The Puffin Book of Nonsense Verse Read online

  Far and few, far and few,

  Are the lands where the Jumblies live;

  Their heads are green, and their hands are blue,

  And they went to sea in a Sieve.

  EDWARD LEAR

  HOW I BROUGHT THE GOOD NEWS FROM AIX TO GHENT OR, VICE VERSA

  I sprang to the rollocks and Jorrocks and me,

  And I galloped, you galloped, we galloped all three.

  Not a word to each other: we kept changing place,

  Neck to neck, back to front, ear to ear, face to face:

  And we yelled once or twice, when we heard a clock chime,

  ‘Would you kindly oblige us, is that the right time?’

  As I galloped, you galloped, he galloped, we

  galloped, ye galloped, they two shall have

  galloped: let us trot.

  I unsaddled the saddle, unbuckled the bit,

  Unshackled the bridle (the thing didn’t fit)

  And ungalloped, ungalloped, ungalloped, ungalloped a bit.

  Then I cast off my buff coat, let my bowler hat fall,

  Took off both my boots and my trousers and all –

  Drank off my stirrup-cup, felt a bit tight,

  And unbridled the saddle: it still wasn’t right.

  Then all I remember is, things reeling round,

  As I sat with my head ’twixt my ears on the ground –

  For imagine my shame when they asked what I meant

  And I had to confess that I’d been, gone and went

  And forgotten the news I was bringing to Ghent,

  Though I’d galloped and galloped and galloped and galloped and galloped

  And galloped and galloped and galloped. (Had I not would have been galloped?)

  Envoi

  So I sprang to a taxi and shouted ‘To Aix!’

  And he blew on his horn and he threw off his brakes,

  And all the way back till my money was spent

  We rattled and rattled and rattled and rattled and rattled

  And rattled and rattled –

  And eventually sent a telegram.

  W. C. SELLAR AND R. J. YEATMAN

  THE NUTCRACKERS AND THE SUGAR-TONGS

  [I]

  The Nutcrackers sate by a plate on the table,

  The Sugar-tongs sate by a plate at his side;

  And the Nutcrackers said, ‘Don’t you wish we were able

  ‘Along the blue hills and green meadows to ride?

  ‘Must we drag on this stupid existence for ever,

  ‘So idle and weary, so full of remorse, –

  ‘While every one else takes his pleasure, and never

  ‘Seems happy unless he is riding a horse?

  [II]

  ‘Don’t you think we could ride without being instructed?

  ‘Without any saddle, or bridle, or spur?

  ‘Our legs are so long, and so aptly constructed,

  ‘I’m sure that an accident could not occur.

  ‘Let us all of a sudden hop down from the table,

  ‘And hustle downstairs, and each jump on a horse!

  ‘Shall we try? Shall we go? Do you think we are able?’

  The Sugar-tongs answered distinctly, ‘Of course!’

  [III]

  So down the long staircase they hopped in a minute,

  The Sugar-tongs snapped, and the Crackers said ‘crack! ‘

  The stable was open, the horses were in it;

  Each took out a pony, and jumped on his back.

  The Cat in a fright scrambled out of the doorway,

  The Mice tumbled out of a bundle of hay,

  The brown and white Rats, and the black ones from Norway,

  Screamed out, ‘They are taking the horses away!’

  [IV]

  The whole of the household was filled with amazement,

  The Cups and the Saucers danced madly about,

  The Plates and the Dishes looked out of the casement,

  The Saltcellar stood on his head with a shout,

  The Spoons with a clatter looked out of the lattice,

  The Mustard-pot climbed up the Gooseberry Pies,

  The Soup-ladle peeped through a heap of Veal Patties,

  And squeaked with a ladle-like scream of surprise.

  [V]

  The Frying-pan said, ‘It’s an awful delusion!’

  The Tea-kettle hissed and grew black in the face;

  And they all rushed downstairs in the wildest confusion,

  To see the great Nutcracker-Sugar-tong race.

  And out of the stable, with screamings and laughter,

  (Their ponies were cream-coloured, speckled with brown,)

  The Nutcrackers first, and the Sugar-tongs after,

  Rode all round the yard, and then all round the town.

  [VI]

  They rode through the street, and they rode by the station,

  They galloped away to the beautiful shore;

  In silence they rode, and ‘made no observation’,

  Save this: ‘We will never go back any more!’

  And still you might hear, till they rode out of hearing,

  The Sugar-tongs snap, and the Crackers say ‘crack!’

  Till far in the distance their forms disappearing,

  They faded away – and they never came back!

