Of dragon’s flesh, well hung, not fresh –
It costs a pound at most,
(And comes to you in barrels if you order it by post.)
‘I crave the tasty tentacles of octopi for tea
I like hot-dogs, I LOVE hot-frogs, and surely you’ll agree
A plate of soil with engine oil’s
A super recipe.
(I hardly need to mention that it’s practically free.)
‘For dinner on my birthday shall I tell you what I chose:
Hot noodles made from poodles on a slice of garden hose –
And a rather smelly jelly
Made of armadillo’s toes.
(The jelly is delicious, but you have to hold your nose.)
‘Now comes,’ the Centipede declared, ‘the burden of my speech:
These foods are rare beyond compare – some are right out of reach;
But there’s no doubt I’d go without
A million plates of each
For one small mite,
One tiny bite
Of this FANTASTIC PEACH!’
ROALD DAHL
BROTHER AND SISTER
‘Sister, sister, go to bed,
Go and rest your weary head,’
Thus the prudent brother said.
‘Do you want a battered hide
Or scratches to your face applied?’
Thus the sister calm replied.
‘Sister! do not rouse my wrath,
I’d make you into mutton broth
As easily as kill a moth.’
The sister raised her beaming eye,
And looked on him indignantly,
And sternly answered ‘Only try!’
Off to the cook he quickly ran,
‘Dear cook, pray lend a frying pan
To me, as quickly as you can.’
‘And wherefore should I give it you?’
‘The reason, cook, is plain to view,
I wish to make an Irish stew.’
‘What meat is in that stew to go?’
‘My sister’ll be the contents.’ ‘Oh!’
‘Will you lend the pan, cook?’ ‘NO!’
MORAL
‘Never stew your sister.’
LEWIS CARROLL
YOU MUST NEVER BATH IN AN IRISH STEW
You must never bath in an Irish Stew
It’s a most illogical thing to do
But should you persist against my reasoning
Don’t fail to add the appropriate seasoning.
SPIKE MILLIGAN
THE FRIENDLY CINNAMON BUN
Shining in his stickiness and glistening with honey,
Safe among his sisters and his brothers on a tray,
With raisin eyes that looked at me as I put down my money,
There smiled a friendly cinnamon bun, and this I heard him say:
‘It’s a lovely, lovely morning, and the world’s a lovely place;
I know it’s going to be a lovely day.
I know we’re going to be good friends; I like your honest face;
Together we might go a long, long way.’
The baker’s girl rang up the sale, ‘I’ll wrap your bun,’ said she.
‘Oh no, you needn’t bother,’ I replied.
I smiled back at that cinnamon bun and ate him, one two three,
And walked out with his friendliness inside.
RUSSELL HOBAN
BUTTONS
There was an old skinflint of Hitching
Had a cook, Mrs Casey, of Cork;
There was nothing but crusts in the kitchen,
While in parlour was sherry and pork.
So at last, Mrs Casey, her pangs to assuage,
Having snipped off his buttonses, curried the page;
And now, while that skinflint gulps sherry and pork
In his parlour adjacent to Hitching,
To the tune blithe and merry of knife and of fork,
Anthropophagy reigns in the kitchen.
WALTER DE LA MARE
THE WALRUS AND THE CARPENTER
The sun was shining on the sea
Shining with all his might:
He did his very best to make
The billows smooth and bright –
And this was odd, because it was
The middle of the night.
The moon was shining sulkily,
Because she thought the sun
Had got no business to be there
After the day was done –
‘It’s very rude of him,’ she said,
‘To come and spoil the fun!’
The sea was wet as wet could be,
The sands were dry as dry.
You could not see a cloud, because
No cloud was in the sky:
No birds were flying overhead –
There were no birds to fly.
The Walrus and the Carpenter
Were walking close at hand;
They wept like anything to see
Such quantities of sand:
‘If this were only cleared away,’
They said, ‘it would be grand!’
‘If seven maids with seven mops
Swept it for half a year,
Do you suppose,’ the Walrus said,
‘That they could get it clear?’
‘I doubt it,’ said the Carpenter,
And shed a bitter tear.
‘O Oysters, come and walk with us!’
