[Roger Slater]

Yeah, you're right. I read too quickly and was thrown off track by the middle one, which would have come sort of close to being an actual rhyme compared to the final couplet. Point taken.

[Roger Slater]

Anyway, here's a lame and offensive start, just to warm up. I'm hoping that the first rhyme is indeed a real rhyme to British ears -- since it's not exact to my American ears.

A cat-loving lady from Bruss,
who fancied herself upper crus,
 one dark day hit bott,
 and no longer snott,
began to live off of her puss.

[Roger Slater]

Before I lay me down to slum
in winter, fall, or spring or summ,
I raise my prayers to God in Heav
and say, "I trust you Lord, whatev
you're cooking up, a curse or bless,
and yet I have a small confess:
I wouldn't mind some health and mon,
a loin more fruitful than a bunn,
a joyous life crowned by longev.
Is that too much to ask? Whatev."
.

[Roger Slater]

I've done a longer version, but I'm not sure the extra lines are worth it:

Before I lay me down to slum
in winter, fall, or spring or summ,
I bow my head, and feeling humb,

I raise my prayers to God in Heav,
for whom I have the greatest rev,
and say, "I trust you Lord, whatev

you're cooking up, a curse or bless,
and yet I have a small confess
I might as well get off my ches:

I wouldn't mind some health and mon,
and if, dear Lord, I may be blun,
a loin more fruitful than a bunn,

a fine career capped by longev,
and far more decades than just sev.
A happy life, in short. Whatev."

[John Whitworth]

Nice one, Roger. Everybody should look up Harry Graham's 'Poetical Economy'. Very funny and apposite surely to this comp. Hum! A rhyme for comp? Here's the thuing I started further up. Needs a litle attention perhaps.

Bring out a magnum of the bubb.
Today I'm going to ditch my hub.
He’s given me a pile of hass,
I'm finished with the sorry bas,
And now, chockfull of hope and alc,
I feel like Juliet on her balc.
I’m jolly, jittery and joyf.
I've got myself a lovely boyf.
Just thinking of him’s such a friss.
He’s sexy, sweet and rich as Croes,
And so incredibly intell
He turns my very knees to jell.
I’m feeling like a million doll.
My bliss is total and unqual.
My heart is his, for Love has conq,
And so to bed with lots of bonk.

[Roger Slater]

A big improvement, John.

I looked up Graham and saw a few lines from the poem you mentioned. Funny stuff, though he didn't have to truncate every line. I also see his verse is still for sale, and I might order it:

http://www.amazon.com/When-Grandmama...7146470&sr=1-1

Did the mention of "poetic economy" mean you prefer my shorter version?