PORRIDGE POETRY

Dear Children, I would have you know it: That this is me, the Porridge Poet, My inspiration’s in the ice-box; My rhymes I pick out from the spice-box. My verse is very free and easy, Its flavour sometimes slightly cheesy; But that, my friends, is no great crime in The gentle art of kitchen rhymin’. I’ve made delicious maccaronics From peelings off spring philharmonics. And as for comic songs or ballads, I turn them out like summer salads. ’Tis to the cook-book that I owe it, My reputation as a poet. And if you’ll watch my pot a minute I’ll show you how I mix things in it. Now take a pint of vermicelli And pound it to a nice smooth jelly; If necessary use a hammer. Then add a pinch or two of grammar. Shake in an ounce of sifted syntax And half a teaspoonful of tin tacks, Then flavour with eggstravaganza, And there you have a lovely stanza!

Oh, what a popular person I am! My full name is Vera Virginia Ham. The barn-dance, the two-step, the sausage-roll trot, The pig-jig, the hog-jog, I dance the whole lot.

On lollipops I live. I’m gay; I leap and swirl, I spin and sway. Come join me in the dance, I pray! Let’s go!—Slap-bang!—Hip, hip, hooray! For I’m the lollipopinjay. I loll by night, I dance all day. I jump, I crouch and pop away Skip! Hop!—Tip-top!—Hip, hip, hooray!

’Twas in the tropic latitudes That we were talking platitudes, Just sailor-like chit-chatitudes, As any ship-mates might. We forgot to take our longitude (Which was a grievous wrongitude) So we didn’t reach Hong-kongitude Till very late that night.

“Are you the kind of insect, Sir, “My mother calls digestible?” Enquired the little fledgeling of The Sweet Potato Bug. “I’m nothing of the kind, my friend. “My taste is just detestable— “And so is yours—Such impudence!” He answered with a shrug.

Ella, fell a Maple tree. Hilda, build a Fire for me. Teresa, squeeze a Lemon, so. Amanda, hand a Plate to Flo. Nora, pour a Cup of tea. Fancy, Nancy, What a spree!

Scally Wag and Golly Wog Took their bag aboard a log And started off to cross the ocean blue. They’re still at sea, I have no doubt, For all they do is fight about Which shall be the Captain, which the crew.

Nearby an African lagoon Beneath the silent yellow moon All safe from worries and alarms There dwelt a family of palms. It was a peaceful life they led Mr. and Mrs. and little Fred; And when the wind blew soft and low They’d whisper tales of long ago.

Down where the glow-worms faintly glitter, Down where the fire-flies gleam and flitter, Come listen to the sausage twitter, Sizz and crackle in the pan! Tripe or truffles, fancy fishes, It doesn’t matter what your wish is; None prepare such luscious dishes As we, the gay Cook-goblins, can.

Such a scowling and a growling, howling yowling for a toy, You grubby, snubby, tubby, chubby, scrubby little boy!

Oom-pah, boom-pah, oom-pah boom! Like roses soon our cheeks will bloom. We only ask for elbow-room Oom-pah, boom-pah, oom-pah boom!

This is Mister Beers: And for forty-seven years He’s been digging in his garden like a miner. He isn’t planting seeds Nor scratching up the weeds, He’s trying to bore a tunnel down to China.

And who might this be, should you think? Why, the pirate of the kitchen sink! A dish-rag sail, a spoon for oar, Could any captain wish for more? Aboard his racing coffee-pot He roams an ocean steaming hot. No cup or saucer stays afloat That dares to bump into his boat.

A friendly Arctic Puffin asked The Millinery Bird, “Aren’t the styles they’re wearing now “A little bit absurd?” “Oh well,” sarcastically said The other with a snigger, “That will depend, my squatty friend, “Entirely on your figure.”

Said Mrs. Pringle to Mr. Parry, “Tell me why you never marry?” Said Mr. Parry to Mrs. Pringle, “Life is so much simpler single.”

A sage there was long, long ago, A mandarin named Wei Hai Wo, And at his window all day long He sat and softly hummed this song “How silly, Lily, lackaday! “Deary daisy me!” Said young Sin Ching to Wei Hai Wo, “Please tell me why you sit there so? I never chance this way to come But that I always hear you hum, “How silly, Lily, lackaday! “Deary daisy me!” “Well listen, friend,” said Wei Hai Wo, “I love to watch the passing show, “I take things easy, good and bad. “Why should I rush through life like mad? “How silly, Lily, lackaday! “Deary, daisy me!” “If others wish to run about “Then let them. But let me look out. “I’ve found that peace, my good Sin Ching, “Is quite the most important thing. “You see now why I sit and sing, “How silly, Lily, lackaday! “Deary, daisy me!”

