Make Limericks of Famous Poems!

Now...I do not think liver is even HINTED at!!!!

My wife and I are a pair
Of compasses. Love fills the air.
The foot is my spouse,
Making base in my house.
I, the marker, am more debonaire.


I don't remember the name of this, but it has some lovely imagery of her being stable at home and him out and about, but always returning. (not that this reflects my gender politics, you understand)

That's John Donne!


A VALEDICTION FORBIDDING MOURNING.
by John Donne



AS virtuous men pass mildly away,
And whisper to their souls to go,
Whilst some of their sad friends do say,
"Now his breath goes," and some say, "No."

So let us melt, and make no noise,
No tear-floods, nor sigh-tempests move ;
'Twere profanation of our joys
To tell the laity our love.

Moving of th' earth brings harms and fears ;
Men reckon what it did, and meant ;
But trepidation of the spheres,
Though greater far, is innocent.

Dull sublunary lovers' love
Whose soul is sense, cannot admit
Of absence, 'cause it doth remove
The thing which elemented it.

But we by a love so much refined,
That ourselves know not what it is,
Inter-assurèd of the mind,
Care less, eyes, lips and hands to miss.

Our two souls therefore, which are one,
Though I must go, endure not yet
A breach, but an expansion,
Like gold to aery thinness beat.

If they be two, they are two so
As stiff twin compasses are two ;
Thy soul, the fix'd foot, makes no show
To move, but doth, if th' other do.

And though it in the centre sit,
Yet, when the other far doth roam,
It leans, and hearkens after it,
And grows erect, as that comes home.

Such wilt thou be to me, who must,
Like th' other foot, obliquely run ;
Thy firmness makes my circle just,
And makes me end where I begun.

Thank you so much!

I had completely forgotten the context along with the poet and the title, but it is such a lovely piece!

I must dive into Donne again.

Diving into Donne is always a pursuit productive of pearls.


He is one of my absolute favourite poets......even his religious stuff.


And his sermons and meditations are wonderful....he did the "no man is an island" and "for whom the bell tolls" one...


Meditation XVII


XVII. MEDITATION.


PERCHANCE he for whom this bell tolls may be so ill, as that he knows not it tolls for him; and perchance I may think myself so much better than I am, as that they who are about me, and see my state, may have caused it to toll for me, and I know not that. The church is Catholic, universal, so are all her actions; all that she does belongs to all. When she baptizes a child, that action concerns me; for that child is thereby connected to that body which is my head too, and ingrafted into that body whereof I am a member. And when she buries a man, that action concerns me: all mankind is of one author, and is one volume; when one man dies, one chapter is not torn out of the book, but translated into a better language; and every chapter must be so translated; God employs several translators; some pieces are translated by age, some by sickness, some by war, some by justice; but God's hand is in every translation, and his hand shall bind up all our scattered leaves again for that library where every book shall lie open to one another. As therefore the bell that rings to a sermon calls not upon the preacher only, but upon the congregation to come, so this bell calls us all; but how much more me, who am brought so near the door by this sickness. There was a contention as far as a suit (in which both piety and dignity, religion and estimation, were mingled), which of the religious orders should ring to prayers first in the morning; and it was determined, that they should ring first that rose earliest. If we understand aright the dignity of this bell that tolls for our evening prayer, we would be glad to make it ours by rising early, in that application, that it might be ours as well as his, whose indeed it is. The bell doth toll for him that thinks it doth; and though it intermit again, yet from that minute that that occasion wrought upon him, he is united to God. Who casts not up his eye to the sun when it rises? but who takes off his eye from a comet when that breaks out? Who bends not his ear to any bell which upon any occasion rings? but who can remove it from that bell which is passing a piece of himself out of this world?

No man is an island, entire of itself; every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main. If a clod be washed away by the sea, Europe is the less, as well as if a promontory were, as well as if a manor of thy friend's or of thine own were: any man's death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind, and therefore never send to know for whom the bells tolls; it tolls for thee. Neither can we call this a begging of misery, or a borrowing of misery, as though we were not miserable enough of ourselves, but must fetch in more from the next house, in taking upon us the misery of our neighbours. Truly it were an excusable covetousness if we did, for affliction is a treasure, and scarce any man hath enough of it. No man hath affliction enough that is not matured and ripened by and made fit for God by that affliction. If a man carry treasure in bullion, or in a wedge of gold, and have none coined into current money, his treasure will not defray him as he travels. Tribulation is treasure in the nature of it, but it is not current money in the use of it, except we get nearer and nearer our home, heaven, by it. Another man may be sick too, and sick to death, and this affliction may lie in his bowels, as gold in a mine, and be of no use to him; but this bell, that tells me of his affliction, digs out and applies that gold to me: if by this consideration of another's danger I take mine own into contemplation, and so secure myself, by making my recourse to my God, who is our only security.




http://www.online-literature.com/donne/409/

Thanks, dlowan. Especially for putting in the link.

That is going to come in VERY handy.

Funnily enough I was just thinking of a limerick for 'Goe and catch a falling star' - Donne always springs to mind!!

Nyah, go and catch a falling star,
Go make a mandrake root a ma,
Do weird cool stuff,
It's not enough:
'Tis a wise kid that knows its Pa.

Where's yours, Clary?

All in the mind, as yet....

Well, get it out here!!!!!

Goes hard on my ketch, "Falling Star";
Her's broad of beam 'n thick of spar.
Tossed her supper
In the scupper,
An' ain't e'en made the poop so far.

What poem is that?

Uh, dunno. Thought I was doing what you donne.

Er...no...the object is to create a limerick that encapsulates a famouis poem...mebbe have a look at the first post?


I'd love to see you do it!

Lemme see. That might take longer than the four days I spent on that one. First I'll see if I can find a famous poem. Ketch you later.

I am holding my breath in anticipation.........

Baited breath, no doubt.

It appears that Debacle is having more enjoyment out of puns....

Oh, I got the pun on Donne.....