Riddle 4
MY First is singular at best:
More plural is my Second:
My Third is far the pluralest -
So plural-plural, I protest
It scarcely can be reckoned!
My First is followed by a bird:
My Second by believers
In magic art: my simple Third
Follows, too often, hopes absurd
And plausible deceivers.
My First to get at wisdom tries -
A failure melancholy!
My Second men revered as wise:
My Third from heights of wisdom flies
To depths of frantic folly.
My First is ageing day by day:
My Second's age is ended:
My Third enjoys an age, they say,
That never seems to fade away,
Through centuries extended.
My Whole? I need a poet's pen
To paint her myriad phases:
The monarch, and the slave, of men -
A mountain-summit, and a den
Of dark and deadly mazes -
A flashing light - a fleeting shade -
Beginning, end, and middle
Of all that human art hath made
Or wit devised! Go, seek HER aid,
If you would read my riddle!
poem by Lewis Carroll from Four Riddles
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Related quotes
Four Riddles
I
There was an ancient City, stricken down
With a strange frenzy, and for many a day
They paced from morn to eve the crowded town,
And danced the night away.
I asked the cause: the aged man grew sad:
They pointed to a building gray and tall,
And hoarsely answered "Step inside, my lad,
And then you'll see it all."
Yet what are all such gaieties to me
Whose thoughts are full of indices and surds?
x*x + 7x + 53 = 11/3
But something whispered "It will soon be done:
Bands cannot always play, nor ladies smile:
Endure with patience the distasteful fun
For just a little while!"
A change came o'er my Vision - it was night:
We clove a pathway through a frantic throng:
The steeds, wild-plunging, filled us with affright:
The chariots whirled along.
Within a marble hall a river ran -
A living tide, half muslin and half cloth:
And here one mourned a broken wreath or fan,
Yet swallowed down her wrath;
And here one offered to a thirsty fair
(His words half-drowned amid those thunders tuneful)
Some frozen viand (there were many there),
A tooth-ache in each spoonful.
There comes a happy pause, for human strength
Will not endure to dance without cessation;
And every one must reach the point at length
Of absolute prostration.
At such a moment ladies learn to give,
To partners who would urge them over-much,
A flat and yet decided negative -
Photographers love such.
There comes a welcome summons - hope revives,
And fading eyes grow bright, and pulses quicken:
Incessant pop the corks, and busy knives
Dispense the tongue and chicken.
Flushed with new life, the crowd flows back again:
And all is tangled talk and mazy motion -
Much like a waving field of golden grain,
Or a tempestuous ocean.
And thus they give the time, that Nature meant
For peaceful sleep and meditative snores,
To ceaseless din and mindless merriment
And waste of shoes and floors.
And One (we name him not) that flies the flowers,
That dreads the dances, and that shuns the salads,
They doom to pass in solitude the hours,
Writing acrostic-ballads.
How late it grows! The hour is surely past
That should have warned us with its double knock?
The twilight wanes, and morning comes at last -
"Oh, Uncle, what's o'clock?"
The Uncle gravely nods, and wisely winks.
It MAY mean much, but how is one to know?
He opens his mouth - yet out of it, methinks,
No words of wisdom flow.
II
Empress of Art, for thee I twine
This wreath with all too slender skill.
Forgive my Muse each halting line,
And for the deed accept the will!
O day of tears! Whence comes this spectre grim,
Parting, like Death's cold river, souls that love?
Is not he bound to thee, as thou to him,
By vows, unwhispered here, yet heard above?
And still it lives, that keen and heavenward flame,
Lives in his eye, and trembles in his tone:
And these wild words of fury but proclaim
A heart that beats for thee, for thee alone!
But all is lost: that mighty mind o'erthrown,
Like sweet bells jangled, piteous sight to see!
"Doubt that the stars are fire," so runs his moan,
"Doubt Truth herself, but not my love for thee!"
A sadder vision yet: thine aged sire
Shaming his hoary locks with treacherous wile!
And dost thou now doubt Truth to be a liar?
And wilt thou die, that hast forgot to smile?
Nay, get thee hence! Leave all thy winsome ways
And the faint fragrance of thy scattered flowers:
In holy silence wait the appointed days,
And weep away the leaden-footed hours.
III.
The air is bright with hues of light
And rich with laughter and with singing:
Young hearts beat high in ecstasy,
And banners wave, and bells are ringing:
But silence falls with fading day,
And there's an end to mirth and play.
Ah, well-a-day
Rest your old bones, ye wrinkled crones!
The kettle sings, the firelight dances.
Deep be it quaffed, the magic draught
That fills the soul with golden fancies!
For Youth and Pleasance will not stay,
And ye are withered, worn, and gray.
Ah, well-a-day!
O fair cold face! O form of grace,
For human passion madly yearning!
