Some 'Literary' Limericks
For Fun
Bill Faulkner one fine day was flying
To get rid of hiccups, or trying.
Wiley Post from The Town
Flew so fast upside down
That Bill thought of As I lay Dying.
___________________________
A lovely young woman, a Reiver
Prefers Bill Faulkner to Cheever
If she says his surging
prose gives her an urging
To go down Moses, believe her.
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1.
Said the late Monsieur Paul de Man
Of Herr Hitler I was a fan
But that all of course is
just blind social forces
A kind of catch as catch can.
2.
My past is the reason I twisted
Criticism and roundly insisted
That “the author” was just
Some absurd social dust—
And no academic resisted.
______________________
To think of great art as a tomb
Is frankly too much to assume.
Says more of yourself
Than the books on your shelf
And for discourse leaves little room.
But many believe it’s what’s there
In the near past or present to share—
They’re doomed to repeat
Some old magic feat,
reinventing the wheel, with fanfare.
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The one thing we see in the sheer
Weight of H. Bloom’s critical sphere
Is there’s no rust at all
In the storm and the squall
In the works of Mister Shakespeare.
...
Bloom claims Bill’s the canon, you see
And for that, he’s all right with me,
Blooming canon or no,
Rusty gates or Day-Glo,
I’d bet that at heart you’d agree.
_____________________
Said a bearded old guy named Cervantes
‘I wish I could wear women’s panties,
I’d soak them in gas
And pretend that my ass
Is is inflammable like my friend Dante’s’
____________________________________
There was a great woman, quite gabby,
Who told lots of stories, not shabby.
She was never in Boston
But her name is Jane Austen
And I think she wrote Northanger Abbey.
_____________________________
1.
You’ve heard of Fitzgerald, F. Scott
He and Zelda, his wife, drank a lot
But then came the crash
& they lost all their cash
And sadly their lives went to pot.
2.
But Fitz in his prime had no peer,
His prose brought the angels quite near
It sang and it soared
& it struck every chord
Like wine beside Hemingway’s beer.
____________________
1.
There once was a writer named Poe
Whose life filled up with deep woe
& there wasn’t a doubt
When his dope all ran out
He had quite a tough row to hoe.
2.
But his lines form a musical score,
They shimmer, they shine and they roar—
Their music’s a haven
For any stray Raven,
Who might quoth to us, ‘Nevermore.’
_________________________
1.
There once was a man tagged as ‘Papa’
Who wrote a good book called Fiesta
At least by the Frenchmen
The Brits & their henchmen,
Who hadn’t waked up from Siesta
2.
But we’ve got ‘The Sun Also Rises’
As title of what we surmise is
The actual name,
Of the book in its fame,
And worthy of all the great prizes.
3.
A beautiful woman with charms
And a penchant for psychic alarms
Caused great consternation
In carnal relations
While reading A Farewell to Arms.


Those are great! Thanks