A Sampling of Philip’s Comic Verse and Social Commentary

These poems are among Sarah’s favorites.

City Ordnance

The town of Kenneshaw, Georgia, passed a law requiring all heads of households to own and maintain a firearm and ammunition. There was a $50 fine for violation.

They’ve passed a law in my home town;

It says that, when the chips are down

We must look after Number One.

For that we all must own a gun.

They’ve told us why we need this law;

Though nature’s red in tooth and claw

We humans have got nature beaten;

We must eat or else be eaten.

When a burglar comes to visit

I won’t stop to wonder, is it

Counter to his civil rights

To line him up between my sights.

Bang! Bang! That’s how I’ll greet that bleeder!

Oh? It was the meter reader?

Still, the principle’s the same:

If you get shot, then you’re to blame.

I’ve bought myself a forty-five

To help my neighbors stay alive.

My wife, who thought this too dramatic,

Has a little automatic.

And the children, bless their hearts,

Are taking up the martial arts.

To graduate from second grade

They have to toss a hand grenade.

They pull the pin, then count to five,

Then throw it, so they stay alive.

Poor little Jane finds that a chore

As she can’t yet count up to four.

Because we’re all so law-abiding

Some of us are now deciding

That a pistol’s rather small

And hardly is a gun at all.

To stay within the law, we figure,

Calls for something slightly bigger.

Granny Brown says now it’s her

Desire to buy a howitzer.

But then her house is very small.

Maybe she’ll keep it in the hall.

If only it were three feet shorter!

Perhaps she’ll settle for a mortar.

Uncle Fred thinks he will get

A brand-new French-made Exocet,

Although he’ll have to modify

The guidance scheme, so it will fly

Much lower, then make its attack

Upon some passing Pontiac.

Last year at Christmas, I recall,

Some carol singers came to call.

They sang in such a festive mood

We asked them in, and gave them food.

Two barrels of fine cheese we’d made;

We gave them drink and then we bade

Them once again their plates replenish.

A whole cheese barrel did they finish!

This year, if they come singing carols,

I think they well might get both barrels.

Lions at Large

The Cleveland City Council passed a law to forbid people from having in their homes such animals as lions, bears, and boa constrictors. This prompted protests from some lion owners, who resented such an intrusion on their civil liberties.

If you’ve got your eye on my big furry lion,

And think that he might be a menace,

You’re really quite wrong. Why, I take him along

When I go to the park to play tennis.

The kids love to pet him, and stroke his thick mane;

Then his tail wags as fast as a tail can.

We never get letters that gripe or complain—

At least, not since he ate up the mailman.

We’ve other fine creatures with all sorts of features;

Our wolverine you’d enjoy stroking.

If our anaconda ‘round your neck should wander,

Don’t worry, he’ll only be choking.

And you’d go bananas to see our piranhas;

Our bathtub won’t tempt you to linger.

For though, heaven knows, they’ve a liking for toes

They do greatly prefer a nice finger.

My lizard’s most civilized, although his big swivel eyes

May sometimes suggest indiscreetness.

When it comes to the test, though, the lion’s the best;

From that strength comes a wonderful sweetness.

And so I’ll defend my fine four-footed friend

In the courts, like a good libertarian.

So don’t cast your eye on my harmless poor lion;

He’s planning to turn vegetarian.

Pac-Mate

A manufacturer of home video equipment took legal action against a company that was producing sex-themed games for use on their consoles.

To uphold the good names of our video games

We are taking those villains to court;

For we really can’t handle the taint and the scandal

Of sexual videosport.

I ask you, would you play a game that was blue?

Such a thing I would not waste a glance on;

And that’s why we’ll sue, ‘cos we’re nothing to do

With that Pac-Man who can’t keep his pants on.

It’s really outrageous to see Space Invaders

Make war in this porno production.

They don’t use the tactic of weapons galactic

But conquer by simple seduction.

We do think it’s wrong to produce Donkey Kong

In a form that’s packed full of perversion.

That little man’s tough, but he has work enough

Without giving him extra exertion.

We’ve become wealthy with games that are healthy,

And this year our profits quintupled.

We’d curl up with shame if we sold you a game

That showed Pac-Man and Ms. Pac-Man coupled.

So don’t let your daughters and sons feed in quarters

To such a lubricious machine,

Just to see some Venusians perform their ablutions

Then do something not very clean.

But between you and me, what we hate most to see

Is something that’s really a shocker—

The youth who exclaims that all videogames

Are a bore, and goes out and plays soccer.

Bones of Contention

Francis Brown, a geologist, and Noel Boaz, an anthropologist, cast doubt on the theory that “Lucy,” a fossil found at Hadar in Ethiopia by Donald Johanson, was man’s oldest hominid ancestor.

When Donald Johanson had first laid his hands on

The fossil he craved with such hunger,

He said “It appears she’s aged four million years,

Though she may be a tiny bit younger.”

With the bones from Hadar, in the footsteps of Darwin,

He redrew man’s family tree.

With no further excuse he then christened her “Lucy,”

And called in the press and TV.

But Noel T. Boaz then turned up his noaz.

Had Don taken leave of his senses?

The reason his nostrils were flaring was Austral-

-opithecus, called Afarensis,

Had lain in those canyons with several companions

(For fossils, that isn’t indecent)

A time, he’d report, a round million years shorter,

So Lucy must be much more recent.

