After a trip to the UK, my bf brought back a book of children's verse. A joke, I believe because he often thinks I exhibit childlike behaviour. Anyway, when I opened it, I turned right to the section by Edward Lear, specifically a poem called "The Jumblies" which made me think of Moko Jumbies, but I don't have a poem about them. Below is Edward Lear's introduction to himself and then mine.
How Pleasant to know Mr. Lear
"How pleasant to know Mr.Lear!"
Who has written such volumes of stuff!
Some think him ill-tempered and queer,
But a few think him pleasant enough.
His mind is concrete and fastidious,
His nose is remarkably big;
His visage is more or less hideous,
His beard it resembles a wig.
He has ears, and two eyes, and ten fingers,
Leastways if you reckon two thumbs;
Long ago he was one of the singers,
But now he is one of the dumbs.
He sits in a beautiful parlour,
With hundreds of books on the wall;
He drinks a great deal of Marsala,
But never gets tipsy at all.
He has many friends, lay men and clerical,
Old Foss is the name of his cat;
His body is perfectly spherical,
He weareth a runcible hat.
When he walks in waterproof white,
The children run after him so!
Calling out, "He's gone out in his night-
Gown, that crazy old Englishman, oh!"
He weeps by the side of the ocean,
He weeps on the top of the hill;
He purchases pancakes and lotion,
And chocolate shrimps from the mill.
He reads, but he cannot speak, Spanish,
He cannot abide ginger beer:
Ere the days of his pilgrimage vanish,
How pleasant to know Mr. Lear!
How Lucky To Know Ms. O’Dea
How lucky to know Ms. O’Dea
For she’ll always tell you the truth:
That you look washed out in gray
Or have something stuck in your tooth.
Her brain is full of opinions,
Her head is too big for her neck;
She’ll treat you as though you’re her minions
And bid you to cork the Malbec.
She throws an impeccable party
And gives an untouchable toast,
But before the guests arrive tardy,
She’s castrated her husband, the host.
Her lines, she claims, are metrical,
But her feet are rather flat.
Her breasts are far from symmetrical,
And her fingers are wrinkled and fat.
She’ll go to your baby’s christening
And kiss his hockey-puck face,
Then ask whoever’s listening
Who to blow to get out of this place.
When she strolls down the hallway she thinks
The boys are all looking her way,
Which they are because she stinks
Of halitosis and Ben-Gay.
She cries when she sees Sid & Nancy
And gets off to a Mexican flick.
She subscribes to Teen People, Cat Fancy,
And Poetry, which remains in plastic.
Her pride’s that she’s fluent in French,
But she can’t tell parlance from parler.
She’s the MVP of the bench.
How lucky to know Ms. O’Dea.