The Joy Of Your Lips

The joy of your lips is a joy intense,

     I live on the bliss they impart;

And the thrill I feel,

              At their warmth and zeal

     Is a dream divine, sweetheart.

Do you wonder I’m loth to let go

     When the hour of parting draws nigh?

Do you wonder dear

              That I hold you near

     And kiss you in ecstasy?

The joy of your lips, with their red rose hue,

     And their lines that are sharp and clear,

Is a joy no pen

               Could portray to men,

     And I’d best not try it, I fear.

I will lock the truth in my secret heart,

     To be ever for me and mine;

For I know no bliss

              To compare with this,

     The touch of your lips divine.

c. May 2 - 10, ’04 (?)

Hard Pushed

                                     (after “Col.” Bill Lampton, otherwise known as W.J.) 

Say

W.J.

Lampton, I

Don’t want to try

To follow in your footsteps, see,

But things are going bum with me.

My hand seems to have lost its cunning

Since, day after day I go a-gunning

For ideas and verses to bring me fame,

But day by day I get no game.

The cow of poesy won’t give down;

A strike is on in Boston town,

Not only with the men who grow the milk,

Middlemen, contractors and all their ilk,

But the goddess muse seems to refuse

To pay her dues and so the blues

My poor poetic path pursues.

And so, old Lampy, every time

I get stuck for decent rhyme

I take up this see-saw gait

You’ve worked so well of late

And hammer out some stuff,

Along the line of fluff,

Which seems to fill

The bill, and still, Bill,

I hate to walk

On your line of talk,

But have to at times

To get rhymes

To fill

Space

Bill!

May 2, ‘10

https://books.google.com/books?id=UXZHAAAAYAAJ&pg=PA105&lpg=PA105&dq=Yawp+school+verse&source=bl&ots=Qc95TXxah5&sig=PTN_MMAXvrUN48nKRLG269wjfPs&hl=en&sa=X&ei=VT09VYP8IIGZsAXGzoGgBA&ved=0CDgQ6AEwBA#v=onepage&q=fred&f=false

                          http://timesmachine.nytimes.com/timesmachine/1917/05/31/102349299.html?pageNumber=11

Shina Da Shoe

Da girla she come evra day,

She smila each time as she say:

     “Tomasso, I wanta da shine,

     You do eet so awfulla fine,

I hope you are wella today.”

She step in da chair lika sprite

She nice, so pretta, polite,

     I bow an’ I blush,

     I taka my brush,

An’ pulla da cutain so tight.

     Ah! I lika for shina her shoe,

     An’ heara da peeka-da-boo;

            No lika for shina da man

            He weara da bigga brogan,

     An’ he taka a long time to do.

She worka da styleesh, beeg store,

She counta dam on from each floor.

     She tipa me too,

     For shina her shoe,

An’ smila good by at da door.

Weesh I was ‘Merican chap,

I maka love for her perhap;

     But I only Dago

     For shina sho, so

I gotta but “ha-ha” weeth slap.

     Ah! I lika for shina her shoe,

     Her stockin’ ees soft pala blue;

            No lika for shina da man

            He weara da bigga brogan,

     An’ no smila nor tipa me too.

May 2, 1908

Ammunition

A little sermon, not too long,

     But full of powder new,

Will penetrate a wall more strong,

And scatter further midst the throng

     Than hours of rant

     Or weary cant

     Can ever do.

May 1, ‘09

Untitled (bed beside stream)

Give me a bed beside a shaded stream,

Where I could rest and poetize and dream,

And gladly I’d forget all else there’d be

     Excepting God and just the things I see.

May 1, 1902

Sent to Sports Afield

Untitled (Kiser)

In Chicago’s a poet named Kiser,

In the poetic world a quick riser;

     He went up like a rocket

     And now has a full pocket,

And pours out his muse like a giser.

                          c. May 1, 1903

Samuel Ellsworth (S.E.) Kiser (1862-1942) was a Chicago Newspaperman and poet.

     Loves Sonnets of an Office Boy (Sonnet 10)

I WISH, when you was through your work some night
And goin' home alone, and had your pay
Stuck in your stockin'--what you drew that day--
A robber'd come along with all his might
And you'd be nearly scared to death, and right
There in the street you'd almost faint and say:
'Good robber, please don't hurt me--go away!'
And as he grabbed you then I'd come in sight.

I wish I'd be as strong as two or three
Big giants then, and when I handed one
Out to him he'd be through, all in, and done,
And then you'd look and see that it was me,
And, thinkin' of the great escape you had,
You'd snuggle in my arms and just be glad. 

