The Farmer's Daughter Cherry
The Farmer quit what he was at,
The bee-hive he was smokin':
He tilted back his old straw hat--
Says he, 'Young man, you're jokin'!
O Lordy! (Lord, forgive the swar,)
Ain't ye a cheeky sinner?
Come, if I give my gal thar,
Where would _you_ find her dinner?
'Now look at _me_; I settl'd down
When I was one and twenty,
Me, and my axe and Mrs. Brown,
And stony land a plenty.
Look up thar! ain't that homestead fine,
And look at them thar cattle:
I tell ye since that early time
I've fit a tidy battle.
'It kinder wrestles down a man
To fight the stuns and mire:
But I sort of clutch'd to thet thar plan
Of David and Goliar.
Want was the mean old Philistine
That strutted round the clearin',
Of pebbles I'd a hansum line,
And flung 'em nothin' fearin'.
'They hit him square, right whar they ought,
Them times I _had_ an arm!
I lick'd the giant and I bought
A hundred acre farm.
My gal was born about them days,
I was mowin' in the medder;
When some one comes along and says--
'The wife's gone thro' the shadder!'
'Times thought it was God's will she went--
Times thought she work'd too slavin'--
And for the young one that was sent,
I took to steady savin'.
Jest cast your eye on that thar hill
The sugar bush just tetches,
And round by Miller Jackson's mill,
All round the farm stretches.
''Ain't got a mind to give that land
To any snip-snap feller
That don't know loam from mud or sand,
Or if corn's blue or yaller.
I've got a mind to keep her yet--
Last Fall her cheese and butter
Took prizes; sakes! I can't forget
Her pretty pride and flutter.
'Why, you be off! her little face
For me's the only summer;
Her gone, 'twould be a queer, old place,
The Lord smile down upon her!
All goes with her, the house and lot--
You'd like to get 'em, very!
I'll give 'em when this maple bears
A bouncin' ripe-red cherry!'
The Farmer fixed his hat and specks
And pursed his lips together,
The maple wav'd above his head,
Each gold and scarlet feather:
The Teacher's Honest heart sank down:
How could his soul be merry?
He knew--though teaching in a town,
No maple bears a cherry.
Soft blew the wind; the great old tree,
Like Saul to David's singing,
Nodded its jewelled crown, as he
Swayed to the harp-strings' ringing;
A something rosy--not a leaf
Stirs up amid the branches;
A miracle _may_ send relief
To lovers fond and anxious!
O rosy is the velvet cheek
Of one 'mid red leaves sitting!
The sunbeams played at hide-and-seek
With the needles in her knitting.
'O Pa!' The Farmer prick'd his ears,
Whence came that voice so merry?
(The Teacher's thoughtful visage clears)
'The maple bears a cherry!'
The Farmer tilted back his hat:
'Well, gal--as I'm a human,
I'll always hold as doctrine that
Thar's nothin' beats a woman!
When crown'd that maple is with snow,
And Christmas bells are merry,
I'll let you have her, Jack--that's so!
Be sure you're good to Cherry!'
poem by Isabella Valancy Crawford
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Thar's More In the Man Than Thar Is In The Land
I knowed a man, which he lived in Jones,
Which Jones is a county of red hills and stones,
And he lived pretty much by gittin' of loans,
And his mules was nuthin' but skin and bones,
And his hogs was flat as his corn-bread pones,
And he had 'bout a thousand acres o' land.
This man -- which his name it was also Jones --
He swore that he'd leave them old red hills and stones,
Fur he couldn't make nuthin' but yallerish cotton,
And little o' THAT, and his fences was rotten,
And what little corn he had, HIT was boughten
And dinged ef a livin' was in the land.
And the longer he swore the madder he got,
And he riz and he walked to the stable lot,
And he hollered to Tom to come thar and hitch
Fur to emigrate somewhar whar land was rich,
And to quit raisin' cock-burrs, thistles and sich,
And a wastin' ther time on the cussed land.
So him and Tom they hitched up the mules,
Pertestin' that folks was mighty big fools
That 'ud stay in Georgy ther lifetime out,
Jest scratchin' a livin' when all of 'em mought
Git places in Texas whar cotton would sprout
By the time you could plant it in the land.
And he driv by a house whar a man named Brown
Was a livin', not fur from the edge o' town,
And he bantered Brown fur to buy his place,
And said that bein' as money was skace,
And bein' as sheriffs was hard to face,
Two dollars an acre would git the land.
They closed at a dollar and fifty cents,
And Jones he bought him a waggin and tents,
And loaded his corn, and his wimmin, and truck,
And moved to Texas, which it tuck
His entire pile, with the best of luck,
To git thar and git him a little land.
But Brown moved out on the old Jones' farm,
And he rolled up his breeches and bared his arm,
And he picked all the rocks from off'n the groun',
And he rooted it up and he plowed it down,
Then he sowed his corn and his wheat in the land.
Five years glid by, and Brown, one day
(Which he'd got so fat that he wouldn't weigh),
Was a settin' down, sorter lazily,
To the bulliest dinner you ever see,
When one o' the children jumped on his knee
And says, 'Yan's Jones, which you bought his land.'
And thar was Jones, standin' out at the fence,
And he hadn't no waggin, nor mules, nor tents,
Fur he had left Texas afoot and cum
To Georgy to see if he couldn't git sum
Employment, and he was a lookin' as hum-
Ble as ef he had never owned any land.
But Brown he axed him in, and he sot
Him down to his vittles smokin' hot,
And when he had filled hisself and the floor
Brown looked at him sharp and riz and swore
That, 'whether men's land was rich or poor
Thar was more in the MAN than thar was in the LAND.'
poem by Sidney Lanier
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Farmer Downs Changes His Opinion Of Nature
'No,' said old Farmer Downs to me,
'I ain't the facts denyin',
That all young folks in love must be,
As birds must be a-flyin'.
