Words, Words, Twaddle, 14

(We all dislike/hate certain words and locutions; here are some of mine.)

Rue Brick

I know that “rubric” is a word

That’s popular these jaded days

When much we say is so absurd

And English, in its dying haze,

Well knows it’s lost the language war

And has surrendered all its all

To those who favor keeping score.

And now we see the somber pall

Drift down to cover up the corpse

That once held such a healthy soul.

Our language now distorts and warps,

And we must pay a dreadful toll.

Below the rubric of regret

Write, “Clarity in English Prose”—

Then try your utmost to forget—

And find a way to plug your nose.

Words, Words, Twaddle, 13

(We all dislike/hate certain words and locutions; here are some of mine.)

Synergy Bar

I kind of liked it—“synergy”—

At least at first I kind of did.

But then it came to grate on me,

And now I think we should forbid

Its use—except for scientists,

Who need it. But the rest of us?

We don’t. And I will use my fists

Against offenders—and I’ll cuss

A bit while doing so. Perhaps

I’ll even key your precious car.

Or catch your pets in painful traps.

(I know: That’s going much too far.)

But there’s no problem, girls and boys—

There’s such a simple remedy:

Just quit that stupid wordy noise!

And stop the use of “synergy.”

Words, Words, Twaddle, 12

(We all dislike/hate certain words and locutions; here are some of mine.)

The Parent Trap

I don't like “parent” as a verb—

Or gerund (“parenting”). I wish

That we could find a way to curb

Them. I would really like to squish

The person who invented them

Beneath a pile of OEDs.

I'd flatten that damn her or him

Who took our language to its knees

By adding to it ugly words,

So ugly that they really hurt—

Like grafting skis on hummingbirds,

Or smearing Paul Cézannes with dirt. 

Words, Words, Twaddle, 11

(We all dislike/hate certain words and locutions; here are some of mine.)

Not-So-Blind Justice

I heard you say it—“breakout group.”

And I was sickened to the core—

As if I’d eaten mildewed soup—

Or slammed my fingers in the door.

Well, now for you I’ve got some news—

In fact, it’s something of a scoop:

You soon will sing some prison blues—

And maybe form a break-out group,

For I have found a willing judge

Who’ll send you up for decades, man.

He holds a long and bitter grudge

’Gainst all of those who seem to plan

To sully English for the rest—

Who clutter all with crass cliché.

We know incarceration’s best—

Perhaps you'll be released … one day?

Words, Words, Twaddle, 10

(We all dislike/hate certain words and locutions; here are some of mine.)

The Long View

You mentioned “helicopter view”

When we were in a mild debate.

It made me think of what I'd do—

Or, better yet, what I'd create

To cure you of infirmities—

Like saying “helicopter view.”

I'd coax you (by some slow degrees)

To some steep cliff-side rendezvous,

And then when once your back was turned,

I'd give a shove. Good-bye to you!

And thus your lesson would be learned—

And with a helicopter view!

Words, Words, Twaddle, 9

(We all dislike/hate certain words and locutions; here are some of mine.)

Teeing Off

So, you’re a “mindset” kind of guy?

I somehow knew you that you would be.

So now I really have to try

To use your head for my next tee.

I'll place the ball upon your nose

(While you are lying on your back),

And my wild swing (a golfer knows)

Is sort of like a scythe attack.

My driver as it hits your head—

Will make a THOCK! they’ll hear for miles.

And you, of course, will be near-dead,

Your mindset there in shattered piles. 

Words, Words, Twaddle, 8

(We all dislike/hate certain words and locutions; here are some of mine.)

Exit, pursued by a bear. (Shakespeare, The Winter’s Tale, 3.3)

You said it right in front of me—

You said it: “Exit strategy”—

As if a sweet epiphany

Arrived from heaven suddenly.

But here’s a warning (and it’s free)

About clichés and such debris:

I’ll slice you with a snickersnee—

Your final exit strategy.

And if you try to run from me,

I have a friend (oh, you will see!)

Who likes to dine on company—

A grizzly—such voracity!

So you will exit in a bear,

And though you’ll try a frantic prayer,

He’ll have you on his bill of fare,

For hungry bears just flat don’t care.