Guest poem submitted by Martin Davis:
(Poem #1723) warty bliggens the toad
i met a toad the other day by the name of warty bliggens he was sitting under a toadstool feeling contented he explained that when the cosmos was created that toadstool was especially planned for his personal shelter from sun and rain thought out and prepared for him do not tell me said warty bliggens that there is not a purpose in the universe the thought is blasphemy a little more conversation revealed that warty bliggens considers himself to be the centre of the said universe the earth exists to grow toadstools for him to sit under the sun to give him light by day and the moon and wheeling constellations to make beautiful the night for the sake of warty bliggens to what act of yours do you impute this interest on the part of the creator of the universe i asked him why is it that you are so greatly favoured ask rather said warty bliggens what the universe has done to deserve me if i were a human being i would not laugh too complacently at poor warty bliggens for similar absurdities have only too often lodged in the crinkles of the human cerebrum archy
From "archy and mehitabel", 1927. I really enjoyed Saturday's grook. It's great when something makes you laugh out loud. It put me immediately in mind of 'warty bliggens the toad' by Don Marquis, which isn't on the Minstrels site yet, so I reproduce it here in case Piet Hein triggers a rush of similar thoughts. Back in the mists of time (the 70s) when I used to teach 11 year olds, we always used to have fun with this poem. It's like the tale of the Sunday School teacher who is telling her group the parable Christ told of the Pharisee and the tax collector (Luke 18: 9-14). 'Two men went up into the temple to pray; one was a Pharisee, and the other was a tax collector. The Pharisee stood and prayed to himself like this: "God, I thank you, that I am not like the rest of men, extortioners, unrighteous, adulterers, or even like this tax collector. I fast twice a week. I give tithes of all that I get." But the tax collector, standing far away, wouldn't even lift up his eyes to heaven, but beat his breast, saying, "God, be merciful to me, a sinner!" I tell you, this man went down to his house justified rather than the other; for everyone who exalts himself will be humbled, but he who humbles himself will be exalted.' And then the teacher says to the children, "Now then, boys and girls, put your hands together and let's all thank God that we're not like that smug Pharisee!" Cheers, Martin Davis.