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Violin Limericks (Part 2)

Life in general: Part 1 the Archives now adorns. A beautiful rose (with lots of thorns).

From Sander Marcus
Posted October 31, 2005 at 04:10 PM

But don't let that put you off - keep 'em coming ;-)

he gleefully took his rhyming dic from its shelf
yielding torrents of limericks for us and himself
but did he revel
in the work of the devil
and does a word rhyme with itself?

For the next few days I'll hide like a weasel
ferried away by an engine of diesel
someone track these
watch my back please
Like him, I'll return to the easel

The limerick's rhythmic perfection
Can become a kind of infection.
As many have indicated,
Strict form is vindicated.
Please note the following section:

3 | 1 2 3 | 1 2 3 | 1
3 | 1 2 3 | 1 2 3 | 1
3 | 1 2 3 | 1
3 | 1 2 3 | 1
3 | 1 2 3 | 1 2 3 | 1

Though this pattern can make you scream,
Note that many a classical theme,
From Mozart to Brahms,
From concertos to psalms,
Is based on this very same scheme.

See, I should really be doing my math,
Or making my Bach take a bath,
(intonation, I mean,
is what needs to be clean,)
Instead I subject me to the wrath,

Of Preucil. When he hears my thirds,
He'll say, "Where's your head? With the birds?"
I'll respond, "Mr. Preucil,
My thirds are sub-par still,
The reason? Been playing with words."

The violin concerto of Barber,
causes my cardiac muscle to harbour,
such bursting emotion,
of love and devotion,
it turns purple like grapes on an arbour.

The lure of the limerick is cunning.
Though in the opposite direction you're running,
Once you're hooked,
Your goose is cooked,
And you become addicted to punning.

So whatever irreverent thoughts you harbor
About Heifetz, Brahms, or Barber,
In your brain the limerick's staying,
No matter where you are playing --
At the festivals of Aspen or Marlber
.......................o

There once was an elf from Guelph
Who bought a violin off the shelf.
His primary feature
Was that he needed no teacher;
He figured out how to finger himself.

Just kidding Sander, it's quite brilliant,
though - while some of these poems enchant -
others (including my own)
make my mouth want to foam,
and remind me of my silly aunt.

The elf/Guelph challenge was a stumper
I almost threw in the dumper.
But with limericks infected,
And my inspiration resurrected,
My brain poured it out like a pumper.

Nielsen's Violin Concerto is strong,
And to ignore its beauties is wrong.
But it could have been its fate
To have become twice as great
If it was only half as long.

Now I'm not sure if that's true
I know I don't say that, do you?
I just like the way Bruch
doesn't rhyme with much
And I like the rhyming of the big words, too.

Tis the season for Messiah.
Put away your Paganini and De Falla.
Even a werewolf is blessed,
And is a welcome guest
(Just ask Maria Ouspenskia).

(Please excuse the awful poetry
I'm a not a poet and I know-it-ry
But I try
and I sigh
And I can't help but give it a go-etry)

I'll ingnoreit.

Merry Christmas, Happy Hannukah, and Happy New Year to all.

Sandy Marcus

Uranium rosin is prone
To eat your bow down to the bone.
The critics may fume,
And all leave the room,
But you'll be praised for your glowing tone.

The Uranium Rosin's attractive
But my teacher says it's not didactive
You could go on the air
If your station is fair
And in this way be radioactive

And so ends another year.
I haven't made good use of my time, I fear.
Should I practice a scale
Before it gets stale?
Naawww, I'll watch football and have a beer.

there once was a young hotel heiress
with the same name as that place they call Paris
she made donuts with her Benz
a cop said, I's takin' yous ins.
And her mug shot made Aphrodite embarassed

Then something happened, I don't know what
She escaped from that place without firing a shot
maybe someone was smitten
with this luxurious kitten
and just said "go home, all's forgot

The judges phone at the golf course did ring
and a voice said a terrible thing
"miss Hilton's at home
the D.A.'s mouth looks like foam"
the judge said "to me you must her bring"

This smart judge he done knowed
go get her or be no-showed
he sent a car
and not a limo with bar
to go get her while red he did glowed

She sobbed and she weeped and she moaned
she said I got ten kids at home
the judge said no you don't
go back to the joint
and he looked at his watch and he groaned

So she rots behind bars to this day
doing hard labor, without pay
with an undisclosed medical problem
that must be some really bad goblin
it's so bad that nobody will say.

(sorry couldn't help it.)

This is in reference to her upcoming album.

