I am the Absent-Minded Archivist, and I catalogue things that never asked to be kept. Bent metaphors. Unfinished sentences. Entire afternoons misplaced between the letters N and O. Somewhere in that leaning tower of paper lives my fondness for nonsense verse, though I didn’t know its name at first. I only knew how it felt when sense loosened its collar and sat down for a rest.
Nonsense Verse on the Shelves of Experience
I don’t collect nonsense verse because it is silly. I collect it because it survives being felt. When days grow loud — like those described in Miss Amplification’s unpleasant moments — sense becomes brittle. Nonsense bends instead.
Vacant Space 2
A holding space for, possible, future development.
People often ask what is nonsense verse, as if it were a specimen requiring labels. To me, it’s a sensation: the relief of language not insisting on efficiency.
Marginal Notes on Nonsense Poetry
I once filed nonsense poetry under Emotional First Aid, though that drawer has since wandered off. Nonsense poetry doesn’t explain; it accompanies. I feel that companionship most when odd sensations visit unannounced, much like those endured by Sir Prickalot, who taught me that endurance doesn’t require clarity.
A Nonsense Poem I Nearly Misplaced
There was a nonsense poem once written on the back of a receipt. I lost it. Or perhaps it escaped. That, too, felt appropriate. A nonsense poem doesn’t mind being forgotten; it knows it will be remembered sideways, if at all.
If you need an example of nonsense verse, I can only offer how it behaves — slipping past seriousness, leaving behind a faint smile and no instructions.
Nonsense Verse, Spoken Aloud
When I read nonsense verse aloud, the room changes shape. Chairs lean in. The clock forgets itself. I’ve seen this effect described elsewhere — even in places like Writing nonsense poems — but descriptions never quite catch the lived moment.
I once shared a reading with Dr Parsley (you may know him). He listened carefully, then said nothing at all. High praise.
On Playful Verse and Serious Days
There are days when seriousness arrives overdressed. On those days, playful verse quietly loosens the room. I rely on playful verse the way others rely on lists — not to control the day, but to survive it gently.
I felt this most keenly while reading a piece about growing old, where humour didn’t erase weight, but made it carryable.
A Note on Nonsense Rhyming Verse
I file nonsense rhyming verse under Rhythm as Refuge. Nonsense rhyming verse doesn’t march — it ambles, trips, recovers, and bows. When feeling slips its moorings, rhyme offers a hand without asking why.
Sometimes, sensations arrive that feel like they belong to a Dismal Dame, where feeling and meaning briefly part ways. That’s when nonsense does its quiet best work.
Nonsense Verse (Misfiled, Naturally)
A teapot sighed at nonsense verse,
And spilled its thoughts in rhyme,
The spoons all danced in paperwork,
Miscounting cups and time.
A filing card forgot its job,
And sang instead of read,
The index laughed, the margins clapped,
The footnotes ran ahead.
I shelved the sound beneath a grin,
And lost it twice, I’m sure,
For nonsense verse prefers to be
Unfound… and still endure.Gentle Reflection
I don’t turn to nonsense verse to escape meaning. I turn to it because meaning loosens when it’s allowed to play. As the Absent-Minded Archivist, I’ve learned that what survives isn’t always what makes sense — it’s what makes room.
Conclusion
If what is nonsense verse must be answered, then my answer is this: it feels like language taking its shoes off. Whether through nonsense poetry, a fleeting nonsense poem, the ease of playful verse, or the comforting sway of nonsense rhyming verse, it remains a companion rather than a lesson. And in a world determined to explain itself, that companionship is quietly invaluable.
One can’t do right for doing wrong.
Stephenism
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