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Literary Limericks - Edward Lear bi-centenary competition

I've just discovered that this year is not just the bi-centenary of Charles Dickens but also of Edward Lear who was born May 12th 1812.  I suggest a new competion - Write A Limerick - Or a Nonsense Verse - on a literary subject.  Contributions eagerly awaited.  I'll start...........

            There was a young poet called Keats
            Whose verse covered thousands of sheets,
            Where a nightingale sang,
            A passing-bell rang,
            And the heart of his genius beats.

Before I try my hand at this (and I will!) I have to recycle two old favourites, despite, I’m sure, having posted them before.

First, Wordsworth’s Ode on the Intimations of Immortality:

In childhood ‘tis easy to feel
Th’eternal suffusing the real,
But as the beholder
Grows steadily older,
It doesn’t seem such a big deal.

And Joyce’s autobiographical Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man:

When Ireland was bloody and leaderless,
The tedious, garrulous Dedalus,
Having failed both as priest
And as Glorious Beast
Sailed away to write books that were readerless.

Splendid, Himadri.  
I'm afraid I couldn't be funny about JK.

The sad story of Tess of the d'Urbervilles
Fills a void that not even James Thurber fills
The poor girl went half mad
Buying food for her lad
And was saddled with hundreds of Gerber bills

I think that episode was left out of Hardy's final draft.

There was a young lady called Emma
Who loved a romantic dilemma;
But she made quite a hash
When her friends sought a pash,
Though no one quite dared to condemn 'er.

Sorry, that's very bad, it's been a long day - the worst part is that it actually made me laugh!

No, that's excellent!

Before anyone accuses me of plagiarism, can I say that the two I put up aren't my own work? I'll try to think of a few later, though.

Great fun, Sandra, Gareth.  Both made me laugh.

I'm Evie.  Smile

No, I'm Sandra!

Call me Ishmael.

Oops.... Embarassed  Embarassed  Sorry Evie.......

In the county of Shropshire, a lad,
Roamed the fields looking roguish and glad,
When his pals asked him why
He replied with a sigh,
'I've been kissed by old Housman, the cad.'

Charles Lutwidge and young Alice Liddell,
Were faced with this curious riddle,
If the Red Queen went mad
And the Hatter wore plaid
Then which of them sat in the middle?

A villainous chap, E.R. Gorse,
Conned young ladies, and showed no remorse.
With his charm he'd endear 'em,
Cocktail and West Pier 'em,
Then clear 'em right out - well of course!

A cockroach woke up one fine day
In a fairly peculiar way.
"I'm a man!" he exclaimed.
"I'll write this, and be famed,
And I'll call myself Mr Franz K".

Jane Eyre had the fright of her life
When she discovered her boss's mad wife
Was locked up in the attic.
How melodramatic !
But in the Gothic such things are quite rife.

Peter Pan had a fwendy called Wendy
And thought her quite dainty and trendy,
While the dastardly Hook undone by a clock,
Inside a very vengeful croc,
Came rightfully to a sticky endy.

Proust was obsessed with the past
And wrote what he hoped would last.
He thought he loved dames
But was fed up with their games
So he’s remembered for the vocabulary he hast.

Around about eighteen sixty-seven
Poor Anna was taken to heaven
She's sexy and bad
And drives Vronsky mad,
But I much preferred the dear Levin.

Young Eddie, whose surname was Pus,
From childhood was under a cuss,
He murdered his pater,
Then married his mater,
And the Gods made a hell of a fuss.

Over Surrey the cylinders fell,
Lids unscrewed and unleashed merry hell.
With their tripods and rays,
Martians ruled us for days -
But they soon started feeling unwell.

Love it, Mike!  Laughing

Thanks Mike. Also this:-

A young Dane once pondered (a lot)
Whether life was worth living (or not).
Since his father was dead,
And his mother in bed
With his murdering uncle, p'rhaps not!

Laughing  I wish I had the witty gene.

The Ambassadors by Henry James

To Liverpool first Strether goes,
What happens thereafter - who knows?
Is it just James's mania
Or something far zanier
That made him write such obscure prose?

A drably respectable Herr
Loved a youth unsurpassably fair.
A fanatical follower,
He contracted cholera,
And died on the strand in a chair.

If the 3rd/4th line rhyme is troublesome, you can always try the Life of Brian version:

A dwably wespectable Herr
Loved a youth unsurpassably fair.
A fanatical follower,
He contwacted cholewa,
And died on the stwand in a chair.

Welease Woger! (He's a wobber... and a wapist).

Love it Gareth!  Laughing

'To Moscow! to Moscow!' they cry,
Three sisters whose lives pass them by.
'We're all getting old,
The orchard's been sold -
If we don't get to Moscow we'll die.'

I conflated two plays for poetic effect.

Lasy Chatterley's Lover by D. H. Lawrence:

If read it one has to one must –
This vile stream of filth and of lust,
It’s not quite the book in
Which servants can look in,
And wives will be filled with disgust.

To its title you shouldn't give breath;
It may bring you ill luck - even death!
(Like the fool on the hill
Whom the woods came to kill)
So don't mention the name of...
.......................The Scottish Play

'A station! For Parents! What next?'
Lady Bracknell was shocked and perplexed.
'Are you telling me, sir,
That your progenitors were
In Transport? I'm very much vexed.'

Charles Dickens uttered a cry
This Drood is a pain, and why
I’ve lost the plot
My notes I find not
The end I never will wri…

There once was a young childminder
Mr Rochester wined her and dined her
Then they spent time apart --
He had wounded her heart --
Until clever old Jane played a blinder

A lusty nymphet named Lolita
Had the sexual thirst of a cheetah.
When her beau Humbert Humbert
Enquired, 'Does your bum hurt?'
She cried, 'No - life couldn't be neater!'

My son Kevin adores Robin Hood,
But unlike him K doesn't do good
He is cruel and unkind
And seems out of his mind
Did us parents not do as we should?

Two children named Flora and Miles,
Had beautiful angelic smiles,
But deep in their hearts
There lay much darker parts,
Quint, Jessel, corruption and wiles.
mike js

There once was a man, and he
Tested 'people' for empathy.
If they failed, he shot 'em,
except she who was hot to him.
And it didn't end happily.

Which is common with PKD.
mike js

As we lost sight of the scenery,
Those plants became quite mean to me.
I was in my bed
When they stung me dead.
The Day of the Walking Greenery.

mike js wrote:
There once was a man, and he
Tested 'people' for empathy.
If they failed, he shot 'em,
except she who was hot to him.
And it didn't end happily.

Which is common with PKD.

Laughing  But still we enjoy his tales.

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