Meyran Kraus

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Original text in yellow, anagram in pink.

Little Bo-Peep has lost her sheep,
And can't tell where to find them;
Leave them alone, and they'll come home,
And bring their tails behind them.

Little Bo-Peep fell fast asleep,
And dreamt she heard them bleating;
But when she awoke, she found it a joke,
For still they all were fleeting.

Then up she took her little crook,
Determined for to find them;
She, found them indeed, but it made her heart bleed,
For they'd left all their tails behind 'em!

It happened one day, as Bo-Peep did stray
Unto a meadow hard by --
There she espied their tails, side by side,
All hung on a tree to dry.

She heaved a sigh and wiped her eye,
And over the hillocks she raced;
And tried what she could, as a shepherdess should,
That each tail should be properly placed.

(Detective Halsted frowns.)

Det. Halsted: That's all?
Bo-Peep: Yeah.
Det. Halsted: Mind telling me the reason for the rhymes and the third-person narrative?
Bo-Peep: It's just the way I was brought up. Are we done here?
Det. Halsted: What's the hurry, Folk Fan? There's time for another poem.
Bo-Peep: Ah... Ever hear this one? 'Hey Diddle Diddle-'
Det. Halsted: Diddle with this, Hot Cheeks: the herd has been found slain and de-tailed. And hence, the Shepherd Hill Maniac... is here, in front of me.
Bo-Peep (feebly): No, that's a lie.
Det. Halsted: The game is up! Come clean! Don't you hear the lambs scream? They'll be louder... and louder...
Bo-Peep (sobbing): Alright! I killed them... I killed them all.
Det. Halsted (to an officer): Take her away.
Bo-Peep: I'll see you in hell, Halsted.

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A poem by Rossetti, anagrammed into a paraphrase and an antigram. The paraphrase is an acrostic (including the title) of the poet's name, and the antigram is a word acrostic - the 2nd words combined spell out a fitting quote from another Rossetti poem, 'Dream Land':
"Rest, rest at the heart's core
Till time shall cease:
Sleep that no pain shall wake".

A Birthday

My heart is like a singing bird
Whose nest is in a water'd shoot;
My heart is like an apple-tree
Whose boughs are bent with thick-set fruit;
My heart is like a rainbow shell
That paddles in a halcyon sea;
My heart is gladder than all these,
Because my love is come to me.
Raise me a dais of silk and down;
Hang it with vair and purple dyes;
Carve it in doves and pomegranates,
And peacocks with a hundred eyes;
Work it in gold and silver grapes,
In leaves and silver fleurs-de-lys;
Because the birthday of my life
Is come, my love is come to me.

Celebration Ode

Hark as my spirit croons aloud,
Regaling like a skylark bold;
I am one vast and cheerful field
So packed with lively marigolds;
These raptures are like angelfish -
Inside my chest they speed and play;
Not one is happier than me
As my dear lad is on his way.
Revive my bedroom with the air
Of satin veil and valued lace;
Stitch pheasant scenes and mango themes,
Sew lovebirds made with subtle grace;
Embed it with slick dainty studs
Together with some rose arrays -
The beau I have been waiting for
Is near, my lad is on his way.

Wake

I rest my head beneath my wing,
The rest of me already sound.
Dissolving at the touch, I lay
Beside the leaves piled on this ground.
My heart's pain multiplies inside
Its core; sheer dark waves set to break -
And till the evening raids, I claim
This time to muse if I should wake.
So, shall I brave each savage day
And cease my overbearing griefs
Or sleep and catch a splendid ride,
One that is both drawn-out and brief?
Say no cliches and dashing rhymes -
My pain is ample; for my sake,
I shall prescribe my weary will
To wake the valor not to wake.

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John Keats
To My Brother George

Many the wonders I this day have seen:
The sun, when first he kist away the tears
That fill'd the eyes of morn; the laurel'd peers
Who from the feathery gold of evening lean:
The ocean with its vastness, its blue green,
Its ships, its rocks, its caves, its hopes, its fears,
Its voice mysterious, which whoso hears
Must think on what will be, and what has been.
E'en now, dear George, while this for you I write,
Cynthia is from her silken curtains peeping
So scantly, that it seems her bridal night,
And she her half-discover'd revels keeping.
But what, without the social thought of thee,
Would be the wonders of the sky and sea?