Don't go agin sech facts, because
I'm one as re-specks Natur's laws.
'No, sir! Old Natur knows a thing
Or two, I'm calculatin',
She don't make cat-fish dance and sing,
Or sparrow-hawks go skatin';
She knows her business ev'ry time,
You bet your last an' lonely dime!
'I guess, I'm posted pooty fair
On that old gal's capers;
She allers acts upon the square
Spite o' skyentific papers.
(I borrows one most ev'ry week
From Jonses down to 'Pincher's Creek.')
'It sorter freshens up a man
To read the newest notions,
Tho' I don't freeze much tew that thar plan,
About the crops ratotions;
You jest leave Natur do her work,
She'll do it! she ain't one tew shirk!
'I'm all fur lettin Natur go
The way she's sot on choosin'.
Ain't that the figger of a beau
That's talkin' thar tew Susan?
Down by the orchard snake-fence? Yes.
All right, it's Squire Sims, I guess.
'He's jest the one I want tew see
Come sparkin'; guess they're lyin',
That say that of old age he be
Most sartinly a-dyin'--
He's no sech thing! Good sakes alive,
The man is only seventy-five!
'An' she's sixteen. I'm not the man
Tew act sort of inhuman,
An' meanly spile old Natur's plan
To jine a man and woman
In wedlock's bonds. Sirree, she makes,
This grand old Natur, no mistakes.
'They're standin' pooty clus; the leaves
Is round 'em like a bower,
The Squire's like the yaller sheaves
An' she's the Corn Flower,
Natur's the binder, allus true,
Tew make one heart of them thar two.
'Yas--as I was a-sayin', friend,
I'm all for Natur's teachins;
_She_ ain't one in the bitter end
Tew practice over-reachins.
You trust her, and she'll treat you well,
Don't doubt her by the leastest spell.
'I'm not quite clar but subsoil looks
Jest kinder not quite pious;
I sorter think them farmin' books,
Will in the long run sky us,
Right in the mud; the way they balk
Old Natur with thar darn fool talk!
'When Susie marries Squire Sims,
I'll lease his upland farm;
I'll get it cheap enough from him--
Jest see his long right arm
About her waist--looks orful big!
Why, gosh! he's bought a new brown wig!
'Wal, that's the way old Natur acts
When bald folks go a-sparkin';
The skyentists can't alter facts
With all their hard work larkin',
A sparkin man _will_ look his best--
That's Natur--tain't no silly jest!
'Old Natur, you and me is twins;
I never will git snarly
With you, old gal. Why, darn my shins!
That's only Jonses Charlie.
She's cuddlin' right agin his vest!
Eh? What? 'Old Natur knows what's best!'
'Oh, does she? Wal, p'raps 'tis so;
Jest see the rascal's arm
About her waist! You've got tew go
Young man, right off this farm;
Old Natur knows a pile, no doubt,
But you an' her hed best get out!
'You, Susie, git right hum. I'm mad
Es enny bilin' crater!
In futur, sick or well or sad
I'll take no stock in Natur.
I'm that disgusted with her capers
I'll run the farm by skyence papers.'
poem by Isabella Valancy Crawford
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Welcome to the Prince of Wales
Lines written when the Prince of Wales
was about embarking for Canada, May, 1860.
In his long voyage o'er the sea,
To where doth grow the maple tree,
May he be blest with pleasant gales-
The coming man, the Prince of Wales.
The Maple grows but in good soil,
Where nature doth reward for toil.
The farmer, splitting his fence rails,
He welcome bids the Prince of Wales.
In the woods the axe is ringing,
And the yeoman merry singing ;
The song resounds o'er hills and dales -
Our future king, the Prince of Wales.
'Round the brow of our future chief
We'll weave a wreath of maple leaf,
For o'er broad Canada prevails
Kind feelings to the Prince of Wales.
When in this land the Prince arrives
May he have many pleasant drives,
And on our lakes have merry sails-
Great king of princes, Prince of Wales.
poem by James McIntyre
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Some Of Farmer Stebbin's Opinions
No, Parson, 'tain't been in my style,
(Nor none ov my relations)
Tew dig about the gnarly roots
Ov prophetic spekkleations,
Tew see what Malachai meant;
Or Solomon was hintin';
Or reound what jog o' Futur's road
Isaiah was a-squintin'.
I've lost my rest a-keepin' out
The hogs from our cowcumbers;
But never lost a wink, you bet,
By wrastlin' over Numbers.
I never took no comfort when
The year was bald with losses,
A-spekkleatin' on them chaps
That rode them varus hosses.
It never gave my soul a boost
When grief an' it was matin',
Tew figger out that that thar Pope
Wus reely twins with Satan.
I took no stock in countin' up
How menny hed ov cattle
From Egypt's ranches Moses drove;
I never fit a battle
On p'ints that frequently gave rise
Tew pious spat an' grumble,
An' makes the brethren clinch an' yell
In spiritooal rough-an'-tumble.
I never bet on Paul agin
The argyments ov Peter,
I never made the good old Book
A kind ov moral teeter;
Tew pass a choreless hour away,
An' get the evenin' over;
I swallered it jest as it stood,
From cover clar tew cover.
Hain't had no time tew disputate,
Except with axe an' arm,
With stump an' rampike and with stuns,
Upon my half clar'd farm.
An' when sech argyments as them--
Fill six days out ov seven;
A man on Sabbath wants tew crawl
By quiet ways tew heaven.
Again he gets the waggon out,
An' hitches up the sorrels,
An' rides ten miles tew meetin', he
Ain't braced for pious quarrels:
No, sir, he ain't! that waggon rolls
From corduroy to puddle,
An' that thar farmer gets his brains
Inter an easy muddle.
His back is stiff from six days' toil--
So God takes hold an' preaches,
In boughs ov rustlin' maple an'
In whisperin' leaves ov beeches:
Sez He tew that thar farmin' chap
(Likewise tew the old woman),
'I guess I'm built tew comprehend
That you an' her be's human!'
