famous poems as limericks?
(Famous Poems Rewritten as Limericks)
Stopping by the Woods on a Snowy Evening
There once was a horse-riding chap
Who took a trip in a cold snap
He stopped in the snow
But he soon had to go
He was miles away from a nap. }
The Raven
There once was a girl named Lenore
And a bird and a bust and a door
And a guy with depression
And a whole lot of questions
And the bird always says "Nevermore." }
Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night
There was an old father of Dylan
Who was seriously, mortally illin'
"I want," Dylan said
"You to ***** till you're dead.
"I'll be cheesed if you kick it while chillin'." }
I Wandered Lonely As a Cloud
There once was a poet named Will
Who tramped his way over a hill
And was speechless for hours
Over some stupid flowers
This was years before TV, but still. }
Footprints in the Sand
There was a man who, at low tide
Would walk with the Lord by his side
Jesus said "Now look back;
You'll see one set of tracks.
That's when you got a piggy-back ride."
*************************************five limericks/no disrespect intended
disclaiming credit for those limericks
To Nightshade: You did read the post before yours, yes? They are neat and I just intended to put a bit of levity into the mix. I guess they did get censored a bit so if that blank space is bothering you, I can PM the original text. Sometimes it's important to stand back and realize that from a geological point of view, we are way ephemeral. Hence the attempt at humor. BTW (see, I can use these hip abreviations) your poem from yesterdays post really is quality stuff. I have reems of stuff I wrote back in the day, but my daughter's have them and won't give them up. Sooner or later though... I was going to tell you to keep on writing your poetry and that is a sound idea but I also think it's possible to let poetry kind of subconsciously stew and when the time is right, they seem to jump onto the page. Just a theory. quasi
Oxford Lament by Iris Murdoch
Deliver me from the usual thing,
The clever inevitability of the conversation,
The brilliant platitudes and the second-hand
Remarks about life...
O for the tangent terror
Of the metaphor no one has used --
The keenness of cutting edges
On the fresh green ice of thought.
Spring 1939
A poem for Thursday, October 4
I got into trouble posting stuff today, but I'm feeling bold
and would like to nominate a pre-1923 poem by Helen Hunt Jackson, in honor of the 20th anniversary of the Great Northeast (U.S.) Snowstorm of October 4, 2007.
(incidentally, it is also the Feast Day of St. Francis of Assisi.)
Helen Hunt Jackson (1830-1885)
October's Bright Blue Weather
O SUNS and skies and clouds of June,
And flowers of June together,
Ye cannot rival for one hour
October's bright blue weather;
When loud the bumble-bee makes haste,
Belated, thriftless vagrant,
And Golden-Rod is dying fast,
And lanes with grapes are fragrant;
When Gentians roll their fringes tight
To save them for the morning,
And chestnuts fall from satin burrs
Without a sound of warning;
When on the ground red apples lie
In piles like jewels shining,
And redder still on old stone walls
Are leaves of woodbine twining;
When all the lovely wayside things
Their white-winged seeds are sowing,
And in the fields, still green and fair,
Late aftermaths are growing;
When springs run low, and on the brooks,
In idle golden freighting,
Bright leaves sink noiseless in the hush
Of woods, for winter waiting;
When comrades seek sweet country haunts,
By twos and twos together,
And count like misers, hour by hour,
October's bright blue weather.
O suns and skies and flowers of June,
Count all your boasts together,
Love loveth best of all the year
October's bright blue weather.
Preparations for Departure
I have been with the trees all day.
I don't think they will remember what I said.
The wind came between us
And we dreamt a little on either side of it
And our dreams may have met.
I think I felt a tremor in the leaves once
While my fingers dreamt of playing them.....
I have been with the trees all day,
Learning to forget.
Now I may go.
I have removed all trace of me.
Where I sat, where I walked, where I slept,
Where a corner I loved resembled me too much,
In my most private places I have set
Something unlike me,
Something to make them strange to themselves again,
Something to make them forget.
With you, I have done none of these things,
Sure if I went out quietly enough
You would not miss me more than yesterday,
Having forgotten so long already
That a parting sign from me
Might make you remember,
Regret my going.
I have picked up
Every bit of me scattered about
And burried all of it.....somewhere....I forget.....
Over the wall!
I am going out
As somebody else!
Laura Riding
