Judge Selah Lively
Suppose you stood just five feet two,
And had worked your way as a grocery clerk,
Studying law by candle light
Until you became an attorney at law?
And then suppose through your diligence,
And regular church attendance,
You became attorney for Thomas Rhodes,
Collecting notes and mortgages,
And representing all the widows
In the Probate Court? And through it all
They jeered at your size, and laughed at your clothes
And your polished boots? And then suppose
You became the County Judge?
And Jefferson Howard and Kinsey Keene,
And Harmon Whitney, and all the giants
Who had sneered at you, were forced to stand
Before the bar and say "Your Honor" --
Well, don't you think it was natural
That I made it hard for them?
poem by Edgar Lee Masters
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Jack McGuire
They would have lynched me
Had I not been secretly hurried away
To the jail at Peoria.
And yet I was going peacefully home,
Carrying my jug, a little drunk,
When Logan, the marshal, halted me,
Called me a drunken hound and shook me,
And, when I cursed him for it, struck me
With that Prohibition loaded cane --
All this before I shot him.
They would have hanged me except for this:
My lawyer, Kinsey Keene, was helping to land
Old Thomas Rhodes for wrecking the bank,
And the judge was a friend of Rhodes
And wanted him to escape,
And Kinsey offered to quit on Rhodes
For fourteen years for me.
And the bargain was made. I served my time
And learned to read and write.
poem by Edgar Lee Masters
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The night wind
Have you ever heard the wind go "Yooooo"?
'T is a pitiful sound to hear!
It seems to chill you through and through
With a strange and speechless fear.
'T is the voice of the night that broods outside
When folk should be asleep,
And many and many's the time I've cried
To the darkness brooding far and wide
Over the land and the deep:
Whom do you want, O lonely night,
That you wail the long hours through?"
And the night would say in its ghostly way:
"Yoooooooo!
Yoooooooo!
Yoooooooo!"
My mother told me long ago
(When I was a little tad)
That when the night went wailing so,
Somebody had been bad;
And then, when I was snug in bed,
Whither I had been sent,
With the blankets pulled up round my head,
I'd think of what my mother'd said,
And wonder what boy she meant!
And "Who's been bad to-day?" I'd ask
Of the wind that hoarsely blew,
And the voice would say in its meaningful way:
"Yoooooooo!
Yoooooooo!
Yoooooooo!"
That this was true I must allow -
You'll not believe it, though!
Yes, though I'm quite a model now,
I was not always so.
And if you doubt what things I say,
Suppose you make the test;
Suppose, when you've been bad some day
And up to bed are sent away
From mother and the rest -
Suppose you ask, "Who has been bad?"
And then you'll hear what's true;
For the wind will moan in its ruefulest tone:
"Yoooooooo!
Yoooooooo!
Yoooooooo!"
poem by Eugene Field
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Who You Are
Someone's drinking all alone
Someone's left the TV on
I don't suppose, no I don't suppose
Someone's sleeping in my bed
Someone's let the genie in
I don't suppose, no I don't suppose
You know who you are
Who you are, who you are today
Baby's gone and died again
Taken by the tide again
And it's no surprise
She hates goodbyes
Someone's folding paper planes
Someone's on the line again
Someone's crying at the sonnet
Someone's hiding from someone
I don't suppose, no I don't suppose
You know who you are
Who you are, who you are today
song performed by by Tears For Fears
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Matter of Knack
Jock M'Pherson was a person who was boastful in conversin',
But respectable and ponderous and dignified withal!
Con M'Carty was a party who was something of a smarty,
And beside the big M'Pherson looked particularly small;
But Cornelius M'Carty, he was artful, after all!
When Cornelius M'Carty thought M'Pherson was his dart, he
Made a wager he could carry him a mile along the track;
Which, considering M'Pherson was a very weighty person,
Was a risky undertaking for M'Carty's little back.
But Cornelius protested it depended on the knack!
"Take yer coat off!" called M'Carty, and M'Pherson gave a start, he
Hadn't bargained for proceedings the reverse of dignified!
