Couplets

                                                Gungy Couplet

The land it needs some rain they tell;

It needs some elbow grease as well.

                                             Hard Sense Couplet

He who travels on his face

Seldom ever wins the race.

A wisp of straw chewed now and then

Beats idle talk by idle men.

One man grows rich, another poor,

But only God and truth endure.

c. May 31, 1914

(The first two were clipped onto a page containing the third and fourth, that being the back of

the same Royal Insurance Company Ltd. stationary as two other poems from May 31, 1914)

Keep Out of Your Tracks

Lives of great men oft remind us,

     We can rise by means of toil;

And, departing, leave behind us

     Footprints in the new-turned soil

May 31, 1914

                                            

More Truth Than Poetry

Here is some up an’ down advice,

     For country and for town:

If you would hev good crops come up

     The weeds must be kep’ down.

May 31, ‘14

                                              

When I Get Time

I’m going to do a lot of things

     When I get time;

I’ll do ‘em up complete, by jings,

     When I get time.

I’ve put ‘em off till by and by,

And day by day they multiply,

But I’ll just put ‘em on the fly,

     When I get time.

There’s scores of books I’m going to write

     When I get time;

There’s legal battles I will fight,

     When I get time.

There’s costly presents I will send,

A million dollars I will spend,

And wayward habits I will mend,

     When I get time.

There’s bills galore that I will pay,

     When I get time;

An evening or two to play,

     When I get time.

I’ll square accounts with good and bad,

And soon forget the trials I’ve had –

O, won’t I be a poet glad!

     When I get time.

I’ve set my mind on being good,

     When I get time;

I’ll be much better understood,

     When I get time.

I’ll write some interesting stuff,

O, speed that day with “time enough” –

But I can’t finish up this bluff

     I haven’t time.

May 31, 1903

Fooling The Editors

I cannot sell a line of verse, tho’ why I cannot say. I send out poems every week, but back they come straightway. I send them to the journals all and to the magazines, but back and back they come each day – I don’t know what it means. I’ve sought each cruel editor to learn the reason why, but they’re too busy killing time to furnish a reply. I send them verse historical, and verse in classic strain; I send them ballads dialect but all come back again. They buy my prose in goodly lots, and pay me middling well, but poetry, good poetry, I cannot seem to sell. But I have hit upon a scheme, by which I fool ‘em fine; I now send poems out as prose, and sell them every line.

May 31, 1903

The Sweet Girl Grad

In rosy June

     It makes us glad

To write a rune

     To her, sweet grad.

Though we’re a vet,

     And past, we guess,

We can’t forget

     Her winsomeness.

How fair she looks

     Upon the stage;

Mistress of books

     And all the rage.

To classic land

     She holds the key;

She waves her wand –

     But her we see.

Ah, well! ‘Tis well,

     The sweet girls grad

Fulfils her spell,

     And makes us glad.

She is so tall,

     She is so sweet

The world and all

     Is at her feet.

Too bad it seems

     That by and by,

Her classic dreams

     Must drop and die.

That she must throw

     Aside her book,

And learn to sew

     And sweep and cook!

May 31, ‘10

Cheer Up

The season’s backward cold and wet,

And people rail and fume and fret,

     And are too prone to flaunt it;

But if they’re sore and full of woe

How do they think the mos-qui-to,

     And house fly feel about it?

May 31, ‘10

Dead In The Harness

Poor old Bill has pulled his last load

Over the dusty and rocky road.

Felt his last cut of the driver’s whip,

Made his last tiresome, stumbling trip.

For Bill lies dead on the great highway;

He died in the harness here today.

Faithful old Bill! brave up to the last;

Tugging away at the load so vast.

Pulling and straining the livelong day,

He now lies dead on the great highway.

He did his best, but the last straw broke,

And Bill lies freed from his earthly yoke.

Loved by the children who fed him sweets,

Bill was the favorite of the streets;

And oft could be seen with the noisy pack

Astride of his broad and honest back.

Noble and gentle and steady and slow,

Always ready to stand or go.

But Bill, poor Bill, in a lifeless heap,

Lies dead in his last long restful sleep.

Lies dead in the harness here today,

He died at work on the great highway.

All honor to him, a lesson to men,

A subject worthy the poet’s pen.

May 30, 1903

A Woman’s Reason

Do not seek a woman’s reason

     She has many, all her own;

Simply do the creature’s bidding,

     Let the wherefores all alone.

Follow this advice, my lord,

And you’ll reap a rich reward.

                            Josephine Andrews

                             May 30, 1903

After Clouds

A ray of sunshine after days

     Of clouds and darkened skies

Makes life aglow with new-found joy

     And earth a   paradise.

A hearty laugh, a cheery word

     To break a toilsome strain

Is like the sunshine after clouds,

     And lifts life up again.

May 30, 1902

No Joke

Dear Editor, I’ve sent you jokes

     For more than twenty years;

You’ve never taken one of them

     To raise my sombre fears.

At last you say your “able staff

     Furnishes every stroke;”

And now I see the reason why

     You cannot take a joke.

May 30, ‘99

Pa’s Sacrifice

Don’t shake your head in such a way,

     And look so melancholy;

That you can’t get away today

     Is worse than passing folly.

This is not time to uppish be,

     Don’t think that you can shake him;

Johnny the circus wants to see,

     And someone’s got to take him.

