- Sep 18, 2024
Updated: Nov 23, 2025
James Joyce Time Again
He is our DJ. We are what he plays.
His long book of songs lit up the new world,
Razed the roof and set the dancefloor ablaze.
The censors swirled and his hot critics hurled
Cold water, for they knew their same old song
Had just been ding-donged by time’s closing bell
And swept off stage by the bang of the gong.
The unbold ruled Eden till Joyce gave them Hell.
Whichever century, this or the last,
A Joyce will devastate the turntable,
Give the nod, and put the past on blast
Turning the tables like Cain did Abel.
So next time the future becomes the now,
Don’t waste time asking how, just bask and say Wow.
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- Sep 10, 2024
What The Buck?
He’s Buck Mulligan, our book’s big bad guy,
A smiling backstabber who puns amuck.
His barbs mutilate with a sparkling eye.
Even his bunkmates are sure to be stuck.
His brand is mockery, his pricks various,
Sacred cows he butchers with naked glee.
Brash, malicious, and yet hilarious,
He bathes in the sea, and he lives rent-free.
Buck flays religion, faith he pillages,
Plucks sanctimony, shucks prissy sissies.
His laugh lays waste to noble villages.
What the… It sounds like Buck is Ulysses.
So Buck is not our book’s evil duckling.
Who else embodies Joyce’s swashbuckling?
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What Martha’s Letter Said
She will punish him for making me wait
Inside that cold post office pigeonhole.
And the only place he’ll communicate,
The shadows of bridges like an old troll.
He hides me in his pocket, where he’s free
To rip my white dress and then jerk me out
and finger my folds and deflower me.
Henry seems kind, but deep down he’s a lout.
When he’s done with me, he keeps me confined
In a dark drawer, locked away from his wife.
But, my words, in turn, have captured his mind.
And when he meets my maker, she’ll take his life.
Martha, she’s hot, and she knows better,
To fetter man’s heart, just write him a letter.
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Same speedy time, same delivery channel.