O weary air of dumb despair,
From marble won, to marble turning!
"Leave us not thus!" we fondly pray.
"We cannot let thee pass away!"
Ah, well-a-day!
IV.
My First is singular at best:
More plural is my Second:
My Third is far the pluralest -
So plural-plural, I protest
It scarcely can be reckoned!
My First is followed by a bird:
My Second by believers
In magic art: my simple Third
Follows, too often, hopes absurd
And plausible deceivers.
My First to get at wisdom tries -
A failure melancholy!
My Second men revered as wise:
My Third from heights of wisdom flies
To depths of frantic folly.
My First is ageing day by day:
My Second's age is ended:
My Third enjoys an age, they say,
That never seems to fade away,
Through centuries extended.
My Whole? I need a poet's pen
To paint her myriad phases:
The monarch, and the slave, of men -
A mountain-summit, and a den
Of dark and deadly mazes -
A flashing light - a fleeting shade -
Beginning, end, and middle
Of all that human art hath made
Or wit devised! Go, seek HER aid,
If you would read my riddle!
poem by Lewis Carroll
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Remember: Y'all is singular. All y'all is plural. All y'all's is plural possessive.
quote by Kinky Friedman
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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This Crazy English Language
English is crazy, we do explore
Singular and plural, probe for more
If goose for geese and tooth for teeth
Why isn't the plural of booth, beeth?
English speakers, verbally insane
Learning this language is really a pain
Index to indices, teachers taught
Why didn't those preachers praught?
Feet that smell, noses that run
Away with murder, such a pun
Play at recital, recite at play
Oral asylum, what else could it be?
poem by Noel A Medina
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Indefinite Pronouns and the Universe
He said;
his arm flowing outward;
'The problem of the 21st Century
is the Indefinite Pronoun.
We're all everyone and no one
indefinite;
pronoun, but not a noun
the universal vagueness
of time, meaning, and identity,
rather like the cloud of electrons
flying around the nucleus of the atom
there and not there;
but capable of being anywhere
or in two places at the same time;
holding many beliefs constantly shifting,
feeling fervently one thing and its opposites
the next minute,
being who am I this minute
and not who I am the next minute;
in a world changing fast
speeding up
and speeding up faster
and faster;
indistinct
shadowy
flashing lights
spark
racing by
approaching
and not approaching the speed of light.
There I'm me, us
none of us;
we,
I
have said it;
both me?
The Indefinite Pronoun Defined
'Singular: another, anybody, anyone, anything, each, either, everybody, everyone, everything, little, much, neither, nobody, no one, nothing, one, other, somebody, someone, something
Plural: both, few, many, others, several.
Singular or Plural: all, any, more, most, none, some'
--
Is this a bizarre definition or what?
More bizarre, if this definition is literally true.
Modern Physics says this definition is literally true;
an accurate description of us and the universe
in which we live,
things popping in and out of existence.
We live in this universe and most likely have to come to
understand, like the indefinite pronoun,
we too, as individuals
and as collectives,
pop in and out of existence.
Not duality,
but multiplicities.
How else to explain
how we can harbor contradictory
beliefs;
sometime many many
in a single day?
And feelings too.
Am I changed in all of this
or merely your view of me?
Devil or Saint?
Depends apparently
upon what
time it is.
poem by Lonnie Hicks
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I keep referring to them in the plural but all I'm dealing with is Bob. I don't know where Harvey fits in the equation. He was very present at the beginning, winding his brother up. I don't know where he is now.
quote by Terry Gilliam
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Two eyes are not alike.
The God has made a mistake
When He made two eyes for human.
That is why, they do not see things alike
Things in plural invite bias.
21.04.2001, Pmdi
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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It hurts the spirit, somehow, to read the word environments, when the plural means that there are so many alternatives there to be sorted through, as in a market, and voted on.
quote by Lewis Thomas
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Further, a document names and identifies the actual Red Light Bandits (plural), because in fact there are two.
quote by Caryl Chessman
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Noun Song
There are many types of different nouns
Plurals, possessives, and compounds
But today we are doing specific nouns
Listen first then sing it around!
This is the noun song
This is the noun song
Listen first then sing along
Listen first then sing along
This is the noun song
This is the noun song
Come on guys let's sing along
Come on guys let's sing along
Possessives are nouns that belong to you
Let's see what you can do
The more you use them the more you got
So come on now give it a shot!
FOR PLURAL:
The students' don't have any homework!
Apostrophe after s or it doesn't work!
FOR SINGULAR:
The student's dog ate his book!
S after apostrophe hey just look!
Dude this isn't a lie,
So come on now give it a try!
This is the noun song
This is the noun song
Listen first then sing along
Listen first then sing along
This is the noun song
This is the noun song
We'll sing it all day long
Come on guys let's sing along
Two words together is a contraction
Let me see, What's your reaction?