The Walrus did beseech.
‘A pleasant walk, a pleasant talk,
Along the briny beach:
We cannot do with more than four,
To give a hand to each.’
The eldest Oyster looked at him,
But never a word he said:
The eldest Oyster winked his eye,
And shook his heavy head –
Meaning to say he did not choose
To leave the oyster-bed.
But four young Oysters hurried up,
All eager for the treat:
Their coats were brushed, their faces washed,
Their shoes were clean and neat –
And this was odd, because, you know,
They hadn’t any feet.
Four other Oysters followed them,
And yet another four;
And thick and fast they came at last,
And more, and more, and more –
All hopping through the frothy waves,
And scrambling to the shore.
The Walrus and the Carpenter
Walked on a mile or so.
And then they rested on a rock
Conveniently low:
And all the little Oysters stood
And waited in a row.
‘The time has come,’ the Walrus said,
‘To talk of many things:
Of shoes – and ships – and sealing-wax
Of cabbages – and kings –
And why the sea is boiling hot –
And whether pigs have wings.’
‘But wait a bit,’ the Oysters cried,
‘Before we have our chat;
For some of us are out of breath,
And all of us are fat!’
‘No hurry!’ said the Carpenter.
They thanked him much for that.
‘A loaf of bread,’ the Walrus said,
‘Is what we chiefly need:
Pepper and vinegar besides
Are very good indeed –
Now if you’re ready, Oysters dear,
We can begin to feed.’
‘But not on us!’ the Oysters cried,
Turning a little blue.
‘After such kindness, that would be
A dismal thing to do!’
‘The night is fine,’ the Walrus said.
‘Do you admire the view?’
‘It was so kind of you to come!
And you are very nice!’
The Carpenter said nothing but
‘Cut us another slic
e:
I wish you were not quite so deaf –
I’ve had to ask you twice!’
‘It seems a shame,’ the Walrus said,
‘To play them such a trick,
After we’ve brought them out so far,
And made them trot so quick!’
The Carpenter said nothing but
‘The butter’s spread too thick!’
‘I weep for you,’ the Walrus said:
‘I deeply sympathize.’
With sobs and tears he sorted out
Those of the largest size,
Holding his pocket-handkerchief
Before his streaming eyes.
‘O Oysters,’ said the Carpenter,
‘You’ve had a pleasant run!
Shall we be trotting home again?’
But answer came there none –
And this was scarcely odd, because
They’d eaten every one.
LEWIS CARROLL
MINNOW MINNIE
May I ask you if you’ve noticed,
May I ask you if you’ve seen
My minnow Minnie
Who was swimmin’
In your Ovaltine?
For you’ve gone and drunk it up, dear,
And she isn’t in the cup, dear,
And she’s nowhere to be found, dear.
Do you think that she has drowned, dear?
SHEL SILVERSTEIN
PORTRAITS FROM LIFE
FAME WAS A CLAIM OF UNCLE ED’S
Fame was a claim of Uncle Ed’s,
Simply because he had three heads,
Which, if he’d only had a third of,
I think he would never have been heard of.
OGDEN NASH
from MELODIES
There was once a young man of Oporta
Who daily got shorter and shorter,
The reason he said
Was the hod on his head,
Which was filled with the heaviest mortar.
His sister named Lucy O’Finner,
Grew constantly thinner and thinner,
The reason was plain,
She slept out in the rain,
And was never allowed any dinner.
LEWIS CARROLL
THERE WAS AN OLD PERSON OF SLOUGH
There was an Old Person of Slough,
who danced at the end of a Bough;
But they said, ‘If you sneeze,
you might damage the trees,
You imprudent Old Person of Slough.’
EDWARD LEAR
INCIDENTS IN THE LIFE OF MY UNCLE ARLEY
[I]
O my agèd Uncle Arly!
Sitting on a heap of Barley
Thro’ the silent hours of night, –
Close beside a leafy thicket: –
On his nose there was a Cricket, –
In his hat a Railway-Ticket; –
(But his shoes were far too tight.)
[II]
Long ago, in youth, he squander’d
All his goods away, and wander’d
To the Tiniskoop-hills afar.
