Rhyme time!
Bouts Rimes
A Turn for the Verse

It started in the March 21st entry, prompted by this postcard from Columbine. But it soon became clear that this was an obsession gone horribly, horribly wrong!

...well, okay, maybe it's nothing that dramatic. Basically, the following is a collection of some bits of doggerel I've been strewing around the Soapbox whenever the mood has taken me. The idea is to take the first line of a famous poem, and write a second line, producing a humorous, rhyming couplet.

I should note that these have mostly been written on the spur of the moment, and so aren't necessarily very good. Anyway, here goes:

From March 21st:

To be or not to be, that is the question;
Such musings often give me indigestion.
      from Hamlet, by William Shakespeare

Once upon a midnight dreary,
A raven spoke; I blame Tim Leary.
      "The Raven," by Edgar Allen Poe

The curfew tolls the knell of parting day,
And so provides a muse for Thomas Gray.
      "Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard," by Thomas Gray

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood;
But neither one was very good.
      "The Road Not Taken," by Robert Frost

From March 23rd:

When in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes,
I wonder, who are they to criticize?
      "Sonnet #29," by William Shakespeare

Whose woods these are, I think I know;
He's loosed the hounds! I'd better go.
      "Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening," by Robert Frost

Wild nights -- Wild nights!
Dull days. Love bites.
      #249 (using Johnson's numbering), by Emily Dickinson

Tyger! Tyger! Burning bright,
Who on Earth set you alight?
      "The Tyger," by Wiilliam Blake

From March 31st ("A Quick Note"):

Flood-tide below me! I see you face to face!
Waste, scum, toxic sludge! (I blame the human race.)
      "Crossing Brooklyn Ferry," by Walt Whitman

From April 3rd:

The Soul selects her own Society--
And She won't have a thing to do with Me.
      #303, by Emily Dickinson

Much Madness is divinest Sense
But who can tell the difference?
      #435, by Emily Dickinson

Because I could not stop for Death--
I ran until I lost my breath.
      #712, by Emily Dickinson

From June 6th:

Little Lamb, who made thee?
Are you still under warranty?
      "The Lamb," by William Blake

I want a hero; an uncommon want;
The deli's the answer for this bon vivant!
      Don Juan, by Lord Byron

I wandered lonely as a cloud,
My friends I mist; my rain so proud...
      "I Wandered Lonely As a Cloud," by William Wordsworth