Give up your cares for one half-day,

     Although you hate to do it;

Just be a martyr, by the way,

     In time you will not rue it.

Of course you do not want to go,

     But Johnnie? Don’t forsake him!

He wants to see the circus, so

     Of course you’ll have to take him.

May 30, ‘10

Roses and Thorns

Tomorrow is the first of June,      

     The month of brides and graduates,

The month when hearts are in attune,

     And Cupid’s fond of making dates.

But sure no romance brings to view,

     And Cupid heaves a mournful sigh;

Our life insurance now is due

     Also the tax-bill greets our eye.

May 30, ‘10

Don’t Push Me, Coon

                                                         A Darky Song

O, I does lub a little yaller gal,

     She’s de idol of ma heart;

She’s know’n ole Virginny as de high bo’n Sal,

     But a trash coon he hol’s us a-part.

Dat nig done stole a yaller suit of clo’es,

     An’ he went foh ter see ma gal;

An’ we’n she see ma comin’ she tu’n’d up her nose,

     Did ma ole Virginny high bo’n Sal.

               Spoken:

   (But I waited outside an’ I says)

     Don’t yo’ try ter push me, coon,

     I’se a-gwine ter leave yere soon;

Dar’ll be er crime committed, dar’ll be er coff’n fitted,

     If yo’ try ter push ma coon;

     Don’t yo’ try ter push ma coon,

     ‘Less yo’ wants er funeral soon;

Dar’ll be a missin’ nigger, else I don’t cut any figger,

     If yo’ tries ter push ma, coon.

                   II.

Las’ night I went ter see her yas I did,

     I met her were de jasmine grows;

An’ I tol’ her dat de white man was dead

     Wot had once own’ dat suit of clo’es.

My! But yo’ orter see her eyes snap den,

     She was scat, was ma little yaller gal;

An’ w’en dat coon he come roun ergan

     He was fired by ma ole Virginny Sal.

                Spoken:

   (An’ w’en I shoved him out de do’ I says)

    

May 30, ‘97

Pub. in Boston Courier,

 Sep. 19, 1897

NOTE – I’ve left what are often inappropriate or racial terms and descriptions as written. This is an especially egregious example. They are rare, and probably weren’t seen as objectionable within even New England society at the time. More importantly, they exist, and editing them out would be dishonest. Things were what they were. Still, including them, as I have done, remains awkward for obvious reasons, including personal taste and the harmfulness of their use. Hopefully, doing so will at least present an accurate picture of how ingrained some prejudices, or at least callousness to them, still were at the time, even among some of the more progressive people of the era.

From North To South

               (In answer to Fred Woodward’s poem: “Greeting – To Joe Cone” in the Ad. May 28, ’92)

Fred Woodward and wife: I’ve read your kind greetin’

An’ find in it no evidence of cheatin’.

Your warm words in rhyme from that sunny clime

Seem flavored with “Orange”, “Citron” and “Lime”.

But harkee! if e’er you deny bein’ Yankee

I’ll take the express an’ eternally spank’ee.

If ever I am proud uv myself it is when

I’m called a durn Yankee by women and men.

Your kind words are welcome, and give me fresh start;

They’re Southern in courtness and Northern in heart.

The names uv two more frien’s tho’ miles they’re away,

Have entered my book uv friendship to-day.

I’m glad that my poems hev carried you North

To ol’ Middle Haddam where “Prophets” blaze forth.

An' besides it is cheaper than steamer or rail

An’ quicker than shankin’ o’er hill an’ through dale.

May many long years bless you an’ the madam,

Is the wish uv a native uv ol’ East Haddam.

May 30, ‘92

Conn. Valley

Advertiser

Bzz-zz-zz-!

Bzz, bzz,

Gee Whizz!

Mosquitoes once more;

And summer

Beautiful summer

Fully a score

Of days hence.

Whence

Comes the rascally mites

To make our nights

Hideous? Now

I vow,

Cold or hot,

We’ve got

All this flurry

And worry,

And rapping,

And slapping,

And brewing,

And stewing,

And fussing,

And cussing,

And hitching

And itching

To do

Over again; Whew!

It makes me blue.

Will someone please tell

Why in – well,

Why mosquitoes is

Anyway?

Gee whizz!

Bzz, bzz!

May 29, 1904

The Good Old Boys In Blue

Oh, see them marching down the street

     With slow and painful tread;

Once more to hold communion sweet

     O’er graves of honored dead.

Once more beneath the flashing stars,

     And folds of magic hue;

Once more beneath the waving bars,

     Our good old boys in blue.

Give me the boys in blue,

The good old boys in blue;

They’re bent and gray,

And few today,

But hearts beat just as true.

Cheer loud and long today,

Praise them in song today;

     Let honor fall

     Upon them all,

The good old boys in blue.

May time deal gently with their ranks,

     Their most persistent foe;

May they receive a nation’s thanks,

     Small part of what we owe.

Strew roses for their aching feet,

     Join with the drum’s tattoo;

Give them a welcome up the street,

     The good old boys in blue.

Give me the boys in blue,

The dear old boys in blue;

     As side by side

     With old time pride

They pass in slow review.

Cheer long and long today,

Praise them in song today;

     Let honor fall

     Upon them all,

The good old boys in blue.

May 29, ‘09

                           

                                                          http://photo.libraryweb.org/rochimag/rmsc/scm05/scm05046.jpg