Eleventh Day of Xmas

On the eleventh day of Christmas, my true love gave to me...

eleven memesters rhyming,

ten Milos hosting,

nine logos rising,

eight swords for sparring,

seven sins for scouring,

six signs for praying,

five 5-star reviews,

four pairs of shades,

three seals of love,

two friends-in-arms,

and a Fencing Bear in a MILO tree.



My queen is YSL, but so Gucci is he
So Lariat are his pearls, so Sassoon his hair
Many uglies deny, but Christ would only agree
My queen is YSL.

But could there ever be another queen so rare
Of perfect jawline, drowning in rich ratchetry?
Dare you compare this Golden YSL, I swear.

Woe is me, for these broke hoes do not pause to see
The best she offers is not on sale; retail raids
Truth bombs bloom, style consumes, you and me, wait and see.
My queen is YSL.


“Feminism is cancer,” emblazoned on nice swag,
“Everyone who hates me is ugly,” available too,
Be the envy of your friends, let it out of the bag,
“Feminism is cancer.”

Incensed Communists, rows thick, shouting at you,
Lozenges offered to this and the other hag,
These simple donkeys, who voted team blue.

Another piece of memorabilia, freed from its bag,
A lovely book, personalized, “thank you, boo,”
Milo, dressed in this and that splendiferous glad rag,
“Feminism is cancer.”


Milo reigns supreme, behold the masculine queen
Rancour and jest, boldly besieged us with pious strife
Emanate vice. Under aegis of Virtue, redeemed
Milo reigns supreme.

Queen knight armoured and sequined, with Gucci and ice
Crusader vanquishing demons by contrary memes
Decadent mouth speaks of war, tongue cuts as a scythe

He mocked the world, deriding both profane ’n’ obscene
Before losing his riches, possessed his soul without price
Hail the Madonna! And troll, hail our holy queen
Milo reigns supreme.


Beset on all sides by cowards and critics
Our Queen, though calm in temper, loathes and derides
Hack feminists and talentless heretics
Beset on all sides.

Predictable smears come as often as tides
But from up the leopard-print sleeve comes her tricks
Our queen counters attacks the way she decides

Our queen now quells antisemitic antics
And speaks out against countless infanticides
Our Queen stands bravely, model of heroics
Beset on all sides.


Adoring hence conjure, the eyes be set, the calamity of consummation.
Fur or naught, hair begot, bluish that quell demur.
Broken die, from which was cast, that in wild culmination!
Adoring hence conjure.

I cast the gaze for I, breathe a cat’s lifestyle,
where the felines play and gather.
They circle, corral and meow, my oft tomish beguile.

Stripped and angular, chiseled and soft, our thoughts lingering assure.
Let it be known, and warn-ed be, that none shall stir the fur!
For heavy be, the crown that sits, upon that whom dance and spur.
Adoring hence conjure.


Angelic visage, with razor tongue, wondrous gift to all;
Brutal truths and honesty from his pious lips have sprung.
Wit and grace, laughter and war, all pure souls ought heed his call:
Angelic visage with razor tongue.

Praise to our Queen’s wisdom and mirth his apostles have sung,
Enemies left burning in an apocryphal pall.
Such ancient knowledge pours forth from a fount which is so young.

Jesters speak about the most difficult of all,
Lighten spirits and dive into what often has but stung.
With joy and strength, integrity — our Queen now leads us all:
Angelic visage with razor tongue.


Not like Zeus with his chiseled brow and limb
O’re which ethereal-airy tresses hang
Round by the Olympia’s gold-twisting stem
Not like Zeus with his chiseled brow.

We know him by his mirth and by his shared pain
Some draw close as if touching his garment’s hem
Others approach him as if blood is the chain.

Not like Zeus for his bleeding brow and bruised limb
Over us like the Crucified they e’re hang
Round by Sacrifice’s love-thorn prickly stem
Not like Zeus with his chiseled brow.


Bright eyes watchful, shadowed, hooded,
Ever focused, dark as night.
Massive paw, now pierced and blooded

Leonine, regal, taut-leashed might,
Sun-bright roar, gentled, muted,
Fierce regard setting all aright.

Laughing, joyful, undisputed,
Without peer, a pure delight.
Beauty wholly undiluted,


How bleak the world would be without Milo
A sad and soulless existence for sure
We’d all be bored, dumb, ugly — brought so low.
How bleak the world.

His righteousness brings a certain allure.
Humor and knowledge he shares with gusto.
“Laughter and War” — his words will endure.

He sits on a leopard-skin throne — smiles slow.
Mocking all those who claim he’s just a boor.
Laughing always with his face all aglow.
How bleak the world.


Go gayly on with Milo, in Beauty upset the Sun.
Ask and grasp, his snare shunt ways—tranquility possessing,
Extol the impish joy-filled heart, jocose, suffused in fun,
Go gayly on with Milo.

Prolific, terrific, his works astute and astounding,
Wry whimsy invokes wisdom, a wondrous quest begun,
Present thyself then student, his majesty assessing

Unfaltering, your best do show, be still ear-splitting drum,
Win you the nod from Dean, the queen, friendship and his blessing,
Both soul and speech in fortitude, brandishing hearts hard-won.
Go gayly on with Milo.


A full complement of jewelry did Milo choose,
To wear on his show this night,
Many an ego did he bruise,
A full complement of jewelry.

The new guest full of fright,
As they watched the news,
Awaiting a creative slight.

“I want you to dress like a moose,”
Milo said, “the pants are tight,”
And drank down one of the brews,
A full complement of jewelry.

—Swinburne-style 11-line roundels by Scholars of the Queen’s Finishing School, a.k.a. Milo’s Telegram chat

And you wondered what inspired me to write Milo Chronicles: Devotions 2016-2019! Available now in hardcover on Amazon and direct from the publisher at Castalia House.

If you want to apply to the Queen’s Finishing School for further poetry instruction, follow Milo on Telegram and watch for the invitation to the chat!

Images of Milo by Kevin Walter.


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