My Own Private Ulysses: Unto You To See What We Would Call Them?
- Robert Roman
- 8 hours ago
- 1 min read

“Come around to Barney Kiernan’s, says Joe. I want to see The Bloomsday Journal.”
Unto You To See What We Would Call Them?
Here comes a group of Joyceans en masse,
Forever drinking, yet they never drown.
They’re always so crass, they lack proper class,
These beasts deserve their own collective noun.
A Menace or a Murder sounds correct,
But those are owned by crocodiles and crows.
Intrusion fairly fits their foul aspect,
But cockroach holds that name, Franz Kafka knows.
Conspiracy and Cauldron, Clutch and Crash!
And Cowardice and Cackle, Cast and Cloud!
And that’s not all the Cs, there’s a whole cache.
In kangaroo courts, are pet names allowed?
This name game broke me out in chicken pox.
Seek fame? Sneak your suggestion into my box.
Stay tuned for a skulk of sequels to this sonnet.
Same troop of times, same charm of channels.




