The Puffin Book of Nonsense Verse Page 3

  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.

  EDWARD LEAR

  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.