Statistics Poetry


TS Contributor
by Peter Sprangers

Come with me and we shall go
a place that only n has known

a kingdom distant and sublime
whose ruler is the greatest prime

a land where infinite sums can rest
and undergrads shall take no test

a place where every child you see
writes poems about the C.L.T.

where cdf's converge to one
and every day is filled with sun.

where we can jump time's famous hurdle
and watch Achilles beat the turtle

and every stat plucked from a tree
is, without proof, U.M.V.U.E.

where joy o'erflows the cornucopia
in this, the land of Asymptopia.


Active Member
My Cat And Me (ballad of identifiability)

Oh! My cat, my cat and me
sing this song of identifiability

For if the mathematician
cannot fit a solution snug
there the statistician
must also shrug


Active Member
Beware the Bayesian (an epic tale in 3 parts)

Part One: A villain appears

Through the smog and slimy hollows
Creeps an evil fiendish fellow
whose heart is cold,
and beliefs are prior,
he throws small children
into fires

with skin of scales,
teeth like knives
god forsaken,
no-ones friend
he is the terrible Bayesian

he'll skew your posterior
and make your intervals incredible
he treats the family
pet as edible

hell hurt your sister
he steals when he borrows
He gobbles all your bytes
with his monte carlos

There is but one
who can save us
from this sophist
look there, now cometh
the noble


Active Member
Twas the night before t-test, when all through the boxplot
Not a creature was boxplot, not even a mouse;
The t-tests were hung by the chimney with care
In hopes that St. boxplot soon would be there;
The t-tests were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of boxplots danced in their heads;
And mamma in her boxplot, and I in my cap,
Had just settled our boxplots for a long winter’s nap,
When out on the t-test there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the boxplot to see what was the matter.
Away to the t-test I flew like a flash,
Tore open the boxplot and threw up the sash.
The moon on the t-test of the new-fallen snow
Gave the lustre of mid-day to boxplots below,
When, what to my wondering t-test should appear,
But a miniature boxplot, and eight tiny reindeer,
With a little old boxplot, so lively and quick,
I knew in a histogram it must be St. Nick.


Active Member
He she have but at least; but other, my
Is therefore, but all rely earth, with each
Case, and therefore in thy from memory,
Kill me with one conception in large distance

Should of time that bears the boy provides
On the show; however privilege proved
Or population merit do not from
My drooping eyelids to perform at random

Variables so the observed. The old world,
Breathed is old, but if not love and the
Presence grace, proving his page while I honour
Of the map of three winters professionals

Make those gold disciplines, but other
Categorizations leave for the two.


Active Member
John Jacob Jingleheimer Schmidt
His name is my name too
When ever we go out
The people always shout
There goes John Jacob Jingleheimer boxplot!
Ba da da da da