'So jest take hold on this har day,
Recowperate yer muscle;
Let up a mite this day on toil,
'Taint made for holy bustle.
Let them old sorrels jog along,
With mighty slack-like traces;
Half dreamin', es my sunbeams fleck
Their venerable faces.
'I guess they did their share, ov work,
Since Monday's dew was hoary;
Don't try tew lick 'em tew a trot
Upon the road tew Glory!
Jest let 'em laze a spell whar thick
My lily-buds air blowin':
An' whar My trees cast shadders on
My silver creeklet flowin'.
'An' while their red, rough tongues push back
The stems ov reed an' lily,
Jest let 'em dream ov them thar days
When they was colt an' filly,
An' spekkleate, es fetlock deep
They eye my cool creek flowin',
On whar I loosed it from My hand,
Where be its crisp waves goin'.
An' how in snow-white lily cup
I built them yaller fires,
An' bronz'd them reeds that rustle up
Agin the waggon tires.
'An' throw a forrard eye along
Where that bush roadway passes,
A-spekkleating on the chance--
Ov nibbling road-side grasses.
Jest let them lines rest on thar necks--
Restrain yer moral twitters--
An' paste this note inside yer hat--
I talk tew all My critters!
'Be they on four legs or on two,
In broadcloth, scales or feathers,
No matter what may be the length
Ov all their mental tethers:
In ways mayn't suit the minds ov them
That thinks themselves thar betters.
I talk tew them in simple style,
In words ov just three letters,--
Spell'd out in lily-blow an' reed,
In soft winds on them blowin',
In juicy grass by wayside streams,
In coolin' waters flowin'.
'An' so jest let them sorrels laze
My ripplin' silver creek in;
They're listenin' in thar own dumb way,
An' I--Myself--am speakin';
Friend Stebbens, don't you feel your soul
In no sort ov dejection;
You'll get tew meetin' quick enough,
In time for the--collection.'
poem by Isabella Valancy Crawford
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Old Spense
You've seen his place, I reckon, friend?
'Twas rather kind ov tryin'.
The way he made the dollars fly,
Such gimcrack things a-buyin'--
He spent a big share ov a fortin'
On pesky things that went a snortin'
And hollerin' over all the fields,
And ploughin' ev'ry furrow;
We sort ov felt discouraged, for
Spense wusn't one to borrow;
An' wus--the old chap wouldn't lend
A cent's wuth to his dearest friend!
Good land! the neighbours seed to wunst
Them snortin', screamin' notions
Wus jest enough tew drown the yearth
In wrath, like roarin' oceans,
'An' guess'd the Lord would give old Spense
Blue fits for fightin' Pruvidence!'
Spense wus thet harden'd; when the yearth
Wus like a bak'd pertater;
Instead ov prayin' hard fur rain,
He fetched an irrigator.
'The wicked flourish like green bays!'
Sed folks for comfort in them days.
I will allow his place was grand
With not a stump upon it,
The loam wus jest as rich an' black
Es school ma'am's velvet bunnit;
But tho' he flourish'd, folks all know'd
What spiritooal ear-marks he show'd.
Spense had a notion in his mind,
Ef some poor human grapples
With pesky worms thet eat his vines,
An' spile his summer apples,
It don't seem enny kind ov sense
Tew call that 'cheekin' Pruvidence!'
An' ef a chap on Sabbath sees
A thunder cloud a-strayin'
Above his fresh cut clover an'
Gets down tew steddy prayin',
An' tries tew shew the Lord's mistake,
Instead ov tacklin' tew his rake,
He ain't got enny kind ov show
Tew talk ov chast'ning trials;
When thet thar thunder cloud lets down
It's sixty billion vials;
No! when it looks tew rain on hay,
First take yer rake an' then yer pray!
Old Spense was one 'ov them thar chaps
Thet in this life of tussle
An' rough-an'-tumble, sort ov set
A mighty store on muscle;
B'liev'd in hustlin' in the crop,
An' prayin' on the last load top!
An' yet he hed his p'ints--his heart
Wus builded sort ov spacious;
An' solid--ev'ry beam an' plank,
An', Stranger, now, veracious.
A wore-out hoss he never shot,
But turn'd him in the clover lot!
I've seed up tew the meetin' house;
The winkin' an' the nudgin',
When preacher sed, 'No doubt that Dives
Been drefful mean an' grudgin';
Tew church work seal'd his awful fate
Whar thar ain't no foolin' with the gate!'
I mind the preacher met old Spense,
Beneath the maples laggin',
The day was hot, an' he'd a pile
Ov 'cetrees in his waggin';
A sack of flour, a hansum hog,
Sum butter and his terrier dog.
Preacher, he halted up his hoss,
Ask'd for Miss Spense an' Deely,
Tew limber up his tongue a mite,
And sez right slick an' mealy:
'Brother, I really want tew know
Hev you got religion? Samson, whoa!'
Old Spense, he bit a noble chaw,
An' sort ov meditated;
Samson he nibbl'd at the grass,
An' preacher smil'd and waited;
Ye'd see it writ upon his face--
'I've got Spense in a tightsome place!'
The old man curl'd his whip-lash round
An alto-vic'd muskitter,
Preacher, sort ov triumphant, strok'd
His ornary old critter.
Spense p'ints tew flour, an' hog, an' jar,
Sez he, 'I've got religion thar!
'Them's goin' down tew Spinkses place,
Whar old man Spinks is stayin';
The bank he dealt at bust last month,
An' folks is mostly sayin':
Him bein' ag'd, an' poor, an' sick,
They'll put him in the poor-house slick!
'But no, they don't! Not while I own
The name ov Jedediah;
Yer movin'? How's yer gran'ma Green,
An' yer cousin, Ann Maria?
Boss, air they? Yas, sirree, I dar
Tew say, I've got religion thar!'
