Oscar Wilde passed away in Paris in 1900. He spent the last few years of his life penniless and eventually died of neglect. He was a master playwright, poet and intellectual who was well known for his thousands of epigrams. It seems to me he would have been much more successful if he’d been born in the 20th or 21st century. To experience his wit and knowledge on an open forum talk show would have been absolutely amazing. Today I’ll post a few of my all-time favorites of his epigrams. I hope you enjoy them as much as I have over the years.
No great artist ever sees things as they really are; if he did, he would cease to be an artist.
Never trust a woman who tells you her real age; a woman who tells you that will tell you anything.
The proper basis for a marriage is mutual misunderstanding.
Men marry because they are tired, women because they are curious; both are disappointed.
Education is a wonderful thing, provided you always remember that nothing worth knowing can ever be taught.
We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars.
Consistency is the last refuge of the unimaginative.
A cynic is a man who knows the price of everything but the value of nothing.
The old believe everything, the middle-aged suspect everything, and the young know everything.
To regain my youth, I would do anything in the world, except take exercise, get up early, or become respectable.
*****
Here is one of my favorite quotes of his and it is partially responsible for the creation of this blog.
“It is a very sad thing that nowadays there is so little useless information around.”
I think today the title tells you everything you need to know. Here’s a selection of poetry written by children from English-speaking countries around the world. It always makes for a really good read and often motivates me to write poetry of my own. Enjoy. . .
THE SEA
By Susan Shoenblum, Age 11, United States
The untamed sea is human
Its emotions erupt in waves,
The sea sends her message of anger
As the waves roll over my head
💌💌💌
THE SPIDER
By J. Jenkins, age 10, New Zealand
With black, wicked eyes, hairy and legs and creepy crawling movements
Black shoe polish coat shining dully,
Hairy black thin legs.
Beautiful, silky and soft web
Dew hangs like miniature diamonds on lazy fingers.
A quick movement and this monster disappears.
💌💌💌
SHADOW
By Pramila Parmar, Age 11, Kenya
My shadow is very bad and foolish
Wherever I go it follows,
I lash it, I whip it,
still, it follows me.
One day I will kick it and it will never follow me.
“The poet is a reporter interviewing his own heart.”
Christopher Morely
***
Poetry at times can be beautiful. It can bring tears to your eyes and joy to your heart but as with anything it also has the ability to become something dark and disturbing. I try to make a point of reading samples of poetry from as many poets as I can. Some of the most touching poems are not about happy moments running through fields of flowers with birds flying around, but of deep sadness and pain.
On a regular basis I make purchases from thrift bookstores on eBay. A book arrived at my home recently and I knew reading it was going to be extremely difficult. It’s a selection of poetry written by young people who have had to deal with divorcing parents. The book istitled “broken hearts… healing”, Young Poets Speaking Out, compiled and edited by Tom Worthen, Ph.D. I just finished reading the first half of that book and it forced me to deal with the pain I caused to my own son. Many years ago, I ended a twenty-year marriage and caused a great deal of pain to a young man that we adopted (at age twelve) from a number of state-run foster homes. He deserved better than we were able to give him at the time, and this book brought it all back with a vengeance. Here are two poems that brought tears to my eyes.
TUG OF WAR
Nobody has the life I have,
I can’t imagine if the whole world did.
My parents don’t even talk,
They get to ask who wants us and when.
It is like me and my two sisters are in the middle of everything.
So I hope you don’t have the life I have,
And if you do I’m sorry.
by Beth, Age 11
***
WHERE IS MY DAD?
He comes around like he cares,
but when I was young he was not there.
He has a new family and a wife to love dear,
when I was around he made me feel weird.
When I was alone crying in my bed,
was he there, no, it was mom instead.
When I look at my friends with their moms and dads,
“To make a prairie it takes a clover and one bee.”
Emily Dickinson
🤪🤪🤪
Joke of the Day #1
A man and woman are sitting beside each other on a flight to New York. The woman loudly sneezes, takes out a tissue, gently wipes her nose and then visibly shudders for about ten seconds. A few minutes later the woman sneezes again. Once more, she takes a tissue, wipes her nose and then shudders. A few more minutes pass before the woman again sneezes and violently shudders. Curious, the man says “I can’t help noticing that you shudder every time you sneeze. Are you okay?” “I’m so sorry if I’m disturbing you”, says the woman. “I’m suffering from a very rare medical condition. Whenever I sneeze, I have an immediate orgasm.” “Are you taking anything for it?” he asks. “Yes,” says the woman. “Pepper.”
☘️☘️☘️
Limerick of the Day
The limerick is calloused and crude,
It’s morals distressingly lewd.
It’s not worth the reading
By persons of breeding.
It’s designed for us vulgar and rude.
🤡🤡🤡
Joke of the Day #2
An attractive young woman had finished taking her golf lessons from the club pro. She just started playing her first round when she got a bee sting. The pain was so intense she decided to return to the clubhouse. Her golf pro saw her enter the clubhouse and asked, “Why are you back so early? What’s wrong?” “I was stung by a bee” was her reply. “Where?” he asked. “Between the first and second holes” she replied. He just shook his head and nodded knowingly and said, “It’s obvious, your stance is too wide.”
As anyone who reads this blog knows I love limericks. I love the mild ones written by kids and for kids, the medium ones for many of the limerick loving adults who shy away from many of the naughtier limericks, and occasionally I get in the mood to post something a little raunchier. My favorite limerick writer has always been Isaac Azimov but one of his close friends deserved an honorable mention today. That friend was John Ciardi who for 16 years was the poetry editor for the Saturday Review and his translation of The Divine Comedy is still considered a classic. Sadly, he passed away in 1986 but his works and love of limericks lives on. Enjoy.
Born: December 10, 1830, Died: May 15, 1886 (aged 55)
*****
I’m something of a fan of serious poetry and an even bigger fan of those bawdy limericks I post so often. I guess I’m simply a fan of creative people who aren’t afraid to bare their souls to us. I’ve noticed over the years that creative types are a breed all their own. Many are looked upon as being a little strange or weird which has always seemed unfair. Being strange or weird for me is a badge of honor. Let me share the following with you.
Emily Dickinson, whose poetry thrills millions today, fantasized about the earth and sky and heaven itself, but left her home state, Massachusetts, exactly once, and that was to visit her father in Washington DC. She became such a recluse that she would not stay in the same room with her guests but would speak to them from an adjoining room.
Only seven of her poems were published in her lifetime. After her death in 1886, over 1,000 poems were discovered in a bureau. They were subsequently published, but often after word and punctuation changes were made by overzealous editors. A definitive edition of her works did not appear until the 1950’s.
As with all artists and other creative types, you never seem to get the recognition and fame you deserve until you’re dead.
everyuselessthing.com 