Poetry was never my favorite and it still is not. Though I have written down some things that I claim fall under the poetry category, it was done out of arrogance rather than admiration. I felt the dire need to express myself in that manner at that time. At the present moment, neither do I have the dire nor the need and so that phase seems to have ended (at least for now). Of course, there are a few poetic lines and words that come from the past. The earliest ones are about about twinkling stars being diamonds and the violence that struck Jack and Jill. The one that affected the most was about Johnny wanting to play and being affected by a downpour.
As time went on, William Wordworth praised a rainbow and Robert Frost expressed his disinterest in sleeping. Of course, there was that appreciation that Ogden Nash sent to me, the born spectator. I think that is almost it. I don't think I can think of any other words from poetry other than "Kister Monductor". I searched for these words in Google this morning and it tells me about the poem "The Muddlehead" written by our good old Ogden Nash. "Hmmm, Mr.Nash again. There should be more to this than a plain liking" said my mind. So I looked up Wikipedia to find out who Ogden Nash is (or is it was). I did not get past the first line. Mr.Nash left this world a few days prior to my birth and so my over ambitious and superstitious mind screams "REBIRTH". That being that here is what Mr.Muddlehead says and does.
(Ogden Nash)
The Muddlehead
I knew a man from Petushkee
As muddleheaded as could be.
He always got mixed up with clothes;
He wore his mittens on his toes,
Forgot his collar in his haste,
And tied his tie around his waist.
What a muddle head was he,
That man who lived in Petushkee!
They told him as he went about:
"You've got u'r coat on inside out!"
And when they saw his hat, they said:
"You've put a saucepan on your head!"
What a muddle head was he,
That man who lived in Petushkee!
At lunch he scratched a piece of bread,
And spread some butter on his head.
He put his walking stick to bed,
And he stood in the rack instead.
What a muddle head was he,
That man who lived in Petushkee!
He walked upto a tram one day
And climbed in very sprightly;
Conductor thought that he would pay,
Instead he said politely:
"Parding your beggon,
Kister Monductor,
I'm off for a week's vacation;
I stop you to beg your cramway tar
As soon as we reach the station."
Conductor got a fright
And didn't sleep that nite.
What a muddle head was he,
That man who lived in Petushkee!
He rushed into the first café:
"A railway ticket please, One way."
And at the ticket office said:
"A slice of tea and a cup of bread."
What a muddle head was he,
That man who lived in Petushkee!
He passed the man collecting the fares,
And entered a carriage awaiting repairs,
That stood on a siding, all by itself.
Half of his luggage, he put on a shelf,
The rest on the floor, his coat on his lap
And settled himself for a bit of a nap.
All at once he raised his head,
"I must have been asleep"- he said.
"Hey, what stop is this?" he cried
"Petushkee," a voice replied.
Once again he closed his eyes
And dreamt he was in Paradise.
When he woke, he looked about,
Raised the window and leaned out.
"I've seen this place before, I believe,
Is it Kharkov or is it Kiev?
Tell me where I am," he cried.
"In Petushkee", a voice replied.
And so again he settled down
And dreamt the world was upside down
When he woke, he looked about,
Raised the window and looked out.
"I seem to know this station too,
Is it Nalchik or Baku?
Tell me what its called," he cried.
"Petushkee' a voice replied.
Up he jumped: "It's a crime!
I've been riding all this time,
And here I am where I began!
That's no way to treat a man!'
What a muddle head was he,
That man who lived in Petushkee
As time went on, William Wordworth praised a rainbow and Robert Frost expressed his disinterest in sleeping. Of course, there was that appreciation that Ogden Nash sent to me, the born spectator. I think that is almost it. I don't think I can think of any other words from poetry other than "Kister Monductor". I searched for these words in Google this morning and it tells me about the poem "The Muddlehead" written by our good old Ogden Nash. "Hmmm, Mr.Nash again. There should be more to this than a plain liking" said my mind. So I looked up Wikipedia to find out who Ogden Nash is (or is it was). I did not get past the first line. Mr.Nash left this world a few days prior to my birth and so my over ambitious and superstitious mind screams "REBIRTH". That being that here is what Mr.Muddlehead says and does.
(Ogden Nash)
The Muddlehead
I knew a man from Petushkee
As muddleheaded as could be.
He always got mixed up with clothes;
He wore his mittens on his toes,
Forgot his collar in his haste,
And tied his tie around his waist.
What a muddle head was he,
That man who lived in Petushkee!
They told him as he went about:
"You've got u'r coat on inside out!"
And when they saw his hat, they said:
"You've put a saucepan on your head!"
What a muddle head was he,
That man who lived in Petushkee!
At lunch he scratched a piece of bread,
And spread some butter on his head.
He put his walking stick to bed,
And he stood in the rack instead.
What a muddle head was he,
That man who lived in Petushkee!
He walked upto a tram one day
And climbed in very sprightly;
Conductor thought that he would pay,
Instead he said politely:
"Parding your beggon,
Kister Monductor,
I'm off for a week's vacation;
I stop you to beg your cramway tar
As soon as we reach the station."
Conductor got a fright
And didn't sleep that nite.
What a muddle head was he,
That man who lived in Petushkee!
He rushed into the first café:
"A railway ticket please, One way."
And at the ticket office said:
"A slice of tea and a cup of bread."
What a muddle head was he,
That man who lived in Petushkee!
He passed the man collecting the fares,
And entered a carriage awaiting repairs,
That stood on a siding, all by itself.
Half of his luggage, he put on a shelf,
The rest on the floor, his coat on his lap
And settled himself for a bit of a nap.
All at once he raised his head,
"I must have been asleep"- he said.
"Hey, what stop is this?" he cried
"Petushkee," a voice replied.
Once again he closed his eyes
And dreamt he was in Paradise.
When he woke, he looked about,
Raised the window and leaned out.
"I've seen this place before, I believe,
Is it Kharkov or is it Kiev?
Tell me where I am," he cried.
"In Petushkee", a voice replied.
And so again he settled down
And dreamt the world was upside down
When he woke, he looked about,
Raised the window and looked out.
"I seem to know this station too,
Is it Nalchik or Baku?
Tell me what its called," he cried.
"Petushkee' a voice replied.
Up he jumped: "It's a crime!
I've been riding all this time,
And here I am where I began!
That's no way to treat a man!'
What a muddle head was he,
That man who lived in Petushkee
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