There on golden sunsets blazing,
Every evening found him gazing, –
Singing, – ‘Orb! you’re quite amazing!
How I wonder what you are!’
[III]
Like the ancient Medes and Persians,
Always by his own exertions
He subsisted on those hills; –
Whiles, – by teaching children spelling, –
Or at times by merely yelling, –
Or at intervals by selling
Propter’s Nicodemus Pills.
[IV]
Later, in his morning rambles
He perceived the moving brambles –
Something square and white disclose; –
’Twas a First-class Railway-Ticket;
But, on stooping down to pick it
Off the ground, – a pea-green Cricket
Settled on my uncle’s Nose.
[V]
Never – never more, – oh! never,
Did that Cricket leave him ever, –
Dawn or evening, day or night; –
Clinging as a constant treasure, –
Chirping with a cheerious measure, –
Wholly to my uncle’s pleasure, –
(Though his shoes were far too tight.)
[VI]
So for three-and-forty winters,
Till his shoes were worn to splinters,
All those hills he wander’d o’er, –
Sometimes silent; – sometimes yelling; –
Till he came to Borley-Melling,
Near his old ancestral dwelling; –
(But his shoes were far too tight.)
[VII]
On a little heap of Barley
Died my agèd uncle Arly,
his hat and Railwa-Ticket; –
Close beside the leafy thicket; –
But his shoes were far too tight.)
There, – his ever-faithful Cricket; –
(But his shoes were far too tight.)
EDWARD LEAR
THERE WAS AN OLD PERSON IN GRAY
There was an Old Person in Gray,
whose feelings were tinged with dismay;
She purchased two Parrots,
and fed them with Carrots,
Which pleased that Old Person in Gray.
MOONSHINE
There was a young lady of Rheims,
There was an old poet of Gizeh;
He rhymed on the deepest and sweetest of themes,
She scorned all his efforts to please her:
And he sighed, ‘Ah, I see,
She and sense won’t agree.’
So he scribbled her moonshine, mere moonshine, and she,
With jubilant screams, packed her trunk up in Rheims,
Cried aloud, ‘I am coming, O Bard of my dreams!’
And was clasped to his bosom in Gizeh.
WALTER DE LA MARE
JERRY HALL
Jerry Hall
Is so small,
A rat could eat him
Hat and all.
ANONYMOUS
SOME AUNTS AND UNCLES
When Aunty Jane
Became a Crane
She put one leg behind her head;
And even when the clock struck ten
Refused to go to bed.
When Aunty Grace
Became a Plaice
She all but vanished sideways on;
Except her nose
And pointed toes
The rest of her was gone.
When Aunty Flo
Became a Crow
She had a bed put in a tree;
And there she lay
And read all day
Of ornithology.
When Aunty Vi
Became a Fly
Her favourite nephew
Sought her life;
How could he know
That with each blow
He bruised his Uncle’s wife?
When Aunty Mig
Became a Pig
She floated on the briny breeze,
With irritation in her heart
And warts upon her knees.
When Uncle Jake
Became a Snake
He never found it out;
And so as no one mentions it
One sees him still about.
MERVYN PEAKE
MRS MCPHEE
Mrs McPhee
Who lived in South Zeal
Roasted a duckling
For every meal.
‘Duckling for breakfast
And dinner and tea,
And duckling for supper,’
Said Mrs McPhee.
‘It’s sweeter than sugar,
It’s clean as a nut,
I’m sure and I’m certain
It’s good for me – BUT
‘I don’t like these feathers
That grow on my back,
And my silly webbed feet
And my voice that goes quack.’
As easy and soft
As a ship to the sea,
As a duck to the water
Went Mrs McPhee.
‘I think I’ll go swim
In the river,’ said she;
Said Mrs Mac, Mrs Quack,
Mrs McPhee.
CHARLES CAUSLEY
THERE WAS A MAD MAN
There was a Mad Man,
And he had a Mad Wife,
And they lived in a Mad town,
They had three Children
All at a Birth,
And they were Mad
Every One.
The Father was Mad,
The Mother was Mad,
The Children all Mad besides,
And they all got
Upon a Mad Horse,
And Madly they did ride.