My Own Private Ulysses: The Third Man With Two Brains

The Third Man With Two Brains

My left-brain hates love, but loves triangles.

It sees one in lines by Shakespeare the Bard.

Will’s two loves, gal and pal, seize their angles

That will fuzz up his right mind. Math is hard.

James Joyce too, streams a wrong trilateral:

Plain old Bloom, obtuse Molly, a cute Stephen.

Left flawed, this threesome seems – collateral

Of life’s odds - planes and seamlines uneven.

Within all four lines of these three quatrains,

Wet with the hard sea of geometry,

I am left soft and unwhett. My right-brain's

Waves are numb to numbers; sums it won’t see.

So, add me to Will and Joyce for a new three,

So fuzzy math will stream exponentially.

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Same trigonal time, same cranial channel. 

My Own Private Ulysses: The Apex Sonneteer

The Apex Sonneteer

Why do I punch down on punks like james joyce,

And his weak, beta-at-best, book of bloom?       

My innate primacy leaves me no choice; 

Alpha Dogs always deliver the boom.         

I toy with rhymes like what’s-his-face, the bard.

Pretty pathetic, his pencil-neck verse.          

He’s just a plebe, I’m Praetorian Guard,

And He-Man Master of this Universe.

I’ll mansplain: socrates is to plato        

To aristotle to alex the great              

And ithaca’s king to each othello

On to bloom. None can match what I create.

So, look on my might. I’m a Force Majeure!

Just ignore slight delusions of my grandeur.   

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Same testosterone time, same creatine channel.

My Own Private Ulysses: Wisdom Hely’s Acrostically Addled Advertisement

Wisdom Hely’s Acrostically Addled Advertisement

Hely pays five men to bear and be strong.

Each wears one letter on his sandwich board.

LOL, they keep spelling his name wrong!

Yes, these characters are very untoward.

‘Twas Wisdom ordered an increase in sales.

Stationery doesn’t just sell itself.

Specially when men become leapfrogs and snails.

‘Til order’s restored, stocked remains the shelf.

Yet, what’s the point of Joyce’s running bit?

Loss of advertising’s ability?

Either or, the whole kaboodle and kit:

Heckling language’s futility.

Joyce tricks Charlie Browns with tease acrostics.

Just like Lucy always cocks up his kicks.

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Same agnostic time, same caustic channel.