#AmericanWriters
In January everything freezes. We have two children. Both are sh… This is our January rule: One girl in bed, and one in school… In February the blizzard whirls.
So Thomas Edison Never drank his medicine; So Blackstone and Hoyle Refused cod-liver oil; So Sir Thomas Malory
The firefly’s flame Is something for which science has… I can think of nothing eerier Than flying around with an unident… person’s posteerier.
Husbands are things that wives have to get used to putting up with. And with whom they breakfast with and sup with. They interfere with the discipline of nurseries, They ...
Isabel met an enormous bear, Isabel, Isabel, didn’t care; The bear was hungry, the bear was… The bear’s big mouth was cruel and… The bear said, Isabel, glad to me…
This is a song to celebrate banks, Because they are full of money and… you hear is clinks and clanks, Or maybe a sound like the wind in… Which is the rustling of the thous…
The wasp and all his numerous fami… I look upon as a major calamity. He throws open his nest with prodi… But I distrust his waspitality.
Some people, and it doesn’t matter whether they are paupers or millionaires, Think that anything they have is the best in the world just because it is theirs. If they happen to own a ...
From whence arrived the praying ma… From outer space, or lost Atlanti… glimpse the grin, green metal mug at masks the pseudo-saintly bug, Orthopterous, also carnivorous,
The hunter crouches in his blind ‘Neath camouflage of every kind And conjures up a quacking noise To lend allure to his decoys This grown-up man, with pluck and…
The summer like a rajah dies, And every widowed tree Kindles for Congregationalist eye… An alien suttee.
Praise the spells and bless the ch… I found April in my arms. April golden, April cloudy, Gracious, cruel, tender, rowdy; April soft in flowered languor,
Belinda lived in a little white ho… With a little black kitten and a l… And a little yellow dog and a litt… And a realio, trulio, little pet d… Now the name of the little black k…
In spite of her sniffle, Isabel’s chiffle. Some girls with a sniffle Would be weepy and tiffle; They would look awful,
There is a knocking in the skull, An endless silent shout Of something beating on a wall, And crying, “Let me out!” That solitary prisoner