Poems For Insanity
The following poems are insane. Excercise extreme caution while reading for your own sanity.
Jabberwocky
By Lewis Carroll
'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 Jabberwock, my son!
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun
The frumious Bandersnatch!"
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 Jabberwock?
Come to my arms, my beamish boy!
O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!"
He chortled in his joy.
'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.
To All My Most Articulate Friends...How Do You Do It?
We'll begin with a box, and the plural is boxes;
But the plural of ox became oxen not oxes.
One fowl is a goose, but two are called geese,
Yet the plural of moose should never be meese.
You may find a lone mouse or a nest full of mice;
Yet the plural of house is houses, not hice.
If the plural of man is always called men,
Why shouldn't the plural of pan be called pen?
If I spoke of my foot and show you my feet,
And I give you a boot, would a pair be called beet?
If one is a tooth and a whole set are teeth,
Why shouldn't the plural of booth be called beeth?
Then one may be that, and three would be those,
Yet hat in the plural would never by hose,
And the plural of cat is cats, not cose.
We speak of a brother and also of brethen,
But though we say mother, we never say methren.
Then the masculine pronouns are he, his, and him,
But imagine the feminine, she, shis, and shim.
Defenstrate the Burgandy Corn-Children
By Charlotte L.
Let's pop the wafer!
Then apply the yogurt and zap the chum which lies beneath the fat cubes of another of numberous chewies.
What is the futurific calendar that fortifies the music and irritates the conjunction and swum the galactic equinox and harry the smile?
Spring-time magic shall overcome the whale-like toothpick and cupcake the lard betwixt the pie of meaty loaves.
Will you wooden?
Fish that sting and wallop the equator may proceed with the fence of the universe that nimbly gases the oily outreach and combusts with the invertebrate salamanderous egg with worms in the zipper and archaeology in a field that transports on a hot bus and dumps the infested graveyard that eats the ice cream.
Fieldtrips that explode into inconceivable roadkills and crackers and skunks that shall one day expand to take over the cow lands and be forgotten!
The end.
Apparently this poem is about a field trip that Charlotte and a friend of mine (and hers) took. Don't ask, because I don't understand it either.
Pattarooski
I don't know who wrote this.
Oh I was born
One night one morn
When the whistle went "boom boom".
You could fry a cake
Or bake a steak
When the butterflies are in bloom.
Does 6 and 6 make 9?
Does ice grow on a vine?
Is Old Man Joe
An eskimo
In the good old summertime?
Oh loop-dee-loop
And noodle soup
And give your socks a shine.
I'm guilty judge,
I stole the fudge
3 cheers for all mankind!
I cannot tell a lie!
I hocked an apple pie!
Twas on a tree
Beneath the sea
Above the clear blue sky!
They call me old Napolean,
But I'm not him at all.
I'm just a North Dakotean
Come up from old St. Paul!
I'll sue them all for slender,
I'll make them all repent.
For how could I
Be Bonapart
If I'm the president?
If Easter eggs
Don't shave their legs
Their children will be ducks. (quack quack!)
I'd rather buy
A lemon pie
For 47 bucks.
Way down in Barcelonia
They jumped into the foamia
And this is all balognia!
Pattarooski blow your horn, toot toot!
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