                                                     

Red An’ Rosy June

O, red and rosy June time, the pride of all the year;

When lovers lose their senses, and maidens act so queer.

Our song it may be noisy, but we cannot stop the tune

‘Cuz we’re set on gettin’ married in the red an’ rosy June.

May 1^st, 1895

Pub. in

B. Courier,

June 9,

   95 

Politeness Pays

In the schoolroom, on the playground,

     In the street and everywhere,

Be polite, and kind, and noble,

     Unto all you meet with there.

When you’ve grown to men and women,

     Men who’ve seen your kindly ways

May make room for you in business,

     For they know politeness pays.

May 1^st, 1895

Pub. in Boston

Standard, Jr.,

June 5, 1895 

A Hint In Season

                 He

Sing a song of May-time, flowers rare and sweet;

Flowers for you, darling, let us strew them at your feet.

                      She

Sing a song of May-time, save your shekels, dear;

Guess you have forgotten June is getting pretty near.

May 1^st, 1895

Pub. in Boston

Courier, May 12,

  1895

No Two Alike

Men differ; no two alike so to speak;

Condemn not thy brother because he is weak.

‘Tis not weakness wholly; ‘tis self in part,

Perchance small in courage but mighty in heart.

May 1, ‘93

Pub. in B.

Courier, April 8,

     ‘94 

Love

Love has taught me how to live,

To receive and how to give;

Love has brought me Heaven’s glow,

Love has taught me all I know.

May 1, ‘93

Pub. in Boston

Courier, Dec. 2,

1894

May

I allus like the month o’ May,

The time fur gittin under way

The garden an’ the orchard prime,

To meet the golden harvest time!

April, 1911

Sent to G.F.S

          for May, 1911 

The Magic Line

There was a man in our town –

     (It pays to advertise.)

Who by an auto was run down –

(It pays to advertise.)

The auto fled upon its way,

It didn’t stop a word to say;

The victim purchased one next day –

     (It pays to advertise.)

The Turk sat in his guarded tent –

     (It pays to advertise.)

He couldn’t stand the dire event –

     (It pays to advertise.)

His wives stood round him in a row

The people called he would not go

Because he loved the turkey so –

     (It pays to advertise.)

A hunter bold went forth to shoot –

     (It pays to advertise.)

With made to order gun and boot –

     (It pays to advertise.)

Who wouldn’t risk the jungle bird

And beast of which we’ve never heard,

For stories for on plunk per word –

     (It pays to advertise.)

April 30, ‘09

Head Work, This

“Man wants but little here below,

     Nor wants that little long”;

He’s just content to hoe his row,

     And hum a little song.

How different with womankind!

     By fatal fashion led;

She wants the most that she can find,

     And wants it on her head.

April 30, ‘09

Telltale Straws

Straws show which way      

     The current runs;

A theme too good

     For jokes and puns.

An empty creel

     Shows facts for talk;

That run of fish

     Was but a walk.

Apr. 30, ‘09

A Coffin-Nail Limerick

There was once a young fellow named Spinute,

Who smoked cigarettes every minute;

     His parents did rave

     Till he looked very “grave”,

And now he’s decidedly inute.

c. April 30, ‘05

In Apple Blossom Land

O, to be there again today

     And holding her small hand,

Out where the apple blossoms sway

     In apple blossom land.

‘Twas there I saw her years ago,

     ‘Twas there I saw her stand

Beneath the tree as white as snow,

     In apple blossom land.

Her gown was soft and pink and white,

     And clung in folds e-now;

She looked as though she were a sprite

     Dropped from the apple bough.

And apple blossoms filled her hair,

     And lay upon her hand;

But she, the fairest blossom there,

     In apple blossom land.

O, years! A, love! Where hast thou fled?

     The apple blossoms fall,

And fruit bends down from the bows instead,

     Is plucked and that is all!

But let me see her stand once more,

     And hold her little hand,

‘Neath shower blossoms as of yore,

     In apple blossom land!

April 30, ‘10

Am-fib-ious

He was a neat philosopher,

     While wading down a stream one day

He slipped and fell and plunged therein,

     And like a submerged porpoise lay.

And when he calmly reached the bank

     He put his friend’s course jest to rout;

“I’ve often wished to know,” quoth he,

     “Just how it feels to be a trout.”

April 30, ‘07

A Trip to Bossieland

All aboard! We are off in our aeroplane,

     We will bid the old earth “good bye”,

We cannot stay here and suffer in vain

     While the farmers are keeping us dry.

We will up and away to the realms on high,

     From the sound of the smokeless fray;

All aboard! We are off for a rich supply

     From the cows of the Milky Way.

                                 April 30, ‘10