The Cow
Hey diddle diddle cat and fiddle
That's an earworm I couldn't get rid of
Sang it day and night without giggle
Started the night, rockets on my rear
Headlines told, Cow jumped over the moon
That was a thrill to me, almost swooned
My little dog growled at first,
But then he laughed at the fun I had
Going to the moon not yet a fad
Kitchen suffered loss from fright's pay day
Dishes and spoons, they all ran away
Never got found, cat and dog grew crazed
Earworm still warm? I gave it away
To cousin of Mark Twain's Passenjare **
** Mark Twain, poem, Punch Brothers, Punch;
"A Literary Nightmare" is a short story written by Mark Twain in 1876. The story is about Twain's ... removing the jingle from his mind.
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- Poem Copyright, Jimmiehov 2021, All Rights Reserved
The Nursery Rhyme,
Hey, diddle, diddle, the cat and the fiddle
The cow jumped over the moon
The little dog laughed to see such fun
And the dish ran away with the spoon
By Mother Goose
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I had wanted to write of one of Henri Lautrec's characters but time was against me and I wrote this little snippet instead and worked harder on the Cow poem above.
[drawing by Henri Lautrec]
I am the clown
I am having a gazillion goblets of fun
I am Georges Footit, a white-faced clown, owner, narrator, and producer of the dog and pony show. We can be found in Tent 203 of our circus during non-show times, and in the center ring halfway through the main production.
I was born in the mind of my maker, Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec, more generally known as Henri Lautrec. We've been together for seventeen years.
My pony's name is Kelley, she's a miniature white horse. The dog is Shep, always Shep. Most time she is dressed as a baby yellow lion. Neither will bite although Shep pretends she is doing that.
One day as we were walking Shep started to growl and began to dig at the bushes near us. I tried to get her to come away but nothing doing.
We called the police and when they came a man wearing a bandana mask crawled out from the bushes. A short search found his gun under a rock. It was loaded and cocked, ready to shoot.
But the crook didn't shoot dogs, he loved them like his own kids (who hated him and his ways). The crook's name was Harri and Mr. Lautrec said he could join our little act.
from, as background reference,
Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec - The famous draftsman
The Circus
"One day early in March 1899 Lautrec awoke from the intoxication extolled in Baudelaire's poem to find himself in an unfamiliar room. The door was padlocked and the windows barred, and a male nurse kept watch over him. He was, in fact, in the Folie-Saint-James, at 16 Avenue de Madrid , Neuilly, near the Bois de Boulogne, a beautiful eighteenth-century mansion situated in the middle of a large park, which had been transformed into a retreat for the mentally sick.
"He had decided that he should prepare an album of works on the theme of the circus, which his friend, Joyant would then publish. This plan had one great tactical advantage: one of the symptoms of Lautrec's illness, was his loss of memory. If Lautrec were able to recall in precise detail the most famous circus attractions of the previous twenty years, the psychiatrists would surely be obliged to admit that they had been mistaken in their diagnosis.
"In his circus drawings Lautrec captured the comedy and pathos of the situations as well as their movement, sound and color. In the circus world Lautrec's favorite model was Georges Footit, a white-faced clown (image left).
And after these drawings the specialist: patient quite calm, could undoubtedly be maintained, but ... Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec was still sick ..."
Henri Lautrec was born at Albi, France. below is our son standing near the entrance to the museum which holds many of Lautrec's drawings and paintings.
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Labels: Artistic Interpretations, France, Historical Artists and Poets, Loose Rhyme, Poem, Prose, Story, Story Poem, Weekly Scribbling 21