Preacher, he in his stirrups riz,
His visage kind ov cheerin';
An' keerful look'd along the road,
Over sugarbush an' clearin';
Thar wa'n't a deacon within sight;
Sez he, 'My brother, guess you're right.'
'You keep your waggon Zionward,
With that religion on it;
I calculate we'll meet'--jest here
A caliker sun bonnet,
On a sister's head, cum round the Jog,
An' preacher dispars'd like mornin' fog!
One day a kind ov judgment come,
The lightnin'-rod conductor
Got broke--the fluid struck his aunt,
An' in the root-house chuck'd her.
It laid her up for quite a while,
An' the judgment made the neighbors smile.
Old Spense he swore a mighty swar,
He didn't mince nor chew it;
For when he spoke, 'most usual,
It had a backbone tew it.
He sed he'd find a healthy plan
Tew square things with the agent man,
Who'd sold him thet thar useless rod
To put upon his roofin';
An' ef he found him round the place,
He'd send the scamp a-hoofin'.
'You sort ov understand my sense?'
'Yes, pa,'--said pooty Deely Spense.
'Yes, pa,' sez she, es mild es milk
Tew thet thar strong oration,
An' when a woman acts like _that_--
It's bin my observation--
(An' reckin that you'll find it sound)
She means tew turn creation round,
An' fix the univarse the way
She sort ov feels the notion.
So Deely let the old man rave,
Nor kick'd up no commotion;
Tho' thet cute agent man an' she
Were know'd es steady company.
He'd chance around when Spense was out,
A feller sort o' airy;
An' poke around free's the wind,
With Deely in the dairy.
(Old Spense hed got a patent churn,
Thet gev the Church a drefful turn).
I am a married man myself,
More sot on steddy plowin',
An' cuttin' rails, than praisin' gals,
Yet honestly allowin'--
A man must be main hard tew please
Thet didn't freeze tew Deely's cheese.
I reckon tho' old Spense hed sign'd
With Satan queer law papers,
He'd fill'd that dairy up chock full
Of them thar patent capers.
Preacher once took fur sermon text--
'Rebellious patent vats.--What next?'
I've kind of stray'd from thet thar scare
That cum on Spense--tho', reely,
I'll allus hold it was a shine
Of thet thar pooty Deely:
Thar's them es holds thro' thin an' thick,
'Twas a friendly visit from Old Nick.
Es time went on, old Spense he seem'd
More sot on patent capers;
So he went right off tew fetch a thing
He'd read ov in the papers.
'Twas a moony night in airly June,
The Whip-poor-wills wus all in tune;
The Katydids wus callin' clar,
The fire bugs was glowin',
The smell ov clover fill'd the air.
Thet day old Spense'd bin mowin'--
With a mower yellin' drefful screams,
Like them skreeks we hear in nightmare dreams.
Miss Spense wus in the keepin'-room,
O'erlookin' last yar's cherries;
The Help wus settin' on the bench,
A-hullin' airly berries;
The hir'd man sot on the step,
An' chaw'd, an' watch'd the crickets lep.
Not one ov them thar folks thet thought
Ov Deely in the dairy:
The Help thought on the hir'd man,
An' he ov Martin's Mary;
Miss Spense she ponder'd thet she'd found
Crush'd sugar'd riz a cent a pound.
I guess hed you an' I bin thar,
A peepin' thro' the shutter
Ov thet thar dairy, we'd a swore
Old Spense's cheese an' butter
Wus gilded, from the manner thet
Deely she smil'd on pan an' vat.
The Agent he had chanc'd around,
In evenin's peaceful shadder;
He'd glimps'd Spense an' his tarrier go
Across the new-mown medder--
To'ard Crampville--so he shew'd his sense,
By slidin' o'er the garden fence,
An' kind of unassumin' glode,
Beneath the bendin' branches,
Tew the dairy door whar Deely watch'd--
A-twitterin' an' anxious.
It didn't suit Miss Deely's plan
Her pa should catch that Agent man.
I kind ov mind them days I went
With Betsy Ann a-sparking'.
Time hed a'drefful sneakin way
Ov passin' without markin'
A single blaze upon a post,
An' walkin' noiseless es a ghost!
I guess thet Adam found it thus,
Afore he hed to grapple
With thet conundrum Satan rais'd
About the blam'd old apple;
He found Time sort ov smart tew pass
Afore Eve took tew apple sass.
Thar ain't no changes cum about
Sence them old days in Eden,
Except thet lovers take a spell
Of mighty hearty feedin'.
Now Adam makes his Eve rejice
By orderin' up a lemon ice.
He ain't got enny kind ov show
To hear the merry pealins'
Of them thar weddin' bells, unless
He kind ov stirs her feelins'--
By treatin' her tew ginger pop,
An' pilin' peanuts in a-top.
Thet Agent man know'd how to run
The business real handy;
An' him an' Deely sot an' laugh'd,
An' scrunch'd a pile o' candy;
An' talk'd about the singin' skule--
An' stars--an' Spense's kickin' mule--
An' other elevatin' facts
In Skyence an' in Natur.
An' Time, es I wus sayin', glode
Past, like a champion skater,--
When--Thunder! round the orchard fence.
Come thet thar tarrier dog an' Spense,
An' made straight for the dairy door.
Thar's times in most experrence,
We feel how trooly wise 'twould be
To make a rapid clearance;
Nor wait tew practice them thar rules
We larn tew city dancin' skules.
The Agent es a gen'ral plan
Wus polish'd es the handles
Ov my old plough; an' slick an' smooth
Es Betsey's tallow candles.
But when he see'd old Spense--wal, neow,
He acted homely es a ceow!
His manners wusn't in the grain,
His wool wus sorter shoddy;
His courage wus a poorish sort,
It hadn't got no body.
An' when he see'd old Spense, he shook
Es ef he'd see'd his gran'ma's spook.
