don@allegra.UUCP (D. Mitchell) (02/02/84)
Can someone point me to the poem that begins: A is for Anny who fell down the stairs. B is for Basel who was eaten by bears.
amigo2@ihuxq.UUCP (John Hobson) (02/03/84)
I think that the poem which begins: A is for Annie who fell down the stairs. B is for Basil who was eaten by bears. is from the collection Ruthless Rhymes For Heartless Homes (or the followup volume, More Ruthless Rhymes For Heartless Homes) by Colonel D. Streamer (pseudonym of R. H. Russell). Both were reprinted by Dover some years ago. Another poem from this book is: Aunt Eliza In the drinking-well (Which the plumber built her) Aunt Eliza fell,-- We must buy a filter. Another poet in the same vein (who might also have written the poem in question) was Harry Graham, two of whose poems are: Quiet Fun My son Augustus, in the street, one day, Was feeling quite exceptionally merry. A stranger asked him: "Can you tell me, pray, The quickest way to Brompton Cemetery?" "The quickest way? You bet I can!" said Gus, And pushed the fellow underneath a bus. Whatever people say about my son, He does enjoy his bit of fun. Indifference When Grandmamma fell off the boat, And couldn't swim (and wouldn't float), Matilda just stood by and smiled. I almost could have slapped the child. If anyone wants me to, I can contribute more poems in this vein. There is a book, the Devil's Book of Verse, ed. by Richard Conniff, (New York: Dodd, Mead & Co., 1983), which has many good examples of this sort of thing. I cannot go without giving you one more poem: How to Treat Elves I met a elf-man in the woods, The wee-est little elf! Sitting under a mushroom tall-- 'Twas taller than himself! "How do you do, little elf," I said, "And what do you do all day?" "I dance 'n fwolic about," said he, "'N scuttle about and play; "I s'prise the butterflies, 'n when A katydid I see, 'Katy didn't' I say, and he Says 'Katy did!' to me! "I hide behind my mushroom stalk When Mister Mole comes froo 'N only just to fwighten him, I jump out 'n say 'Boo!' "'N then I swing on a cobweb swing Up in the air so high, 'N the cwickets chirp to hear me sing 'Upsy-daisy-die!' "'N then I play with the baby chicks, I call them chick, chick, chick! 'N what do you think of that?" said he. I said, "It makes me sick. "It gives me sharp and shooting pains To listen to such drool." I lifted up my foot and squashed The God damn little fool. --Morris Bishop John Hobson AT&T Bell Labs Naperville, IL (312) 979-0193 ihnp4!ihuxq!amigo2