George Keats
Thanks For The Hogwash, Man

Oh, isn't that the most delightful thing -
He sends the sweetest ode, with lavish class.
There's no shrewd answer, save for harrying:
Where are my twenty shillings, selfish ass?!
It's been three weeks since your last visit here
And all the notes you write chat of this cruise,
Without inferring why I'd want to hear
About your wife's perverted peek-a-boo's.
The fact is that my wealth pile isn't high
Compared to yours, so muffle these vignettes;
The ocean hopes? That's nice, John; So do I -
I hope my elder sibling knows his debts.
Do chuck the verse, I'd rather have what's mine -
And if you're short, a bank note will be fine.

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House of the Rising Sun (traditional version)

There is a house in New Orleans
They call the Rising Sun.
It's been the ruin of many a poor girl,
And me, Oh Lord, I'm one.

If I'd listened to what my mama said,
I'd be back home today.
But I was young and foolish,
I let a rambler lead me astray.

My mama she's a tailor,
She sewed my new blue jeans.
My lover, he's a gambler, Lord, Lord,
Drinks down in New Orleans.

Now the only thing a gambler needs
Is a suitcase and a trunk.
And the only time he'll be satisfied
Is when he's falling down drunk.

He fills his glasses to the brim,
Passes them all around,
Only thing he wants out of life
Is to roam from town to town.

Please tell my baby sister
Not to do like I have done,
Shun that house in New Orleans
They call the Rising Sun.

I got one foot on the platform,
The other one on the train.
I'm going back to New Orleans
To wear that ball and chain.

Yes I'm going back to New Orleans,
My race is almost run.
Going back to spend the rest of my days
In that House of the Rising Sun.

New Orleans: A reply
By God

Let me begin with a joke. I know, it's a bit harsh, but work with me.
A Christian, I'll call him Glenn, sits on his roof surrounded by a flood- Erm, make it a mud slide. Suddenly, one man floats by in a boat. "Get in!", he advises. "No! God will bail me out!", answers Glenn, and the boat goes on without him. An hour later, a family rows by in a canoe. "Get in!", they tell him. "No! God will bail me out!", says Glenn again, his sheens now muddy, and it rows on. An hour later, a ferry comes near. "Get in!", order the ones on it. "No!", Glenn insists as the mud almost reaches his mouth, "God will bail me out!". As it drifts on, Glenn sinks and dies.
In the hereafter, a bitter Glenn yells at me: "I'm a loyal Christian! Why have thou forsaken me?" "Forsaken?!" I respond, "Moron! I sent the boat, the canoe, the ferry..."

So yes, Katrina was my bad, but I sent a lot of warnings to officials: "Augment the levees", "Help the poor masses", "Hold on to the troops"... And noone heard me.

Humans can't merely wish for things. They should also *listen*.

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The complete list of Shakespeare's plays anagrammed into a sonnet, which contains these additional constraints:

  1. Excluding the word 'Shakespeare', it only uses popular words from the Shakespearean verse which have a frequency of 15 appearances and up;
  2. It's an acrostic (including the title) of Shakespeare's nickname;
  3. It contains an anagram in line 8 (marked in italics) of Shakespeare's birth place, Stratford-upon-Avon.

A Midsummer Night's Dream
All's Well That Ends Well
Anthony and Cleopatra
As You Like It
Coriolanus
Cymbeline
Hamlet, Prince of Denmark
Julius Caesar
Love's Labours Lost
King Henry IV
King Henry V
King Henry VI
King Henry VIII
King John
King Lear
King Richard II
King Richard III
Macbeth
Measure for Measure
Much Ado About Nothing
Othello, Moor of Venice
Pericles, Prince of Tyre
Romeo and Juliet
The Comedy of Errors
The Merchant of Venice
The Merry Wives of Windsor
The Taming of the Shrew
The Tempest
The Two Gentlemen of Verona
Timon of Athens
Titus Andronicus
Troilus and Cressida
Twelfth Night (What You Will)
Winter's Tale

The Divine Virtues of author William Shakespeare
He spoke of kings - yet he himself was one;
Engaged in rhyme for Love - and won much love.
In grave times he brought calm; in cold - the sun:
Main view where cheer's in but one thought thereof.
Might one small human crack his cunning skill?
Or, in an angry envy bound to fail,
Resort to fierce conceit and call this will
To pick on art profound, vast work to rail?
A certain error's found in here, methinks:
Like fine aged wine, 'tis not to madly stir,
But rather to enjoy this ancient drink
As welcome merit of our English sir.
Rejoice, all merry gems, with every part;
Delight my mind and justly claim my heart.

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Updated: May 10, 2016


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