But he felt he had the best of the arrangement. "Take yer vest off!"
Said M'Carty; and M'Pherson very graciously complied.
It was in the private parlor, and the crowd was all outside.
"Take yer boots off!" said M'Carty in a cheerful tone and hearty,
But M'Pherson he objected that the crowd would see his toes.
Said M'Carty, "See, M'Pherson, there ain't any sense in cursin',
Take yer boots off, I don't reckon to be handicapped with those!
I am not the sort of juggins you apparently suppose!"
This M'Pherson's wrath arouses. "But," said he, "I'll keep me trousers!"
"Not a trouser!" said M'Carty, "or to me the wager goes.
The conditions you're reversin'; I will carry you, M'Pherson,
But the wager doesn't say a blessed word about yer clothes!"
That was how the small M'Carty had M'Pherson by the nose!
poem by William Thomas Goodge
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Aner Clute
Over and over they used to ask me,
While buying the wine or the beer,
In Peoria first, and later in Chicago,
Denver, Frisco, New York, wherever I lived,
How I happened to lead the life,
And what was the start of it.
Well, I told them a silk dress,
And a promise of marriage from a rich man --
(It was Lucius Atherton).
But that was not really it at all.
Suppose a boy steals an apple
From the tray at the grocery store,
And they all begin to call him a thief,
The editor, minister, judge, and all the people --
"A thief," "a thief," "a thief," wherever he goes.
And he can't get work, and he can't get bread
Without stealing it, why, the boy will steal.
It's the way the people regard the theft of the apple
That makes the boy what he is.
poem by Edgar Lee Masters
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Suppose a smile.
Suppose a smile.
Suppose it always, with a smile.
Suppose the sun to shine,
shine with a smile;
suppose the rain to fall and smile
smile at the earth;
the snow, with gentle smile,
protecting tender shoots;
suppose the wind to smile
mysteriously, about its secretwork;
suppose – that’s easy – flowers
to open with a smile; and
smile as they fade and wave farewell,
a smile that says, that’s how it is…
suppose some patient smiles:
as rain-forests say to those who cut them down,
you’ll live to regret this; here’s
your chance to learn;
suppose the desert sand to smile
and say, you took the trees, and now
I’m here; plant, call down rain, store, irrigate…
suppose the ice-cap, melting with sad smile,
saying, I did not choose…
suppose that Abraham, Moses, Christ, Mohammed
spoke their uncompromising, uncomfortable truths
always with a smile; a gentle smile;
a smile to say, I'm here, you're here to learn...
suppose the spear to smile,
hammered into pruning-hook..
suppose smile met with smile.
Suppose.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Little Guy
I know this little guy, he stands, oh so, about knee high.
He's got the cutest dimples on his cheery face,
Got a smile that lights up the whole place.
He's got the knack for chatter, he invites himself if you won't:
"I'll have that muesli bar please cause my brother don't."
Suppose to have a nap, and in the a tragic voice he confides,
"I was crying the whole time." Ok, please don't make me cry.
Apparently being bounced on the trampoline is hilarious,
But all I can think of is how dangerous.
Not enough sleep is constantly plaguing me,
But he don't care if in bed he's suppose to be.
In the middle of a rousing game of hide-and-seek,
He'll curl up and go to sleep.
Wish I could do just that, and live a bit more like him,
So unaware of all the dangers and troubles surrounding,
Spend a bit more time enjoying the little things
Get the chance to take them all in.
"Can I have a drink? " he toddles up the sink.
"Why of course, here's your drink."
