Around the Burglar: kleptomania

We all love Bilbo—got the ring.
Yes, he could steal most anything,
But he was gifted with the bling.

We shouldn't give him too much flack—
For Bilbo went there (there and back)—
But such a kleptomaniac!

But Smaug was not at first impressed—
A Fellowship! A hopeless quest!
But then an arrow in his chest

Knocked Smaug down from the fiery sky
Into the lake (they watched him die)—
Oh, Bilbo Baggins! What a guy!

Saturday, December 5, 2015

Mainly Mania, 7



(obsession doggerel)

Writer and Writer: graphomania

He found a pencil in his crib,
He picked it up, commenced to scrib-
(ble).

He soon moved on to pens and “crans”—
Oh, so much writing filled his plans!

 Computers, next, were on his list—
And when they failed, he got so pissed

He threw his laptops at the wall.
That’s too bright—no, not at all.

He died with pencil in his hand.
The floods of writing he had planned

Would stay unwritten throughout time
While he transmuted into slime.

(I know. I know. A little grim.
But so it did transpire with him.) 

Friday, December 4, 2015

Mainly Mania, 6



Selfie: egomania

Jim bought himself a selfie stick
And learned to use it (he was quick),
But soon his Facebook friends were sick

Of seeing of all the pics of him,
So they unfriended our poor Jim,
And things were looking pretty grim.

A suicide? Perhaps with knife?
But then a girl came in his life,
And soon they married—man and wife.

And then Jim learned another trick—
And thought that he was really slick.
He bought a longer selfie stick.

And soon his wife grew awfully tired—
Her love for him just soon expired.
She left him—not what Jim desired.

And now Jim’s left with only Jim.
But Jim does not grow tired of him.
In fact, he wrote a lengthy hymn

That celebrated who he was,
And now he's really thrilled because
Jim’s always thrilled with what Jim does. 

Thursday, December 3, 2015

Mainly Mania, 5



(obsession doggerel)

Boozer: dipsomania

She married him without a hitch—
Our Jill now happy with her Jack.
But he got drunk and called her “Bitch!”
Our Jack—a dipsomaniac.

She took it for a week or two—
But couldn’t stand him, crude and rude,
And so she moved to Waterloo,
Where she, astute, divorced the dude. 

Wednesday, December 2, 2015

Mainly Mania, 4



(obsession doggerel)

Travelin’ Man: dromomania

He liked to travel—anywhere.
By donkey, plane, or car.
The destinations? Didn’t care.
Liked close—or very far.

And in his will—a codicil,
A coinage of his brain:
He wished his coffin placed aboard
A trans-Siberian train.

He stipulated further that
The ride would never end.
Throughout the life of railroad trains
His endless way he’d wend. 

Tuesday, December 1, 2015

Mainly Mania, 3



(obsession doggerel)

Not Bored of the Dance: Choreomania

She danced at sunrise—every day.
She danced all morning—stopped for lunch.
She danced all afternoon, I say,
Then danced to bedtime—that’s a bunch!

She danced throughout her dancing life—
No energy she’d ever save.
She was a dancing sort of wife—
But danced into an early grave.

But this was not the end of her—
Oh, no sir, no ma’am—not at all.
She caused a cemetery stir
When she arranged a Corpses’ Ball!

Monday, November 30, 2015

Mainly Mania, 2



(obsession doggerel)

Bookie: bibliomania

Oh, many praised her—all the time.
They praised her mind and looks.
But all she really cared about?
Her shelves all crammed with books.

Her floors were covered with the things—
And every surface, too.
Her bed, her tables, countertops
Were piled with volumes, all askew.

One day a towering pile of books
Tipped over on her head.
The coroner declared his view—
'Twas knowledge made her dead. 

Sunday, November 29, 2015

Mainly Mania, 1


I'm commencing a new series today--ditties about the various mania that, well, obsess us.

(obsession doggerel)

Flower Power: anthomania

Oh, you could say she loved her plants—
Much more than she loved both her aunts.

She wed herself unto a rose—
A little weird, the wise one knows.

But there’s no need to make a fuss:
She always was a prickly cuss.