There once was a renowned psychoanalyst
Who found childhood events were always the catalyst.
A patient who lived happily
'Til a recent tragedy,
Learned it all stemmed from thoughts as a neonatalist.
Psychoanalyst Limerick
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Tag Archives: Lyric Poem
The Satyric Satirist’s Limerick
There once was a master of the satiric
Who was known for being quite satyric.
What a difference "y" makes:
Handshakes to heartaches.
He was cancelled as his words won panegyrics.
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Music Limerick
There once was a player of the banjo
Who took out his act as a roadshow.
A tour by demand,
(The demand of his band.)
Crowds felt the same and suggested he bongo.
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A Taipei Taoist’s Limerick
There once was a Taoist from Taipei,
Who knew all one could know of the Way.
When asked for directions,
He'd state his objections,
"The way that can be stated is not The Way."
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The Circle of Play [Lyric Poem]
Sometime not too distant,
There will come a day
When you will return to
A frequent state of play.
When that day comes around,
You'll have lost all concern
For the adults' belief that
Frivolity must be spurned.
You'll take to tossing balls
And climbing up the walls,
Just like you used to do
When you were one or two --
Before that human zoo
Got its hooks in you.
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“Silver” by Walter de la Mare [w/ Audio]
Slowly, silently, the moon
Walks the night in her silver shoon;
This way, and that, she peers, and sees
Silver fruit upon silver trees;
One by one the casements catch
Her beams beneath the silvery thatch;
Couched in his kennel, like a log,
With paws of silver sleeps the dog;
From their shadowy cote the white breasts peep
Of doves in a silver-feathered sleep;
A harvest mouse goes scampering by,
With silver claws, and silver eye;
And moveless fish in the water gleam,
By silver reeds in a silver stream.
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Limerick of the Angry Poet
At noisy readings an angry old poet
Would pick up one of his books and bestow it.
When they would snicker
He'd wish his book thicker,
For it would flutter in air when he'd throw it.
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Mole Limerick
There once was a lady with a mole,
And, about it, she was hard to console.
Examples were proffered,
Such as Cindy Crawford.
"But mine is dead, & it dug such fine holes."
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Lover’s Limerick
There once was a Shakespearean lover,
Who, in darkness, crawled under cover.
Much to his surprise,
Having no use of eyes,
He later learned 'tweren't his lover, but another.
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“Drunk in the Fairyland” by Huang Tingjian [w/ Audio]
In the face of heavy morning cloud again
And drizzling evening rain,
Leaning on each other, rugged the hills remain.
The Gorge of Witch and lofty peaks
Lock in the Southern Palace rosy cheeks.
In spring the halberds move in force,
Maids in fair dress welcome heroes on horse,
To the riverside town they go only.
I come to the wasteland a thousand miles away,
With my shadow so lonely.
How can I become cheerful and gay?
It is said the Southern land is so high,
It nearly scrapes the sky.
To the capital I stretch my eye,
I see but misty water far and nigh.
When I drank in the hall,
My friends were talents all.
Songstresses sang with rosy face
And dancers danced with grace,
Drunk, they intoxicated the place.
Hearing the cuckoo's home-going song
All the night long,
Could I resist my yearning strong?
Translation: Xu Yuanchong [translator]. 2021. Deep, Deep the Courtyard. [庭院深深.] Cite Publishing: Kuala Lumpur, pp. 191-192.
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