Here are a few of my limericks. Some are about philosophy, some attempt serious subjects, and others are of the traditional rude variety. (My feeling about the last type is they work best when they combine verbal finesse with extreme crudity of content, so please don’t read them if you don’t like that kind of thing.)
St Anselm said, ‘Look, we agree
God’s perfect as perfect can be.
But a thing that’s not real
Is far from ideal
So God must exist. QED.’
George Berkeley, though hardly a hippie,
Propounded a view that’s quite trippy:
The whole of creation
Is pure ideation,
And esse is simply percipi.
As he sat by the stove on his bum,
Descartes hit on a neat rule of thumb:
‘If it’s possible to doubt,
Then cast it right out.’
Which left cogito and, ergo, sum.
Immanuel said, ‘World and mind
Aren’t separate but deeply entwined.
A concept is vacant
Sans percept to take in ‘t,
And percept sans concept is blind.’
Though I’ve mapped every neuronal spike (yes!)
And read all of the relevant psych, guess
I’ll never find out
This thing they can’t doubt
The ineffable what-it-is-likeness.
When your body’s decayed to mere bone
You’ll still live and you’ll reap what you’ve sown,
And the place where you’ll dwell
Isn’t heaven or hell
But the hearts of the people you’ve known.
A synesthete called Mrs Muller
Would classify fucks by their color.
Her lover’s were blue
But hubby’s were very much duller.
A bashful young lady of Nantes
Replied to her husband, ‘I can’t.
I know others do it
But they live to rue it;
You say what you like but I shan’t.’