Then Francis H. Brown had avowed with a frown

That Don’s errors in dating were drastic;

“If he’s so uncouth as to so stretch the truth

Then her name should have been Loose Elastic.”

For an active volcano quite near where she’d lain

Overlaid her with ashes and stuff,

And it came as a shock that this volcanic rock

Was quite young. Said Johanson, “That’s tuff.”

That man, I aver, shall remain controversial

Despite all the fuss it’s got him in.

That’s what you expect if advice you neglect

And continue to date older women.

Bones of Less Contention (a 2019 sequel to Bones of Contention)

The discovery of Lucy in the Afar region of Ethiopia led to her species being named afarensis. A more primitive species, named anamensis, was thought to be the one from which afarensis had evolved, and so they would not have both lived at the same time. However, in 2016 a team led by Yohannes Haile-Selassie discovered an almost-complete anamensis cranium. This skull has now been determined to be younger than the oldest bones from Lucy’s species. This suggests that the two species co-existed in the same Afar region. Like most startling discoveries, this one has its doubters.

When Ali Bereino gazed at the terrain

Overlooking his fine herd of goats,

He feared that hyenas might invade the scene, as

They’re known for their thirst for goats’ throats.

His eybrows he furrowed, then hastily burrowed

To make a safe den for his herd,

And ‘twas then that he found, lying there in the ground,

Something formerly deeply interred.

‘Twas a bone full of teeth, which had lain underneath

An abundant amount of manure,

So he seized it and ran to that very wise man

Who could say what the bone was, for sure.

Thus it was that Yohannes, for that’s who that man is,

First learned of that wonderful fossil.

He went to that spot at a very fast trot,

For this find could be something colossal.

And when he arrived, where the herd of goats thrived,

He saw something just where they were grazing—

A rock that seemed dull there, was really a skull. Dare

One hope for a find so amazing?

He seized both the pieces, removed the goat feces,

And carefully placed them together.

They fit like a glove! And so, heavens above,

There could now be no doubt as to whether

Their previous owner, the bona fide donor,

Was really just one single creature.

The jaw he’d attached showed the skull was well matched,

In every significant feature,

To a previously known set of pieces of bone

Of a species now named anamensis,

Who’d lived, so they thought, with a feeling quite fraught,

Before Lucy, the famed afarensis.

The puzzle, you see, was the family tree

Of dear Lucy went back a long way.

Her ancient forbears 3.9 million years

Ago lived in their primitive way.

The new find was dated, Yohannes then stated,

An age 3.8 million years,

So this anamensis and some afarensis

Could’ve met and said “Hi!” it appears.

The previous thinking on this was unblinking—

The one had evolved from the other.

So how could it chime then, that at the same time

Both could live and p’rhaps meet one another?

Some critics felt pained, and one even complained

Saying this was just “one bridge too far.”

But let’s mute this insistence to doubt coexistence,

We know those bones come from Afar.

Sperm Wail I

An institution called the “Repository for Germinal Choice” was set up in Escondido, California. Its plan was to make available the genetic material of Nobel-Prize-winning scientists to women who want to have “creative, intelligent children.”

A gentleman in Escondido

Told the world last year that he’d

Originate a simple scheme

To further every mother’s dream

Of giving birth to brilliant offspring.

His idea, though many scoff, brings

Help from men with Nobel prizes—

Yes, that’s what he advertises—

To the aid of any lady

With a husband who’s afraid he

Might be judged as rather stupid.

She’ll reject the darts of Cupid,

Subjugating her libido

With a trip to Escondido,

And, in clinical seclusion

Take a seminal infusion,

Hoping, when the deed is done,

That she’ll produce a brainy son.

This raised objections from the Church

Who questioned the genetic search,

And said it was adultery.

Some saw in its result a real

Problem then to name the daddy

Of this intellectual laddie.

Was it, asks one worldly cynic,

Husband, scientist, or clinic?

I would ask of this endeavor

Whether people who are clever

Are the world’s most pressing need,

And, if we must go gathering seed,

Should not we rather try to find

More people who are good and kind?

Eppur si muove—And yet, it moves!

More than 350 years after the Inquisition had sentenced Galileo Galilei to life imprisonment for the heresy of suggesting that the Earth travels around the Sun, Pope John Paul II finally conceded that the Roman Catholic Church had erred.

Old Galileo wouldn’t stay

Obedient to the Church,

But pinned his hopes on telescopes

And scientific search:

He said the sun could never run

A course around the Earth.

At first we tried these truths to hide

With scornfulness and mirth,

But he persisted with these twisted

Thoughts, and then in June

He tried to say, his stubborn way,

That Jupiter had moons!

To make things worse, the universe

(He claimed for all his worth

This utter rot) was clearly not

Now centered on the Earth!

These foolish schemes, these idle dreams

At length he saw were dumb.

He changed his mind lest we should wind

The screws down on his thumbs.

But we were fools to use such tools

To break that man’s defiance.

We’ve learned the rack is not, alack,

An instrument of science.

It was absurd; we really erred

With poor old Galilei.

Now it’s plain that our campaign

Was not an opus dei.

We do admit we were a bit

Off base with our conclusions;

But now we’ve found a law so sound

It won’t permit confusion.

The human soul, it is our goal

To show without exception,

Must enter in the body in

The moment of conception.

That blastocyst, we must insist,

Could sin, and be forgiven;

That single cell could go to hell

If it should die unshriven.

This view, of course, we will enforce;

Our doctrine we can’t soften;

But we won’t get involved in threats—

At least, not very often.