Deely she wrung her pooty hands,
She felt her heart a-turnin'
Es poor es milk when all the cream
Is taken off fur churnin'.
When all to once her eyes fell pat
Upon old Spense's patent vat!
The Agent took no sort ov stock
Thet time in etiquettin;
It would hev made a punkin laugh
Tew see his style of gettin'!
In thet thar empty vat he slid,
An' Deely shet the hefty lid.
Old Spense wus smilin' jest es clar
Es stars in the big 'Dipper';
An' Deely made believe tew hum
'Old Hundred' gay an' chipper,
But thinkin' what a tightsome squeeze
The vat wus fur the Agent's knees.
Old Spense he sed, 'I guess, my gal,
'Ye've been a sort ov dreamin';
'I see ye haven't set the pans,
'Nor turn'd the mornin's cream in;
'Now ain't ye spry? Now, darn my hat
'Ef the milk's run inter thet thar vat.'
Thar's times one's feelin's swell like bread
In summer-time a-risin',
An' Deely's heart swole in a way
Wus mightily surprising
When Spense gripp'd one ov them thar pans
Ov yaller cream in his big han's!
The moon glode underneath a cloud,
The breeze sigh'd loud an' airy;
The pans they faintlike glimmer'd on
The white walls ov the dairy.
Deely she trembl'd like an ash,
An' lean'd agin the old churn dash.
'Tarnation darksome,' growl'd old Spense,
Arf liftin' up the cover--
He turn'd the pan ov cream quite spry
On Deely's Agent lover.
Good sakes alive! a curdlin' skreek
From thet thar Agent man did break!
All drippin' white he ros'd tew view.
His curly locks a-flowin'
With clotted cream, an' in the dusk,
His eyes with terror glowin'.
He made one spring--'tis certain, reely,
He never sed 'Good night' tew Deely.
Old Spense he riz up from the ground,
An' with a kind ov wonder,
He look'd inter thet patent vat,
An' simply sed, 'By thunder'!
Then look'd at Deely hard, and sed,
'The milk will sop clar thro' his hed'!
Folks look'd right solemn when they heard
The hull ov thet thar story,
An' sed, 'It might be plainly seen
Twas clar agin the glory
Of Pruvidence to use a vat
Thet Satan in had boldly sat'!
They shook their heads when Spense declar'd
'Twas Deely's beau in hidin';
They guess'd they know'd a thing or two,
An' wasn't so confidin':--
'Twas the 'Devourin' Lion' cum
Tew ask old Spense testep down hum!
Old Spense he kinder spil'd the thing
Fur thet thar congregation,
By holdin' on tew life in spite
Ov Satan's invitation;
An' hurts thar feelin's ev'ry Spring,
Buyin' some pesky patent thing.
The Agent man slid out next day,
To peddle round young Hyson;
And Deely fur a fortnight thought
Ov drinkin' sum rat pison;
Didn't put no papers in her har;
An' din'd out ov the pickle jar.
Then at Aunt Hesby's sewin' bee
She met a slick young feller,
With a city partin' tew his har
An' a city umbereller.
He see'd her hum thet night, an' he
Is now her steddy company!
poem by Isabella Valancy Crawford
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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How Deacon Fry Bought A Duchess
It sorter skeer'd the neighbours round,
For of all the 'tarnal set thet clutches
Their dollars firm, he wus the boss;
An' yet he went and byed a 'Duchess.'
I never will forget the day
He druv her from the city market;
I guess thar warn't more'n two
Thet stayed to hum thet day in Clarket.
And one of them wus Gran'pa Finch,
Who's bed-rid up to Spense's attic:
The other Aunt Mehitabel,
Whose jints and temper is rheumatic.
She said she 'guessed that Deacon Fry
Would some day see he'd done more fitter
To send his dollars savin' souls
Than waste 'em on a horn'd critter!'
We all turn'd out at Pewse's store,
The last one jest inside the village;
The Jedge he even chanc'd along,
And so did good old Elder Millage.
We sot around on kegs and planks,
And on the fence we loung'd precarious;
The Elder felt to speak a word,
And sed his thoughts wus very various.
He sed the Deacon call'd to mind
The blessed patriarchs and their cattle;
'To whose herds cum a great increase
When they in furrin parts did settle.'
We nodded all our skulls at this,
But Argue Bill he rapped his crutches;
Sed he, 'I guess they never paid
Five hundred dollars for a 'Duchess.''
Bill and the Elder allers froze
To subjects sorter disputatious,
So on the 'lasses keg they sot,
And had an argue fair and spacious.
Good land! when Solon cum in sight,
By lawyer Smithett's row o' beeches;
His black span seemed to crawl along
Ez slow ez Dr. Jones's leeches.
Sez Sister Fry, who was along,
'I sorter think my specs is muggy;
'But Solon started out from hum
'This mornin' in the new top buggy.
'Jeddiah rid old chestnut Jim,
'An' Sammy rid the roan filly;
'I told 'em when they started off
'It looked redikless, soft and silly,
'To see three able-bodied men
'An' four stout horses drive one critter;
'O land o' song! will some one look?
'From hed to foot I'm in a twitter.'
Wal, up we swarm'd on Pewse's fence,
And Bill he histed on his crutches;
We all was curus to behold
The Deac's five hundred dollar 'Duchess.'
I've heerd filosofurs declar,
This life be's kind o' snarly jinted;
And every human standin' thar
Felt sorter gin'ral disappointed.
What sort o' crazy animile
Hed got the Deacon in its clutches?
They cum along in spankin' style--
Old Solon and his sons and 'Duchess.'
Her heels wus up, her hed wus down,
An or'nary cross-gritted critter
As ever browsed around the town,
And kept the women folks a-twitter,
A-boostin' up the garding rails,
And browsin' on the factory bleachin',
And kickin' up the milkin' pails:
Bill he riz up, ez true ez preachin'.