Teaching school is not so easy, Be it big, or be it small, With a Spring term class made up of Vegetable scholars all. Make the turnips turn their toes out. See the pumpkins punctuate. Have the parsnips parse correctly. Let us, Lettuce, start at eight. Lima Bean’s been most provoking. Send him to the garden bed. Artful artichoke, I see you Beating beet upon the head. Spinach, spin your tops outside, please. Take two sevenths from a whole. Carrot, carry one and add, dear. Cauliflower, call the roll.

This is the Waffle-Kite And oh, what an awful sight He looks when he digs in the marsh with his beak. Mud pies it’s fun to make To set in the sun to bake When you’ve got the right kind of face, so to speak.

For Christmas Day the Christmas dough Is kneaded high and kneaded low. Punch it thick and thump it thin, Flatten it out with a rolling-pin. In the kitchen’s lots of fun When Christmas pie and Christmas bun Are kneaded high and kneaded low From lovely, squodgy, Christmas dough.

Hey diddle, diddle, I’m loose in the middle. Why can’t I get on with myself? It’s not my digestion— That’s out of the question, ’Cause I left it at home on the shelf.

In Florence Signor Quaverello Would play the four-string botticello Every single Sunday night, ’tis said. Until his wife upstairs would bellow “You noisy, good-for-nothing fellow! “Hello! “Quaverello! “Put that thing away and come to bed!”

“Oh, I’m the Toffee Analyst So learned and sophisticky; I’m making out a candy list, It’s going to be statisticky.”

Long ago the Brothers Wright Were men of odd but great renown, As different as day and night, The neighbors called them Up and Down. Now Up Wright was devout and lean, Proper, virtuous and prim. Whenever he felt low or mean He merely sighed or sang a hymn. A queerer pair was never made; For Down Wright, short and thick, Who always called a spade a spade, Loved to argue, fight and kick. Yet through the ups and downs of life Through thick and thin, through good and ill, In spite of all their constant strife The brothers lived together still.

Once there was a herring gull Who found the ocean very dull Said he, “I’m always sea-sick on the silly rolling sea. “I’ll go ashore and settle down In some peaceful country town And wear my carpet-slippers when I drink my china tea.”

Here’s little Jim Nast of Pawtucket Who slid down the stairs in a bucket. He has more understanding Since reaching the landing. Just look at the hole where he struck it!

Clippety, snippety, clippety, clop! A pretty pernickety barber’s shop! Walk up! Walk in and have a shave, A dry shampoo—a marcel wave, Your whiskers trimmed in any style. Come in, sit down and stay a while. Soon the barber chimpanzees Will bow and smile and say, “Next please! “We’re always busy—never stop. “Clippety, snippety, clippety, clop!”

“Oh won’t you be my Valentine “This wintertime, sweet Turpentine?” “How can I be, Petroleum? “I’m promised to Linoleum.”

The Milky Way was made for you, The Honey-Moon for me. If we could only mix the two How happy we should be! With a milk-and-honey honeymoon, You see, my charming wife, We’d only need a table-spoon And we’d be fixed for life.

Sing a song of gibberish, For this is rhyming day; Hasty pudding, stirabout, A goulash roundelay. Sing a junket rigmarole, A shindig jamboree, Catalogues or doggerels, They’re all the same to me.

There was a little lady and her name was Mrs. Van der Hook. She lived upon the main street of the town of Amsterdam. And when the neighbors told her it was very rude to stand and look, All she ever answered was, “Well that’s the way I am.”

You’ve heard of the Cat and the Fiddle, Well, I am the Rat and Guitar. I play by the moon Such a beautiful toon The Cat goes on sleeping—Ha! Ha!

Betwixt and Between were two betwins, Their father’s name was Twoddle. They’ve been alike as a pair of pins Since they could scarcely toddle.

Pastry and Bun day Ought to be Monday. Then Irish Stews-day Falls on a Tuesday. Dine-out-with-friends day, Let’s make that Wednesday. Next, Apple-pie day Should always be Friday. Sausage-in-batter day, Put that down Saturday. But what about Sunday? Oh, take a rest one day.

The Household Drudge Was making fudge In a great big china basin. Alas! Alack! She turned her back And the poodle dipped his face in!

Good morning Cornucopia! Your face looks even soapier Than when I met you walking yesterday. I know it, dear Symposium, My complexion got so rosium I covered it with lather and I left it there to stay.

Gimcrack and Gewgaw Were riding a see-saw And Gewgaw was up in the air. There popped up a rabbit, And Gim ran to grab it. Said Gew, “Oh, that’s not playing fair!”

Said Auntie Macassar to Miss Lulu Gubrious “Isn’t the weather just simply salubrious?” “Why, no,” answered Lulu, “I think it’s monotonous. “Just think if the rain should have gone and forgotten us!”