Watch his little legs carry him off to some new adventure,
"You can't catch me! " wait, "I gotcha! "
You're running out of time, little guy,
If only you could stay knee-high.
poem by Joses Tirtabudi
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Rita Rose
I suppose Rita Rose
Now that you found someone new
I don’t mean anything to you
I suppose Rita Rose
That since I left to fight a war
You don’t need me anymore
I suppose Rita Rose
Now that I’m back again
You want me to forget when
It was me that you chose
Just who are you trying to expose
I suppose Rita Rose
Everybody knows
I ran out on you
I suppose Rita Rose
You’ve already chose
A good alibi too
I suppose Rita Rose
It’s all spelled out in prose
What I’m supposed to do
Well I got news for you
I got feeling too
I’ll just turn around
Both feet on the ground
And walk away from you
poem by Alfred Ramos
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You Are Old Father William
"You are old, father William," the young man said,
"And your hair has become very white;
And yet you incessantly stand on your head --
Do you think, at your age, it is right?
"In my youth," father William replied to his son,
"I feared it might injure the brain;
But, now that I'm perfectly sure I have none,
Why, I do it again and again."
"You are old," said the youth, "as I mentioned before,
And you have grown most uncommonly fat;
Yet you turned a back-somersault in at the door --
Pray what is the reason for that?"
"In my youth," said the sage, as he shook his grey locks,
"I kept all my limbs very supple
By the use of this ointment -- one shilling a box --
Allow me to sell you a couple?"
"You are old," said the youth, "and your jaws are too weak
For anything tougher than suet;
Yet you finished the goose, with the bones and the beak --
Pray, how did you mange to do it?"
"In my youth," said his fater, "I took to the law,
And argued each case with my wife;
And the muscular strength, which it gave to my jaw,
Has lasted the rest of my life."
"You are old," said the youth, "one would hardly suppose
That your eye was as steady as every;
Yet you balanced an eel on the tend of your nose --
What made you so awfully clever?"
"I have answered three questions, and that is enough,"
Said his father. "Don't give yourself airs!
Do you think I can listen all day to such stuff?
Be off, or I'll kick you down stairs.
poem by Lewis Carroll
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The Premier and the Socialist
The Premier and the Socialist
Were walking through the State:
They wept to see the Savings Bank
Such funds accumulate.
"If these were only cleared away,"
They said, "it would be great."
"If three financial amateurs
Controlled them for a year,
Do you suppose," the Premier said,
"That they would get them clear?"
"I think so," said the Socialist;
"They would -- or very near!"
"If we should try to raise some cash
On assets of our own,
Do you suppose," the Premier said,
"That we could float a loan?"
"I doubt it," said the Socialist,
And groaned a doleful groan.
"Oh, Savings, come and walk with us!"
The Premier did entreat;
"A little walk, a little talk,
Away from Barrack Street;
My Socialistic friend will guide
Your inexperienced feet."
"We do not think," the Savings said,
"A socialistic crank,
Although he chance just now to hold
A legislative rank,
Can teach experienced Banking men
The way to run a Bank."
The Premier and the Socialist
They passed an Act or so
To take the little Savings out
And let them have a blow.
"We'll teach the Banks," the Premier said,
"The way to run the show.
"There's Tom Waddell -- in Bank finance
Can show them what is what.
I used to prove not long ago
His Estimates were rot.
But that -- like many other things --
I've recently forgot.
"Advances on a dried-out farm
Are what we chiefly need,
And loaned to friends of Ms.L.A.
Are very good, indeed,
See how the back-block Cockatoos
Are rolling up to feed."
"But not on us," the Savings cried,
Falling a little flat,
"We didn't think a man like you
Would do a thing like that;
For most of us are very small,
And none of us are fat."
"This haughty tone," the Premier said,
"Is not the proper line;
Before I'd be dictated to
My billet I'd resign!"
"How brightly," said the Socialist,
"Those little sovereigns shine."
The Premier and the Socialist
They had their bit of fun;
They tried to call the Savings back
But answer came there none,
Because the back-block Cockatoos
Had eaten every one.
poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
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I Am Suppose to Be Vain
I am suppose to be vain.
You know...
Someone who loves to be on stage.
Because of an exterior presence.
I have been told I am handsome.
So naturally I want the attention.
I am suppose to be vain.
You know...
Someone who speaks, walks
And chew gum at the same time.
With a detectable intelligence too?
Seeking adulation,
That's all I am suppose to do.