Sez he, excited like, 'I'll 'low,
To swaller both these here old crutches-
Ef thet ain't Farmer Slyby's cow,
Old Bossie turn'd inter a 'Duchess!'
Wal,'twus k'rect! The Deacon swore
Some hefty swars and sot the clutches
Of law to work; but seed no more
The chap thet sold him thet thar 'Duchess.'
poem by Isabella Valancy Crawford
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Merry, Cherry and Strawberry
There was A big hairy man who had wife called Merry
merry and the hairy man had a farm of strawberry
once upon a day, a government came to the farm
merry an the man gets a big alarm
the farm was sealed and berries served for meal
the man get sad
merry get so mad
their life falls down
they luck was drown
the man hadn't chance
the death beat him a lance
but merry was scary
not like a little fairy
she did all the hard
to make a nice bomb
his name was cherry
so fears to be fairy
she put on the Court
she just said to lord
'Hello dear lord, hear is merry with a bomb called cherry
there is no more strawberry'
poem by Dariel Grey
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Twice The Maple Blushes
O, twice the maple blushes, blushes rosy, rosy red;
She blushes in the Spring-time,
When aroused from Winter's sleep,
She finds herself all naked
And the gaping world apeep,
O, then the maple blushes, blushes rosy, rosy red.
Once again the maple blushes, blushes rosy, rosy red;
She blushes in the Autumn,
When she lays her robes aside
For the long, long sleep of Winter,
And finds naught 'neath which to hide,
O, then the maple blushes, blushes rosy, rosy red.
poem by James Edwin Campbell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Cherry, Cherry Coupe
Go cherry, cherry coupe now
The wildest short around is my cherry, cherry coupe
Its the sharpest thing in town and the envy of my group
Its one of its kind and it really looks good
Chopped nose and deck with louvers on the hood
Go cherry, cherry coupe now
Go cherry, cherry coupe now
Go cherry, cherry coupe now
(my cherry coupe beats em up coming off the line)
Go cherry, cherry coupe now
(and she really gets sparks when she starts to whine)
Chrome reversed rims with whitewall slicks
And it turns a quarter mile in one oh six
Door handles are off but you know Ill never miss em
They open when I want with the cellunoid system
Go cherry, cherry coupe now
Go cherry, cherry coupe now
Go cherry, cherry coupe now
(my cherry coupe beats em up coming off the line)
Go cherry, cherry coupe now
(and she really gets sparks when she starts to whine)
My coupes tuck and roll underneath the hood
And the rugs, seats, and panels now are looking good
When I go looking for something to do
Shes got enough room now to barely seat two
Go cherry, cherry coupe now
Go cherry, cherry coupe now
Go cherry, cherry coupe now
(my cherry coupe beats em up coming off the line)
Go cherry, cherry coupe now
(and she really gets sparks when she starts to whine)
Go cherry, cherry coupe now
Go cherry, cherry coupe now
Go cherry, cherry coupe now
(my cherry coupe beats em up coming off the line)
Go cherry, cherry coupe now
(and she really gets sparks when she starts to whine)
song performed by by Beach Boys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Deacon And His Daughter
He saved his soul and saved his pork,
With old time preservation;
He did not hold with creosote,
Or new plans of salvation;
He said that 'Works would show the man,'
'The smoke-house tell upon the ham!'
He didn't, when he sunk a well,
Inspect the stuns and gravel;
To prove that Moses was a dunce,
Unfit for furrin travel;
He marvell'd at them works of God--
An' broke 'em up to mend the road!
And when the Circus come around,
He hitch'd his sleek old horses;
And in his rattling wagon took
His dimpl'd household forces--
The boys to wonder at the Clown,
And think his fate Life's highest crown.
He wondered at the zebras wild,
Nor knew 'em painted donkeys;
An' when he gave the boys a dime
For cakes to feed the monkeys,
He never thought, in any shape,
He had descended from an ape!
And when he saw some shallow-pate,
With smallest brain possession,
He uttered no filosofy
On Nature's retrogression.
To ancient types, by Darwin's rule,
He simply said, 'Wal, darn a fool.'
He never had an enemy,
But once a year to meetin',
When he and Deacon Maybee fought
On questions of free seatin';
Or which should be the one t' rebuke
Pastor for kissin' sister Luke.
His farm was well enough, but stones
Kind of stern, ruthless facts is;
An' he jest made out to save a mite,
An' pay his righteous taxes,
An' mebbe tote some flour an' pork
To poor old critters past their work.
But on the neatest thing he hed
Around the place or dwellin',
I guess he never paid a red
Of taxes. No mush melon
Was rounder, sweeter, pinker than
The old Man's daughter, Minta Ann.
I've been at Philadelfy's show
An' other similar fusses,
An' seen a mighty sight of stone,
Minarveys and Venusses;
An' Sikeys clad in flowers an' wings,
But not much show of factory things.
I've seen the hull entire crowd
Of Jove's female relations,
An' I feel to make a solemn swear
On them thar 'Lamentations,'
That as a sort of general plan
I'd rather spark with Minta Ann!
You'd ought to see her dimpled chin,
With one red freckle on it,
Her brown eyes glancing underneath
Her tilted shaker bonnet.
I vow, I often did desire,
They'd set the plaguey thing a-fire!
You'd ought to hear that gal sing
On Sabbath, up to meetin',
You'd kind of feel high lifted up,
Your soul for Heaven fleetin'.
And then--came supper, down she'd tie
You to this earth with pumpkin pie!
I tell you, stranger, 'twas a sight
For poetry and speeches,
To see her sittin' on the stoop,
A-peelin' scarlet peaches,
Inter the kettle at her feet,--
I tell you, 'twas a show complete!
Drip, droppin' thro' the rustlin' vine,
The sunbeams came a flittin';
An' sort of danced upon the floor,
Chas'd by the tabby kitten;
Losh! to see the critter's big surprise,
When them beams slipped into Minta's eyes!
