Dickens Poems - Poems about Dickens

Charles John Huffam Dickens wrote many novels where the plot thickened but one of his best ditties was A Tale of two Cities ...

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Jingle bells and reindeer smells -- note to Mrs. Clause: before Eve-trip, to reduce scent and slip, no beer and sardines for Rudolph! That damn Guiding Red-nose needs to find other fuel for his radiant beam-glows! (takes a lot to piss-off Santa) It was a foul dilemma: Every time Dancer, Donner and Blitzen rose, Santa was forced to awkwardly stretch and pinch each...

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Happy 212th birthday Charles Dickens Though written three hundred and sixty five days ago, the following poetic commemoration doth not warrant any modification. Said prolific author born February 7, 1812, whose living descendents I would be thrilled to befriend, hence if anonymous reader by some genetic fluke linkedin to said prolific storied author please kindly reciprocate. greetings mutual friend, hard times dash great expectations in...

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Charles Dickens his novels began as writing compositions with hilarity and kindness, he wrote of the poor with stories we still love that from his pen did pour...

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Social critic and novelist Charles Dickens - The plot of his every book so interestingly thickens! Not only the creator of Scrooge was he; He revived the Christmas spirit for you and for me....

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love through sacrifice even unto death . . . a lost soul’s hope for salvation...

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Oliver Twist Great Expectations A Christmas Carol author Charles Dickens worked in a boot-blacking factory at age twelve after father was sent to debtor’s prison campaigned vigorously for children’s rights...

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born February 7, 1812, whose living descendents I would be thrilled to befriend, hence if anonymous reader by some genetic fluke linkedin to said prolific storied author please kindly reciprocate. greetings mutual friend, hard times dash great expectations in this bleak house, whereby battle of life ensues when Sunday chimes from master humphrey’s clock issue somber american notes invoking overshadowing doom from young gentlemen: oliver twist,...

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Dickens Christmas carol revisited by nicked saint Frigidaire - from upper atmosphere hammering and whipsawing debris ferociously with an angry flare, cuz mother nature - fed up to here (re: envision me hands indicating over top of head) for humanity scurrying without a care leaving heavy-duty footprints blotting out those of Santa Claus' ancestral reindeer (and indiscriminately trouncing flora and fauna...

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My maths teacher said I'll be nothing, Algebra and calculus caught me dozing. My Chem teacher condemned me too, For chemicals sent me straight to the loo. In physics I was called dumb, For machines made my mind numb. Nothing but words excites my passion. Lyrics and sonnets the real temptation. Dickens and Ng?gi I...

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I If u loved, you may write sound poetry; If u loved & lost, words add a higher degree Of lonely beauty and crowded clarity As was true of Dickinson, POET, Lady, my EMILY II Life and breath can yield great writing Love and loss point to truth, reuniting Where all are level, Scripture doth remind Before this act, stage, LILA in Hindu mind...

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aforementioned author born February 7, 1812 the long deceased (centuries) storied author I toot and trumpet virtual horn accompanying pet rooster first thing in the morn. Greetings mutual friend, hard times dash Great Expectations in this Bleak House whereby battle of life ensues when Sunday chimes from Master Humphrey’s clock somber American notes invoking overshadowing doom from young gentlemen: Oliver Twist, Nicholas Nickleby, Barnaby Rudge Martin...

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Oh, don’t flatter me with presents from the Ghost of Christmas Past. Tis the season for nostalgia, but those feelings never last. It’s a gift-wrapped empty promise not worth tuppence on the street, Or a ticket to the opera when you’ve nothing left to eat. Oh, don’t weary me with visions from the Ghost of...

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Charles Dickend mimiced people of his day by instalments he had his say He satorised manners of his time helping poets(like me) to poesy rimes...

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In lengthening slumberous reposes lies Dickens' sterling pen under bluish skies; And through them gloats deathless sun, Taunting all that under his embers burn. No more savoring of Oliver’s twisty trials In doleful dints and extra-nuanced miles; Nor shall of tested Nell all posterity hear, Cooed in sweetly plaintive rhythms dear. Nicholas Nickleby's adventures now Must halt and take a somnolent...

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