I am suppose to be vain.
Because I choose to work hard.
And apply my abilities.
Since I am extremely dedicated,
To my capable creativity.
And it seems I do all of this effortlessly...
I am suppose to be vain!
'WELL...
Are you? '
I am biased!
Not vain.
There is a huge difference between the two.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Suppose
Suppose no rose would ever grow again
Suppose no brook would ever flow again
Suppose no star should ever glow again
Suppose you didn't love me
Suppose there were no bees or butterflies
Suppose no bird should ever cross the skies
Suppose the sun should never never rise
Suppose you didn't love me
It's impossible to imagine a world without a star
But imagining no you is more impossible, by far
Suppose the Springtime never should arrive
Suppose the tall green trees should not survive
Suppose I had no wish to be alive
Suppose you didn't love me
It's impossible to imagine a world without a star
But imagining no you is more impossible, by far
Suppose the Springtime never should arrive
Suppose the tall green trees should not survive
Suppose I had no wish to be alive
Suppose you didn't love me
Suppose you didn't love me
song performed by by Elvis Presley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sonnet XXIV: I Hear Some Say
I hear some say, "This man is not in love."
"What? Can he love? A likely thing," they say;
"Read but his verse, and it will easily prove."
O judge not rashly, gentle Sir, I pray.
Because I trifle loosely in this sort,
As one that fain his sorrows would beguile,
You now suppose me all this time in sport,
And please yourself with this conceit the while.
Ye shallow censors, sometime see ye not
In greatest perils some men pleasant be?
Where fame by death is only to be got,
They resolute? So stands the case with me.
Where other men in depth of passion cry,
I laugh at Fortune, as in jest to die.
poem by Michael Drayton
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The ABC
'Twas midnight in the schoolroom
And every desk was shut
When suddenly from the alphabet
Was heard a loud "Tut-Tut!"
Said A to B, "I don't like C;
His manners are a lack.
For all I ever see of C
Is a semi-circular back!"
"I disagree," said D to B,
"I've never found C so.
From where I stand he seems to be
An uncompleted O."
C was vexed, "I'm much perplexed,
You criticise my shape.
I'm made like that, to help spell Cat
And Cow and Cool and Cape."
"He's right" said E; said F, "Whoopee!"
Said G, "'Ip, 'Ip, 'ooray!"
"You're dropping me," roared H to G.
"Don't do it please I pray."
"Out of my way," LL said to K.
"I'll make poor I look ILL."
To stop this stunt J stood in front,
And presto! ILL was JILL.
"U know," said V, "that W
Is twice the age of me.
For as a Roman V is five
I'm half as young as he."
X and Y yawned sleepily,
"Look at the time!" they said.
"Let's all get off to beddy byes."
They did, then "Z-z-z."
poem by Spike Milligan
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Grown-Up Talk
Half-Past-Six and I were talking
In a very grown-up way;
We had got so tired with running
That we did not want to play.
"How do babies come, I wonder,"
He said, looking at the sky,
"Does God mix the things together
An' just make it-like a pie?"
I was really not quite certain,
But it sounded very nice;
It was all that we could think of,
Besides a book said "sugar and spice."
Half-Past-Six said--He's so clever--
Cleverer than me, I mean...
"I suppose God makes the black ones
When the saucepan isn't clean."
poem by Katherine Mansfield
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Mrs. Benjamin Painter
I know that he told how I snared his soul
With a snare which bled him to death.
And all the men loved him,
And most of the women pitied him.
But suppose you are really a lady, and have delicate tastes,
And loathe the smell of whisky and onions.
And the rhythm of Wordsworth's "Ode" runs in your ears,
While he goes about from morning till night
Repeating bits of that common thing;
"Oh, why should the spirit of mortal be proud?"
And then, suppose:
You are a woman well endowed,
And the only man with whom the law and morality
Permit you to have the marital relation
Is the very man that fills you with disgust
Every time you think of it--while you think of it
Every time you see him?