What's, let's, don't, can't,
You can do it,
YES YOU CAN! ! !
This is the noun song
This is the noun song
Come on guys just sing along
Come on guys just sing along
This is the noun song
This is the noun song
You can't get it wrong
So come on now just sing along!
When you're all by yourself
And you need more than one
Add an -s or -es
Then you'll find someone
And that is...
A PLURAL NOUN!
This is the noun song
This is the noun song
Come on just sing along
Come on just sing along
This is the noun song
This is the noun song
Come on guys let's sing along
Come on guys let's sing along
This is the noun song
We sang along!
poem by Mystykka Mysterious
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The plural of anecdote is data.
quote by Ben J. Wattenberg
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Media, the plural of mediocrity.
quote by Jimmy Breslin
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Sex in The City
Sex in the city sex in the rural
Sex is singular sex is plural,
Sensual serene, swimming with satisfaction
Adam made love to his rib, with locomotion
Did it ever become so popular?
So popular it populated the planet!
There’s sex in dance
Sex in hip hop
Shake your bewdy,
There’s sex in a glance
Sex in a dress
Sex in a smile.
There’s sex in square shoulders
And in a masters beguile.
It sits forever in the manly brain.
Then all it takes for
Phenominal woman
Is a wink,
For man to give everthing
Including his sink.
Indeed this is not a curse,
Only a frame for
Our sex based universe
poem by Ken e Hall
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Gone to plural
I accept your proposal
Gone to plural.
I am not stupid
And done good deed.
You ask what
Tell me flat.
I have no answer
You are my sir
And only Sir.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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Plural
Do not pluck the flower
left them where they are
beauty in original
watch and enjoy
how life is plural.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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Poetry Is Sexy
Poetry is sexy
Its lyrics aim to please
Poetry is sexy
Engaging in its tease
Poetry is sexy
It radiates with verb
Poetry is sexy
Every idyllic word
Poetry is sexy
Refined for purity
Poetry is sexy
Stripped of subtlety
Poetry is sexy
When read between the lines
Poetry is sexy
Laced with frilly rhymes
Poetry is sexy
Both singular and plural
Poetry is sexy
Every exclamatory swirl
Poetry is sexy
Grammatically raw
Poetry is sexy
Even typos and all
Poetry is sexy
Consummated publicly
Poetry is sexy
When performed properly
Poetry is sexy
Irrespective of its font
Poetry is sexy
Fashioned any way you want
poem by Brian Dorn
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Man is this plural and collective unity in which the unity of destination and the differences of destinies are to be understood through each other.
quote by Paul Ricoeur
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sage Law Wisdom Learned
Universal law of life
respected wise people
knowledgeable wise
experienced seasoned
in wisdom life learned
Revered for wisdom
revered for good
judgement wisdom
long experience gained
really lifetime learned?
Sage law dictates
law of young born old
old soul life reborn
old soul new born
past lessons learned
Sixty at sixteen
pales beside wisdom
universal at five six
eyes watching
eye knowing
Eyes thinking
mind expanding
listening learning
absorbing time
prepare life purpose
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Voyager
Was thinking about taking a trip
But on the subject of the matter
I couldn’t make a decision – a
simple thing like this shouldn’t
require much thought – let’s see
now, is it called travel or passage;
will it be short or long; will it be
by flight or over water; will it be
a journey or expedition; will it be
a written account or the account
itself; will it be an enterprise or
undertaking; will it be to the Mts.
or the seven seas; will it be foreign
or to a local place; will it be
considered as material for a narrative,
or used in the plural; will I sail across
a desert or traverse the ocean depths;
will I bear the burden or use a transport;
Now my head is spinning ‘round – just
need to find a neutral corner – dear dairy...
‘2008’
poem by Robert Sheridan
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African Plural Marriage
African plural marriage,
Like the life and the culture of my people;
For the most common marriage in Africa was,
Polygamy before the Missionaries came in.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Strictly deictic
Just a nobody
Doing something
To persons singular plural
In the name of somebody
Strictly deictic
Anaphorically cataphorically
Disoriented discourse
Crying for a hypertext
Interpreting texterpreting
Archeological planes layers
Flying down the bottomless pit
Of lg meaning pluralism prisms
You want rational irrational to wipe away
Little wet wipes to disinfect
Make it more simple access no denied
But it does not work
There they did it
Deictic addicts quite auxiliarly verbally void
Of context
To wipe away the subjects objects complementary burdens
Strictly functionally practically
Might be easier to live that way
Send their faces to the stars
That never refused to accept them
The future is a bride-to-be a bridge-to-be
Crossing for a somebody who dared to cross
It might ask pronominally
Was it the same way
The day you gave the names
To all the animals
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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