Right- before I start this post please be assured that I have thought about what I am about to type, so if John is offended, I am sorry, but I believe I am ‘technically correct’, though that is not always a defence. I add this comment only as it relates to poetry, not anyone’s personal experience. John- this is not to do you down, but if you can see where I’m coming from, future poetry will be better…

Anyway (now I’ve made you all pre-emptively hate me).

Noel is technically the better poet. I actually found him easier to read, and more importantly, to comprehend.  The reason for this is the same reason as the fact that John’s poem, while moving, didn’t work for me.

John’s poem was ‘doggerel’- meaning that the function had to fit the form- he forced it to rhyme in the ‘correct’ place.

Noel’s rhymes are there, and appear to be in the correct place.  You don’t notice them, but it seems to flow correctly (caveat- I haven’t fully analysed the poem).  This is because his lines fit what he wants to say, not the other way round.  The overall form reminds me of T S Eliot.

I actually tried to ‘clean it up’, but it doesn’t fit.  Those who say it’s not poetry because it has no form or rhyme are those who don’t understand poetry. Yes there is the odd tweak that could be done, but I suspect this was a first draft, and Noel was not the sort to draft and redraft for professional polish on poetry. If so, it’s pretty damn good. I have saved a copy on my hard drive.

John- Noel was a rare one. Hold his memory true.

But what do you think of these limericks, Last Hussar? I’ll give you sufficient warning that they are in very poor taste.

There was a young man from Peru,
who fell asleep in his canoe,
while dreaming of Venus,
he played with his penis
and woke up covered in goo.

There once was a lady named Dot
Who lived off of pigshit and snot.
When she ran out of these
She ate the green cheese
That she grew on the sides of her twat.

Then there is always the following, immortalized by Kurt Vonnegut:

There was a young man from Stamboul,
Who soliloquized thus to his tool:
“You took all my wealth
And you ruined my health,
And now you won´t pee, you old fool.”

I’m joining the chorus a bit late, I know, but I’m sorry to read that about Noel, John. There’s nothing in the world that is more tragic than suicide.

Nothing against limerics, Sadie- I can some times remember the occasional foul one meself. However the form of the poem forces itself on the sentences, as does the need to rhyme. If the inspiration was a young man from Brazil, you can only hope that he fell asleep on a hill. Because the meaning has no consequence, only the punch line, invariably the last line in a limerick, the actual content is largely an afterthought.

Poetry that is trying to convey a feeling/thought/etc is bound by the ideas/objects that inspired the feeling.

Writing a limerick can be rough
You can not do it off the cuff
Different spellings sometimes rhyme
You can’t trust this all the time
I don’t think this is too bad though

Submit the word you see below: Analysis- how apt is that?

LH: Noel is technically the better poet.

I know. Thanks for the comments/observations.
I thought with all the warnings I was going to be offended. Not in the least.

S-Sadie: There’s nothing in the world that is more tragic than suicide.

For the living, yes. But Noel, poor tortured soul, is at peace now.
I don’t how important/relevant it is but we were both there as Vietnam Veterans, learning about and ‘coming to terms’ with PTSD.

The past has no future
The present holds some,
But the past and the future to me are one.
My mind is in two worlds, which I have to overcome,
And to live in this world,
I must become one. ..... Noel. 

But life is for living so ... 

I thought with all the warnings I was going to be offended. Not in the least.

Phew.

The caveat was there because I know writing poetry (no matter how good or bad) is a personal experience, and often a way of saying ‘This is me’.  Prose just doesn’t seem to work much of the time. I make no judgement on your sincerity.

LH: I make no judgement on your sincerity.

Cool but, even if you did, it’s MY problem. I try to remember:
No one can make you feel inferior without your consent. Eleanor Roosevelt

If you liked Sadie’s limericks, how about this one, courtesy of Daniel Dennett in Breaking the Spell:

There was a young lady of Tuck
Who had the most horrible luck
She went out in a punt
And fell over the front
And got bit on the leg by a duck.

An old English-major girlfriend of mine and I once had a friendly competition writing limericks.  Hers were much better than mine, which tended to the absurd.  One time, she challenged me to write a limerick with a line composed of only one word.  Here it is:

The limerick verse form, you see,
Epistemologically,
Is the sine qua non
The mot that is bon
Of polyglot perversity.

Zilch:

The limerick verse form, you see,
Epistemologically,
Is the sine qua non
The mot that is bon
Of polyglot perversity.

It’s cute--I especially dig the polysyllabic second line.

Lest we forget the venerable haiku, here’s my offering:

My head, how it aches.
My mate’s hormones rage madly
By my side, damn him.

Usually he’s the one pushing me away.

Nice, Sadie!  Those madcap hormones!  Here’s another haiku:

My haikus are bad.
But they do have one thing right:
The five-seven-five.

“so, in other words,
I love you like you would love
me if I were you”

ouch. It went something like that. I don’t remember where I heard it. Never got over it though.

Usually he’s the one pushing me away.

I can’t imagine turning down sex with anyone I was in a relationship with.

I’m trying to write the longest first line that poetry ever had
For a start that wasn’t bad
Now here comes a longer oneeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee
I know I cheated:
It was the only way I could avoid being defeated.

Any one know who did that?

One of my (irregular sounding)limericks

The once was a young Mr.
Who spoke to a girl, and then Kr. (think about it)
She said ‘It was a fright
until I found out last night
It’s ok, he’s a Dr’

I love to play with the irregulaties like this.

Whats the plural of the following

Mouse
Louse
House
?

Why?
Also why isn’t the singular of dice, a douce?

Hussar!  Here’s a variant inspired by your limerick:

There once was a handsome young Mr.
Who spoke to a girl, and then Kr.
But then comes the Mrs.
She spits and she Hrs.
And the girl? Why, that Mrs. Dr.

Whats the plural of the following

Mouse
Louse
House
?
Why?

Why? For the very same reason that you have:
Maus/Mäuse
Haus/Häuser
Laus/Läuse

These are old forms which have survived into Modern English, where the grammatical change from singular to plural is indicated by an umlaut, that is, a change of the vowel to indicate grammatical change.  Many German plurals are still made this way, but English has discarded most of them for the more uniform “-s”, “-es” plural form, following the general trend of languages to evolve from having an initially simply inflected grammar, to highly inflected, and back to simply inflected again.  English is further along than German in this respect, probably due to its more eclectic evolution.

Last Hussar:
The once was a young Mr.
Who spoke to a girl, and then Kr. (think about it)
She said ‘It was a fright
until I found out last night
It’s ok, he’s a Dr’

Zilch:
There once was a handsome young Mr.
Who spoke to a girl, and then Kr.
But then comes the Mrs.
She spits and she Hrs.
And the girl? Why, that Mrs. Dr.

Love ‘em.