An' down her brow her pretty hair
Cum curlin', crinklin', creepin',
In leetle, yaller mites of rings,
Inter them bright eyes, peepin',
Es run the tendrils of the vine,
To whar the merry sunbeams shine.
But losh! her smile was dreadful shy,
An' kept her white lids under;
Jest as when darkens up the sky
An' growls away the thunder;
Them skeery speckled trout will hide
Beneath them white pond lilies' pride!
An' then her heart, 'twas made clar through
Of Californy metal,
Chock full of things es sugar sweet
Es a presarvin' kettle.
The beaux went crazed fur menny a mile
When I got thet kettle on the bile.
The good old deacon's gone to whar
Thar ain't no wild contentions
On Buildin' Funds' Committees and
No taxes nor exemptions.
Yet still I sort of feel he preaches,
And Minta Ann preserves my peaches.
poem by Isabella Valancy Crawford
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Monkey Butt with Choca Mocha
It's not my favorite...
But it's hot!
This flavor tasted that I've got!
It satisfies a need that's fed...
A craving that has stopped inside my head!
A temporary drop,
In my pocket.
I will admit a feeding has been met!
A soothing to a drooling has been cooled.
Addicted to a moment of regret that's soothed!
Put a double on the cone for me!
With a cherry on the top...
Sitting on whipped cream with meaning!
Put a double on the cone for me!
Since you're out of Maple Nut...
I'll take take two scoops of 'Monkey Butt'.
And come back and get that 'Choca Mocha'!
Put a double on the cone for me!
With a cherry on the top...
Sitting on whipped cream with meaning!
Put a double on the cone for me!
Since you're out of Maple Nut...
Give me 'Monkey Butt' with 'Choca Mocha'!
Wait!
Leave the 'Monkey Butt'
And add two 'Choca Mochas'!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Ontario
Beautiful place with five great lakes
Colored Maple leaves and snow flakes
Cold Winters, autumn days with shower
Breath taking Niagara and tall CN tower
Blossomy Spring and lots of flower show
Friendly Santa and Christmas in snow
Mining Forestry Farming Fishing
Job for everyone, all who are wishing
Monday to Friday we work no rest
Weekends reserve for friends and guests
Apple Grapes Maple syrup and Beef
Tasty wine over a game of Maple Leaf
The Sound of dry leaves extend Halloween
Kawarthas, Thousand Islands - what a beautiful scene
Agawa Canyons, French River, big shopping malls
QEW, Marine land & Kakabaka falls
Bears Deer and Moose on the road
Millions of immigrants and biggest Airport
Longest street, country's capital and skydome
This is Ontario - our beautiful home
poem by Deepak Manchanda
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Cherry, Cherry
Cherry, cherry
Rozanda was her real name
But cherry was her chosen one
Everybody said that shed soon be dead
But cherry replied at least I had some fun (oh yes)
Her eyes were like a pool of 24 karat diamonds
I was the last in a long line of foolish men who dived in
Chorus:
Cherry, cherry
I think about u every rising sun
Whoa cherry, cherry
Wherever u are, I hope ure havin fun (oh yes)
Tuesday was my big game
North vs. central in basketball
Underneath their long coats
Cherry and the girls wore camisoles
Every time north would run the hoop
Cherry would flash em and they would fall
But not as hard as I fell
When cherry gave me her number and told me 2 call (u should call me)
Using all the money her boyfriend wilbur gave her, shed buy
Anything I wanted, thats why my babys so fly
Chorus
(do do do do do)
Me and cherry got married
And tried our best 2 keep it on the down low, the down low
I was combing her hair
The day that wilbur called and cussed her on the phone
He beat her up real bad and figured I was gonna leave her
Instead I bought a 45 and set out 2 relieve her (take him out)
If he was taken out then he could never harm another
No sooner than I got there, I was met by cherrys mother cryin
Cherry, cherry
Every night I ask the lord why? oh why?
Cherry, cherry
Another victim of a suicide (why oh why? )
Why?
Cherry, cherry
I think about u every rising sun
Whoa cherry, cherry
Wherever u are, I hope ure havin fun
I hope ure having fun, baby
Cherry, cherry
Id give anything 2 kiss u
Cherry, cherry
I guess I just miss u
Cherry
song performed by by Prince
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Taxes On The Farmer Feeds Us All
(traditional, adapted by ry cooder)
(d) - (a) - (e)
(a) we worked through spring and winter, through (d) summer and through (a) fall
But the mortgage worked the hardest and the (e) steadiest of us all
It (a) worked on nights and sundays, it (d) worked each holiday
(e) settled down among us and it never went (a) away
The farmer comes to town with his wagon broken down
The farmer is the man who feeds us all
If you only look and see I know you will agree
That the farmer is the man who feeds us all
(a) the farmer is the man, the farmer is the man
He buys on his credit until (e) fall
Then they (a) take him by the hand
And they (d) lead him from his land
And the (e) merchant is the man who gets it (a) all
The farmer is the man, the farmer is the man
He lives on his credit until fall
With the interest rates so high
Its a wonder he dont die
But the taxes on the farmer feeds us all
Well, the banker says hes broke and the merchant stops and smoke
But they forget that its the farmer that feeds them all
It would put them to the test if the farmer took a rest
And theyd know that its the farmer that feeds them all
The farmer is the man, the farmer is the man
Lives on his credit until fall
Well, his pants are wearing thin
His condition, its a sin
cause the taxes on the farmer feeds us all
song performed by by Ry Cooder
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Beauty....... of what?
The earth wait's the sky drizzles
Seasons come and seasons go
With the smell of weather
The farmer chooses to decorate his farm
A farmer believes every leaf
Of the plant as its own
At every point protects and nurtures
The plants every leaf
The farmer that stood by
That plants every need and move
The plants have no respect for him
The farmer doesn't even find out
Who caste the evil eye
But all that's left is his ruined farm of hope
What was ones a living green
Is now nothing but flying sand?