  EDWARD LEAR

  THE ROAD TO ZOAGLI

  (Ligurian Folk Song)

  Have ye seen the would-be-not-humble dandy,

  With his long black cloak and his short trousers grey?

  I saw him, dear heart, this morn as ever was, on the

  road to Zoagli,

  And I looked the other way.

  What said the would-be-not-humble dandy,

  With his long black cloak and his short trousers grey?’

  He said naught, dear heart, this morn as ever was, on the

  road to Zoagli,

  And I looked the other way.

  How fared the would-be-not-humble dandy,

  With his long black cloak and his short trousers grey?

  He fared ill, dear heart, this morn as ever was, on the

  road to Zoagli,

  For dead he lay.

  MAX BEERBOHM

  O’ER SEAS THAT HAVE NO BEACHES

  O’er seas that have no beaches

  To end their waves upon,

  I floated with twelve peaches,

  A sofa and a swan.

  The blunt waves crashed above us

  The sharp waves burst around,

  There was no one to love us,

  No hope of being found –

  Where, on the notched horizon

  So endlessly a-drip,

  I saw all of a sudden

  No sign of any ship.

  MERVYN PEAKE

  THE BONGALOO AND THE SCRUNCH

  A QUADRUPEDREMIAN SONG

  He dreamt that he saw the Buffalant,

  And the spottified Dromedaraffe,

  The blue Camelotamus, lean and gaunt,

  And the wild Tigeroceros calf.

  The maned Liodillo loudly roared,

  And the Peccarbok whistled its whine,

  The Chinchayak leapt on the dewy sward,

  As it hunted the pale Baboopine.

  He dreamt that he met the Crocoghau,

  As it swam in the Stagnolent Lake;

  But everything that in dreams he saw

  Came of eating too freely of cake.

  THOMAS HOOD

  THE WENDIGO

  The Wendigo,

  The Wendigo!

  Its eyes are ice and indigo!

  Its blood is rank and yellowish!

  Its voice is hoarse and bellowish!

  Its tentacles are slithery,

  And scummy,

  Slimy,

  Leathery!

  Its lips are hungry blubbery,

  And smacky,

  Sucky,

  Rubbery!

  The Wendigo,

  The Wendigo!

  I s
aw it just a friend ago!

  Last night it lurked in Canada;

  Tonight, on your veranada!

  As you are lolling hammockwise

  It contemplates you stomachwise.

  You loll,

  It contemplates,

  It lollops.

  The rest is merely gulps and gollops.

  OGDEN NASH

  THE UTTER ZOO ALPHABET

  The Ampoo is intensely neat;

  Its head is small, likewise its feet.

  The Boggerslosh conceals itself

  In back of bottles on a shelf.

  The Crunk is not unseldom drastic

  And must be hindered by elastic.

  The Dawbis is remote and shy;

  It shuns the gaze of passers-by.

  The Epitwee’s inclined to fits

  Until at last it falls to bits.

  The Fidknop is devoid of feeling;

  It drifts about beneath the ceiling.

  The Gawdge is understood to save

  All sorts of objects in its cave.

  The Humglum crawls along the ground

  And never makes the slightest sound.

  The Ippagoggy has a taste

  For every kind of glue and paste.

  The Jelbislup cannot get far

  Because it’s kept inside a jar.

  The Kwongdzu has enormous claws;

  Its character is full of flaws.

  The Limplig finds it hard to keep

  From spending all its life asleep.

  The Mork proceeds with pensive grace

  And no expression on its face.

  The Neapse’s sufferings are chronic;

  It lives exclusively on tonic.

  The Ombledroom is vast and white

  And therefore visible by night.

  The Posby goes into a trance

  In which it does a little dance.

  The Quingawaga squeaks and moans

  While dining off of ankle bones.

  The Raitch hangs downward from its tail

  By knotting it around a nail.

  The Scrug’s extremely nasty-looking

  And is unusable for cooking.

  The Twibbit on occasion knows

  A difficulty with its toes.

  The Ulp is very, very small;

  It hardly can be seen at all.

  The Veazy makes a creaking noise;

  It has no dignity or poise.

  The Wambulus has floppy ears

  With which it wipes away its tears.

  The Xyke stands up at close of day,

  And then it slowly walks away.

  The Yawfle stares, and stares, and stares.

  And stares, and stares, and stares, and stares.

  About the Zote what can be said?

  There was just one, and now it’s dead.

  EDWARD GOREY

  THE BLUNDERBLAT

  Until I saw the Blunderblat

  I doubted its existence;

  But late last night with Vera White,

  I saw one in the distance.

