#1912 #AmericanWriters #RhymesOfARollingStone
'Tis true my garments threadbare a… And sorry poor I seem; But inly I am richer far Than any poet’s dream. For I’ve a hidden life no one
Mud is Beauty in the making, Mud is melody awaking; Laughter, leafy whisperings, Butterflies with rainbow wings; Baby babble, lover’s sighs,
Three Triangles TRIANGLE ONE My husband put some poison in my b… And fondly hoped that I would dri… He would get rid of me —no bloody…
You talk o’ prayer an’ such — Well, I jest don’t know how; I guess I got as much Religion as a cow. I fight an’ drink an’ swear;
‘Come, see,’ said he, ‘my four—foo… A forty volume row; And every one I wrote myself, But that, of course, you know.’ I stared, I searched a memory dim…
No man can be a failure if he thin… he may not own his roof—tree overh… He may be on his uppers and have h… (Financially speaking —in the red) He may have chronic shortage to re…
‘Twas in a village in Lorraine Whose name I quite forget, I found I needfully was fain To buy a serviette. I sought a shop wherein they sell
No matter how he toil and strive The fate of every man alive With luck will be to lie alone, His empty name cut in a stone. Grim time the fairest fame will fl…
Past ash cans and alley cats, Fetid. overflowing gutters, Leprous lines of rancid flats Where the frowsy linen flutters; With a rattle and a jar,
A father’s pride I used to know, A mother’s love was mine; For swinish husks I let them go, And bedded with the swine. Since then I’ve come on evil days
Said Hongray de la Glaciere unto… "I want to take a wife mon Père,"… And whose, my son?” he slyly said;… Cried, “Fi! Papa, I mean —to wed… The Marquis de la Glaciere respon…
Some inherit manly beauty, Some come into worldly wealth; Some have lofty sense of duty, Others boast exultant health. Though the pick may be confusing,
I don’t think men of eighty odd Should let a surgeon operate; Better to pray for peace with God… And reconcile oneself to Fate: At four—score years we really shou…
I wrote a poem to the moon But no one noticed it; Although I hoped that late or soo… Someone would praise a bit Its purity and grace forlone,
(Retold in Rhyme) They threw him in a prison cell; He moaned upon his bed. And when he crept from coils of he… “Last night you killed,” they said…