A Professor of English from Delhi

A Professor of English from Delhi
Thought Byron was better than Shelley.
And when asked about Donne
He'd say, "Donne's more fun
than a pound of raspberry jelly."

Further Adventures of The Boy from Gloucester

There was a young boy of Gloucester,
who needed all the strength he could muster
to win in a bout,
which he, no doubt,
would have done, had he been robuster.

So the boy of Gloucester took a train to France
to learn how to box and defeat perchance
the rival, a crafty
soul, but the dafty
returned instead with a Diploma in dance.

W.Churchill is a Very Rude Man

Original Images:

Churchill: http://myhero.com/images/guest/g6857/hero7007/g6857_u3848_Sir_Winston_Churchill.jpg; http://hodja.files.wordpress.com/2007/08/churchill.jpg

The Feast at Solhaug Gives Ibsen Indigestion

James Joyce deserves some credit for this one.

Original Images:
Ibsen: http://www.concentric.net/~marlowe/ibsen2.jpg
Eno: http://www.vintageadvertisingprints.co.uk/images/M/MEnos-Fruit-Salt-(AA_1_8_78).jpg; http://www.rpsgb.org.uk/informationresources/museum/exhibitions/themotherofinvention/images/fruitsaltbig.jpg

"Human, all too human!" complains F. Nietzsche

...




Original Images:
Nietzsche: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Image:Nietzsche1882.jpg
Bayer Aspirin: http://www.adclassix.com/a3/59bayeraspirin.html

And hast thou slain the Jabberjee?

'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.

"Beware the Jabberjee, my son!
The monocled eye, the umbrella's jab!
The nonsense verse and occasional pun,
The charminar, the gift of gab!"

He took his vorpal sword in hand:
Long time the manxome foe he sought—
So rested he by the Tumtum tree,
And stood awhile in thought.

And, as in uffish thought he stood,
The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,
Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,
And burbled as it came!

One, two! One, two! And through and through
The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!
He left it dead, and with its head
He went galumphing back.

"And hast thou slain the Jabberjee?"
"I thought you said 'Jabberwock'! Oh, my hat!"
"You've killed the wrong one, I see...
You fool! (he wailed) You awful prat!"

'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.

The Custard Man

Howard was a custard man,
who lived inside a custard can.
The custard man wore a shabby
hat and kept a custard tabby.
Then on June the twenty-third.
as he fed a custard bird
to the cat, it coughed and spat
all over Howard's custard hat.
Howard called the vet and he
said he'd been alarmed to see
his dearest pet, his cat o' custard,
normally a healthy shade of mustard,
had, on eating that awful bird,
gone so white, it looked like curd.
The vet came over, took a taste,
gagged a little and made all haste
to tell his custard friend, Howard,
the custard cat had, in fact, soured.

***

Show me the chump that says only people with a respect for rhythm and metre should be allowed to attempt nonsense verse and I will show you a person who would not have survived in Nijni-Novgorod, even if he/she were a scratch player and had won Abe Mitchell's ribbed-face mashie in the weekend lottery. They would have their putters smashed ceremoniously over their gigantic egos and their golfing licenses revoked. Harsh punishment, you say? I think not.