This morning I was introduced, through my Grammar Geeks group on LinkedIn, to the wickedly funny poetry of a British man named Harry Graham. I've never heard of this guy before today, but I love his mischievous sense of humor. It reminds me of Edward Gorey's Gashlycrumb Tinies. Proceed with caution in reading the following short poems by Harry Graham.
An angel bore dear Uncle Joe
To rest beyond the stars.
I miss him, oh! I miss him so,--
He had such good cigars.
In the drinking-well
(Which the plumber built her)
Aunt Eliza fell, --
We must buy a filter.
That morning, when my wife eloped
With James, our chauffer, how I moped!
What tragedies in life there are!
I'm dashed if I can start the car.
"There's been an accident!" they said,
"Your servant's cut in half; he's dead."
"Indeed!" said Mr. Jones , "and please
Give me the half that's got my keys."
Weep not for little Leonie,
Abducted by a French Marquis!
Though loss of honour was a wrench,
Just think how it's improved her French.
Billy, in one of his nice new sashes,
Fell in the fire and was burnt to ashes;
Now, although the room grows chilly,
I haven't the heart to poke poor Billy.
THE STERN PARENT
Father heard his children scream,
So he threw them in the stream,
Saying, as he drowned the third,
"Children should be seen, not heard!"
O'er the rugged mountain's brow
Clara threw the twins she nursed,
And remarked, "I wonder now
Which will reach the bottom first?"