That's why I drove him away from home
To live with his dog in a dingy room
Back of his office.
poem by Edgar Lee Masters
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It don't sound so terrible—quite—as it did
426
It don't sound so terrible—quite—as it did—
I run it over—"Dead", Brain, "Dead."
Put it in Latin—left of my school—
Seems it don't shriek so—under rule.
Turn it, a little—full in the face
A Trouble looks bitterest—
Shift it—just—
Say "When Tomorrow comes this way—
I shall have waded down one Day."
I suppose it will interrupt me some
Till I get accustomed—but then the Tomb
Like other new Things—shows largest—then—
And smaller, by Habit—
It's shrewder then
Put the Thought in advance—a Year—
How like "a fit"—then—
Murder—wear!
poem by Emily Dickinson
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Hitchhikers
Hitchhikers
If any man going to office
requested him for a lift,
he would growl at him
and say, " Sorry, I don't have
one more helmet for you"
and race down as in a rally.
If any disabled man
signalled him for the pillion,
" Sorry friend, I had a stroke
Last month and I can't balance",
He would mumble
And slide away in silence.
If any old man or woman
Pleaded for carrying him
To the nearby Bus-Stop,
" You tottery, go by taxi.
Suppose you fall down
from my bike, sue me at court",
he would speak frankly
and move away swayingly
If school children hailed
And waved their hands,
" Which teacher taught you
to beg for free ride,
in this tender age. Run! Run! ",
He would shout and speed off.
But he would pick up
Hitchhikers if they are girls,
Smiling and sat behind him.
Without asking, ‘ Where they go? "
He would sail past the cars,
taking off his left hand
from the clutch often.
poem by Rajendran Muthiah
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The Judge's Song
When I, good friends, was called to the Bar,
I'd an appetite fresh and hearty,
But I was, as many young barristers are,
An impecunious party.
I'd a swallow-tail coat of a beautiful blue -
A brief which was brought by a booby -
A couple of shirts and a collar or two,
And a ring that looked like a ruby!
In Westminster Hall I danced a dance,
Like a semi-despondent fury;
For I thought I should never hit on a chance
Of addressing a British Jury -
But I soon got tired of third-class journeys,
And dinners of bread and water;
So I fell in love with a rich attorney's
Elderly, ugly daughter.
The rich attorney, he wiped his eyes,
And replied to my fond professions:
"You shall reap the reward of your enterprise,
At the Bailey and Middlesex Sessions.
You'll soon get used to her looks," said he,
"And a very nice girl you'll find her -
She may very well pass for forty-three
In the dusk, with a light behind her!"
The rich attorney was as good as his word:
The briefs came trooping gaily,
And every day my voice was heard
At the Sessions or Ancient Bailey.
All thieves who could my fees afford
Relied on my orations,
And many a burglar I've restored
To his friends and his relations.
At length I became as rich as the GURNEYS -
An incubus then I thought her,
So I threw over that rich attorney's
Elderly, ugly daughter.
The rich attorney my character high
Tried vainly to disparage -
And now, if you please, I'm ready to try
This Breach of Promise of Marriage!
poem by William Schwenck Gilbert
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Middle-Age Enthusiasms
To M. H.
WE passed where flag and flower
Signalled a jocund throng;
We said: "Go to, the hour
Is apt!"--and joined the song;
And, kindling, laughed at life and care,
Although we knew no laugh lay there.
We walked where shy birds stood
Watching us, wonder-dumb;
Their friendship met our mood;
We cried: "We'll often come:
We'll come morn, noon, eve, everywhen!"
--We doubted we should come again.
We joyed to see strange sheens
Leap from quaint leaves in shade;
A secret light of greens
They'd for their pleasure made.
We said: "We'll set such sorts as these!"
--We knew with night the wish would cease.
"So sweet the place," we said,
"Its tacit tales so dear,
Our thoughts, when breath has sped,
Will meet and mingle here!"...
"Words!" mused we. "Passed the mortal door,
Our thoughts will reach this nook no more."
poem by Thomas Hardy
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