Edward Lear and Other Gullivers Among the Lilliputians

Edward Lear and Other Gullivers Among the Lilliputians

Edward Lear, our dear patron, has brought a new form of limerick to our attention, one from his dear friend W.S. Gilbert. We shall call this variation the "limerick parody" or "parodies of limericks" or possibly,"limericks: the sequel." Here at the pub, every variation for limericks must be explored! No stone may be left unturned!

Old Man of St. Bees

There was an old man of St. Bees,
Who was stung in the arm by a wasp.
When they asked, "Does it hurt?"
He replied, "No, it doesn't.
But I thought all the while 'twas a Hornet!"
W.S. Gilbert

Kathleen has fashioned well-nigh five hundred limericks (and wonders how many Edward Lear completed) to this point and is all a-twitter about this new possibility. Wishing to try her hand at it, she scribbled these for your amusement? Bemusement? Confusement?

Haiku Next?

Many months now, I'm measuring time
By making up verses that rhyme
I can scarce speak a word
Without being spurred
To make limericks, next, it's Haiku?

Car Truck Taxi There was an old gal in a car
Who was hit in the back by a truck
And when she came to
Was heard to say this,
"The next time, I'll just take a taxi."
And because Kathleen is feeling wicked, and daring to leave behind all semblance of the limerick parody, and furthermore, because she suspects that "confusement" is not really a word at all, here is another poem for good measure:

NeologismsI like making words up
For hers or for his'ns
New-minted expressions
Light-scattering prisms
Maybe I'll call 'em Neologisms.
"Neologisms" is a scrap from Kathleen's children's folio, unpublished, which Edward Lear recommends to you, (publishers, take note!). It was written after reading a great deal of Shel Silverstein, a plethora of Shel Silverstein, possibly too much Shel Silverstein. Several ragged, chewed, bent, mutilated, dog-earred, stapled, and folded copies of his excellent books may be found in our Wee Ones' Room.

Regrettably, we cannot reproduce any to share with you here at Molly's, for the estimable Mr. Silverstein, that giant among poets, that bard of small fry, that Gulliver among the Lilluputians, has left us only recently, turning off the light in the attic as he departed. Kindly return in about seventy years when his copyright runs out and we shall most certainly have attended to it from wherever we happen to be.