"I'm not going to be onstage playing the violin. That would be gay."

http://socialitelife.com/2005/11/21/a_quote_from_paris_hilton.php

I swear, they're conspiring against me to try to either drive me crazy or make me go deaf; but it won't work. I survived the Backstreet Boys, N'sync and The Spice Girls and I will survive the Paris Hilton like socialites.

We'll arrest you instead
For what you just said...
It's kind of a crime
If you can't make a rhyme
On our V-dot-com limerick thread!

;)

This man is a Musical Prodigy,
Though often a bit of an oddigy,
His lyrics are crude,
Choreographies rude,
Main topic is human biology.

In London I must find a home,
Next to the Millenium Dome,
For there I can dance*,
To the artist called Prance,
Otherwise known as s*x gnome

* really nice balletic choregraphy to Condition of the Heart

You all are so insane
I can't believe this limerick craze
Far from this rhyming fury
I do intend to scurry
With all that remains of my tortured membrane

My being a man from Xanadu,
of windmills spread, no fears or dread,
I took her gently on my shoulder,
stroking her strings softly then bolder.

She sang a song pizzicato then,
and whispered pick up the bow my friend.
knowing my soul would never mend,
she played a single note, that would never end.

Ready to bolt, I called my trusty steed to action,
and said dear lady release me to see her reaction.
She laughed and sang even louder than before,
knowing full damn well, I'd leave her no more.

(My very first rhyme on viola
ends up in "Olà, ayatollah!!",
I better accept
I'm lame and inept
to write like Wilde or E dot Zola.)

A violist once had a nightmare:
in this his existence was unfair,
full suffer and scoff
he tried to wake off,
but he stucked in this dream in despair.

Imagine a dream made by Milton,
With miserable hopelessness filled in,
no pride and no fun,
just woe and some stun,
a voice in this dream says "That's built in."

But then he's roused by his assistence,
he hears an applause from a distance,
his service is done,
he's still full of stun,
this nightmare is just his existence.

Strathspeys and reels tickled Yehudi,
And put him in excellent moody,
But would he have passed,
On his pas de bas,
And if asked for a Highland Fling would he?

But before we go on any further,
I must stick to the tongue of my mother,
'Taliano, not known,
Franglais, Spanglish, got some,
So which language can we now murder?

**Alternative ending:
Like Jim's recycling, REAL efficient!

When Berg's Alban finished this concert,
he thought an inscription would not hurt,
he signed at the top,
"For angel" next op. (opus),
and died of a sepsis (that's blood dirt).

To catch Berg's music is quite thorny,
for me and my neighbor (attourney!)
I couldn't ignore
the knocks on the door -
no angel - just scorny attorney.

"We lived out your Brahms and your Mozart!
Your Bach-fugues? Tourette syndrome-brainfarts!
Enough is enough!
Stop playing that stuff,
or I'll play the 'breach of the peace'-card!"

I hate being paused in my Berg-gym,
of course I have tried to explain him:
dodecaphony
(12 tones and no key),
Vienna, the angel, some ism's...

He stood in my room like Dick Cheney,
"That concept ain't be any brainy.
And you are too soon
the heck outta tune:
12 tones are still 12 tones too many!"

[dedicated to my neighbor]

The Beckhams have gone to L.A.,
(And the nation cried Hip Hip HOORAY!)
Dave's whiney voice,
Was not my first choice,
We're begging you, please let them stay!!

A poet I've become! it's foolish
--and some of these limericks are ghoulish--
But at Sander's command,
We take pen in hand,
and...try to think what rhymes with "ghoulish."

The rhyme. It's elusive as vapor
When attempting to put words to paper.
English is the bane
(though I never complain)
Of my life! And of this silly caper.

OK, that's not going anywhere.

But Alison knows that, this Missy,
in soccer the Brits don't act prissy,
they love to stress out,
(beyond any doubt)
we're divers and cheaters and sissies.

To come back to themes for musicians,
there's something you see in auditions:
a messed up cadence
played anxious and dense
your journey home finished your mission...

You cry in the train without footing,
this sorrow and pain let's you snooting,
you played so damned well,
and now this farewell!!
(this cadence's called penalty shooting). :(

There once was a man called Szigeti,
Whose name did NOT rhyme with "spaghetti..."
"See'-getti" is right.
If you can't see the light,
You must be a cultural Yeti.

There once was a guy from Odessa
Who fared so-so in da Chiesa
But when given a chance
To read through that Brahms
All were stunned, even Mother Theresa

*fossilized animal feces

Hurry up and finish this thread. Please set me free!

I just can't stand it,
only two more to go.
I'm so much tempted,
to pen on the scroll!.

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