  I reached for my binoculars,

  Which finally I focused;

  I watched it rise into the skies,

  Like some colossal locust.

  I heard it hover overhead,

  I shrieked as it came nearer;

  I held my breath, half scared to death,

  And prayed it might take Vera.

  And so it did, I’m glad to say,

  Without too much resistance.

  Dear Blunderblat, I’m sorry that

  I doubted your existence.

  COLIN WEST

  THE BONGALOO

  What is a Bongaloo, Daddy?’

  ‘A Bongaloo, Son,’ said I,

  ‘Is a tall bag of cheese

  Plus a Chinaman’s knees

  And the leg of a nanny goat’s eye.’

  ‘How strange is a Bongaloo, Daddy?’

  ‘As strange as strange,’ I replied.

  ‘When the sun’s in the West

  It appears in a vest

  Sailing out with the noonday tide.’

  ‘What shape is a Bongaloo, Daddy?’

  ‘The shape, my Son, I’ll explain:

  It’s tall round the nose

  Which continually grows

  In the general direction of Spain.’

  ‘Are you sure there’s a Bongaloo, Daddy?’

  ‘Am I sure, my Son?’ said I.

  ‘Why, I’ve seen it, not quite

  On a dark sunny night

  Do you think that I’d tell you a lie?’

  SPIKE MILLIGAN

  ‘THERE IS NO KNOWING WHAT WE SHALL SEE!’…

  ‘There is no knowing what we shall see!’ cried the Centipede.

  ‘We may see a Creature with forty-nine heads

  Who lives in the desolate snow,

  And whenever he catches a cold (which he dreads)

  He has forty-nine noses to blow.

  ‘We may see the venomous Pink-Spotted Scrunch

  Who can chew up a man with one bite.

  It likes to eat five of them roasted for lunch

  And eighteen for its supper at night.

  ‘We may see a Dragon, and nobody knows

  That we won’t see a Unicorn there.

  We may see a terrible Monster with toes

  Growing out of the tufts of his hair.

  ‘We may see the sweet little Biddy-Bright Hen

  So playful, so kind and well-bred;

  And such beautiful eggs! You just boil them and then

  They explode and they blow off your head.

  ‘A Gnu and a Gnocerous surely you’ll see

  And that gnormous and gnorrible Gnat

  Whose sting when it stings you goes in at the knee

  And comes out through the top of your hat.

  ‘We may even get lost and be frozen by frost.

  We may die in an earthquake or tremor.

  Or nastier still, we may even be tossed

  On the horns of a furious Dilemma.

  ‘But who cares! Let us go from this horrible hill!

  Let us roll! Let us bowl! Let us plunge!

  Let’s go rolling and bowling and spinning until

  We’re away from old Spiker and Sponge!’

  ROALD DAHL

  THE UNDERWATER WIBBLES

  The Underwater Wibbles

  dine exclusively on cheese,

  they keep it in containers

  which they bind about their knees,

  they often chew on Cheddar

  which they slice into a dish,

  and gorge on Gorgonzola

  to the wonder of the fish.

  The Underwater Wibbles

  wiggle blithely through the sea,

  munching merrily on Muenster,

  grated Feta, bits of Brie,

  passing porpoises seem puzzled,

  stolid octopuses stare,

  as the Wibbles nibble Gouda,

  Provolone, Camembert.

  The Underwater Wibbles

  frolic gaily off the coast,

  eating melted Mozzarella

  served on soggy crusts of toast,

  Wibbles gobble Appenzeller

  as they execute their dives,

  oh, the Underwater Wibbles

  live extraordinary lives.

  JACK PRELUTSKY

  THE WORST

  When singing songs of scariness,

  Of bloodiness and hairyness,

  I feel obligated at this moment to remind you

  Of the most ferocious beast of all:

  Three thousand pounds and nine feet tall –

  The Glurpy Slurpy Skakagrall –

  Who’s standing right behind you.

  SHEL SILVERSTEIN

  AN AREA OF UNCERTAINTY

  A CHRONICLE

  Once – but no matter when –

  There lived – no matter where –

  A man, whose name – but then

  I need not that declare.<
br />
  He – well, he had been born,

  And so he was alive;

  His age – I details scorn –

  Was somethingty and five.

  He lived – how many years

  I truly can’t decide;

  But this one fact appears

  He lived – until he died.

  ‘He died,’ I have averred,

  But cannot prove ’t was so,

  But that he was interred,

  At any rate, I know.

  I fancy he’d a son,

  I hear he had a wife:

  Perhaps he’d more than one,

  I know not, on my life!