If all poems were limericks: “Halfway Down” by A. A. Milne
Halfway to the foot of the stair
is really an excellent chair–
it’s not up or down
but perfect, I’ve found
for meeting a bear who’s not there.
Category: If All Poems Were Limericks
If All Poems Were Limericks: “Howl” by Allen Ginsberg (continued)
Read Part 1 here.
The hipsters, like tygers, burn bright
for a link to the gears of the night.
They contemplate jazz,
and their poverty has
raised them over the rooftops in flight.
They’ve opened their skulls to the sky
beneath where the El trundles by,
while angels on junk
or just staggering drunk
cross campus with radiant cool eyes.
Happy birthday to Allen Ginsberg, who would have been 95 today.
Read the rest of “Howl” here. (These limericks cover roughly lines 3-6.)
If all poems were limericks: The Battle Hymn of the Republic, by Julia Ward Howe
We live in a troubling time,
But everything’s going to be fine:
We’ll see a new dawn
And keep marching on.
I know–I saw God stomping wine.*
Happy 202nd birthday to Julia Ward Howe, author of “The Battle Hymn of the Republic.”
*Some theologians suggest that “trampling out the vintage where the grapes of wrath are stored” may be the real reason there was only one set of footprints in the sand.
If All Poems Were Limericks: The Tyger, by William Blake
Does anyone else find it od
That Tygers come from the same God
Who also made Sheepe
& Sm. thinges that creepe
& Eagles & Beagles & Scrod?
If All Poems Were Limericks: Keeping Things Whole, by Mark Strand
The air’s only there where I’m not,
and that is the reason I’ve got
for moving around
(traversing the ground),
so I tend to do that a lot.
Read the original here.
If All Poems Were Limericks: “The Dead” by Billy Collins
Happy birthday to Billy Collins, who is 80 today!
The dead are above us, afloat.
When we put on our shoes they take note.
They care a whole bunch,
and when we eat lunch
they watch from a glass-bottomed boat.
If all poems were limericks: “Unreality” by Mercedes de Acosta
I look through a window at you,
and I am entranced by the view
of a beauty so pure
that I’m not really sure
if you don’t exist (or you do).
Read the original here.
If all poems were limericks: “Cat’s Canticle” by David Sklar
If all poems were limericks: “Cat’s Canticle” by David Sklar
If you speak I won’t answer at all;
don’t expect me to come when you call.
It’s a sort of a game—
see, I’ve hidden my name
someplace secret, and silent, and small.
I may eventually post something relevant to yesterday’s events. But today is my birthday, so I am featuring myself.
Read the original here.
If all poems were limericks: “The Pope’s Penis” by Sharon Olds
If all poems were limericks:
“The Pope’s Penis” by Sharon Olds
It hangs in his vestments so well
like a clapper inside of a bell.
It goes where he guides,
and at night, like the tides,
it stands up in praise, which is swell.
Read the original here.
Happy 78th birthday to Sharon Olds!
[Note that the choice of material for today’s post has nothing to do with this recent news story.]
If All Poems Were Limericks: The Charge of the Light Brigade
Happy 211th birthday to Alfred, Lord Tennyson
If All Poems Were Limericks:
The Charge of the Light Brigade
by Alfred, Lord Tennyson
It isn’t our job to ask why
or make any other reply.
We do as we’re told
and it never gets old
if, after we do it, we die.