07-30-2007, 11:08 PM | #1 |
eNigma
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Lining (queueing) up for free poetry
The long-deceased William McGonagall is often said to have been Scotland's worst poet. His collected works can be found here. Even Wikipedia talks about him. A quick example of how not to write poetry can be found below.
The Christmas Goose Mr. SMIGGS was a gentleman, And he lived in London town; His wife she was a good kind soul, And seldom known to frown. 'Twas on Christmas eve, And Smiggs and his wife lay cosy in bed, When the thought of buying a goose Came into his head. So the next morning, Just as the sun rose, He jump'd out of bed, And he donn'd his clothes, Saying, "Peggy, my dear. You need not frown, For I'll buy you the best goose In all London town." So away to the poultry shop he goes, And bought the goose, as he did propose, And for it he paid one crown, The finest, he thought, in London town. When Smiggs bought the goose He suspected no harm, But a naughty boy stole it From under his arm. Then Smiggs he cried, "Stop, thief! Come back with my goose!" But the naughty boy laugh'd at him, And gave him much abuse. But a policeman captur'd the naughty boy, And gave the goose to Smiggs, And said he was greatly bother'd By a set of juvenile prigs. So the naughty boy was put in prison For stealing the goose., And got ten days' confinement Before he got loose. So Smiggs ran home to his dear Peggy, Saying, "Hurry, and get this fat goose ready, That I have bought for one crown; So, my darling, you need not frown." "Dear Mr Smiggs, I will not frown: I'm sure 'tis cheap for one crown, Especially at Christmas time -- Oh! Mr Smiggs, it's really fine." "Peggy. it is Christmas time, So let us drive dull care away, For we have got a Christmas goose, So cook it well, I pray. "No matter how the poor are clothed, Or if they starve at home, We'll drink our wine, and eat our goose, Aye, and pick it to the bone." |
07-30-2007, 11:17 PM | #2 |
eNigma
Posts: 503
Karma: 1335
Join Date: Dec 2006
Location: The Philippines
Device: HTC G1 Android FBReader
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. . . and if you have nothing to do on a Sunday afternoon . . .
Sunlight Soap
You can use it with great pleasure and ease Without wasting any elbow grease; And when washing the most dirty clothes The sweat won't be dripping off your nose You can wash your clothes with little rubbing And without scarcely any scrubbing; And I tell you once again without any joke There's no soap can surpass Sunlight Soap; And believe me, charwomen one and all, I remain yours truly, the Poet McGonagall. |
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