What did I plant and what did I get?
What did I plant and what did it become?
Wonders the helpless farmer
Even when crying on the inside
Smiles just for its plants
A farmer believes every leaf
Of the plant as its own
At every point protects the plants every leaf
What did I want and what did I get?
Is all the farmer could think
poem by Kiara Davar
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Dads Cherry Tree
There was a large cherry tree in my yard
This tree t’was my dad ‘s favorite
And as the cherry tree grew up to thy sky
He did have a decision
whether or not to chop the tree down
Or risk it falling and killing him
For you see this old cherry tree did
Stand right over his bed
So if the wind kick up or lightning did strike
Would be his end for
The tree would fall and he would go
So unfortunately with the tree
So he would make great decision
And hopefully make it right
It took him many years and many a time
He thought’s the did spite
Him for the year’s went by and the cherry tree
Got more demised, nearer to the bed
As he would lay and begin to wonder
Will this take off my head
So as the year the did expire
Then He finally said
I will take the old tree down
Above my own bed
And the so alas the cherry fell
The tree would breathe its last
And be cut down to stump and be
Safe for dad once again
The tree was made low and the branches did go
Right into the meat smoker
But out of the ash cloud grew another
through the thorns and choker
the tree did live on in another a tree that grew
and so the tree was reborn
from a cherry, the trees great fruit
and so this little sapling grew and it grew
and it grew 1,2,3 foot by the crowing of the year
and so it grew and it got taller
as a little sapling then might or would do
and the tree got no smaller
as it grew to be as tall as dad and it was
staring him in the eye
he said we got to dig this up
look at the size
for you see the little sapling was right in my garden
and blocking the sunshine
so we dug and dug and dug
it took a lot of time
but finally we got up pulled it out of the ground
and moved to better spot
were it would live in peace and harmony
the place we set was not to hot
But it was not to cold either, it was
It was a nice spot with all
of the tree for the young cherry’s company
the tree grew very tall
And with it happy position that there was
it was a great sight
To see this cherry tree again live
And never have to fight
Now when my dad he did see this
he was so overjoyed
He had his cherry tree’s son and offspring
And never again did he toy
With planting or cutting down old cherry trees
He loved his tree so dear
That he would be indeed collecting all the cherries
And never wrong was he steered
poem by Timothy Young
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Merry-Go-Round
Merry-go-round, merry-go-round,
Up in the sky.
Merry-go-round, merry-go-round,
Soars me high!
Breeze rustles,
cloud's castles,
Roam round and round!
I shriek in false fear,
Seeing the thing near,
which I never have found.
Merry-go-round, merry-go-round,
Brings the fun to me,
Merry-go-round, merry-go-round,
Fills mind with glee!
Moving round, round,
Touching the ground,
Almost kisses the sky.
Merry-go-round, merry-go-round,
Takes me up in the high!
poem by Nilakshi Das
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Show Me (Cherry Baby)
Show me, show me
Show me how
Show me, show me
Show me how
Oh cherry
Oh cherry baby
Oh cherry
Oh cherry baby
Oh cherry
Oh cherry baby
Oh cherry
Oh cherry
I found you wanting
Like everyone
Always trying
Happy lying
cos Im no stranger
To the ways of the world
I felt like crying
I felt like dying
We took a coffee
You took it so strong
Shaded from the neon
I could still see your eyes
Oh cherry
Oh cherry baby
Oh cherry
Oh cherry baby
Oh cherry
Oh cherry baby
Oh cherry
Oh cherry baby
Found in the gutter
With a knife in her back
Letter said sorry
Please dont worry
She had a lover
With danger in his eyes
I tried to tell her
But she had the wildest heart
Show me, show me
Show me how
Show me, show me
Show me how
Oh cherry
Oh cherry baby
Oh cherry
Oh cherry baby
Oh cherry
Oh cherry baby
Oh cherry
Show me, show me
Show me how
Show me, show me
Show me how
Show me, show me
Show me how
Show me, show me
Show me how
song performed by by INXS
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Show Me
Show me, show me
Show me how
Show me, show me
Show me how
Oh cherry
Oh cherry baby
Oh cherry
Oh cherry baby
Oh cherry
Oh cherry baby
Oh cherry
Oh cherry
I found you wanting
Like everyone
Always trying
Happy lying
'Cos I'm no stranger
To the ways of the world
I felt like crying
I felt like dying
We took a coffee
You took it so strong
Shaded from the neon
I could still see your eyes
Oh cherry
Oh cherry baby
Oh cherry
Oh cherry baby
Oh cherry
Oh cherry baby
Oh cherry
Oh cherry baby
Found in the gutter
With a knife in her back
Letter said sorry
Please don't worry
She had a lover
With danger in his eyes
I tried to tell her
But she had the wildest heart
Show me, show me
Show me how
Show me, show me
Show me how
Oh cherry
Oh cherry baby
Oh cherry
Oh cherry baby
Oh cherry
Oh cherry baby
Oh cherry
Show me, show me
Show me how
Show me, show me
Show me how
Show me, show me
Show me how
Show me, show me
Show me how
song performed by by INXS
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Nine from Eight
I was drivin' my two-mule waggin,
With a lot o' truck for sale,
Towards Macon, to git some baggin'
(Which my cotton was ready to bale),
And I come to a place on the side o' the pike
Whar a peert little winter branch jest had throw'd
The sand in a kind of a sand-bar like,
And I seed, a leetle ways up the road,
A man squattin' down, like a big bull-toad,
On the ground, a-figgerin' thar in the sand
With his finger, and motionin' with his hand,
And he looked like Ellick Garry.
And as I driv up, I heerd him bleat
To hisself, like a lamb: 'Hauh? nine from eight
Leaves nuthin' -- and none to carry?'
And Ellick's bull-cart was standin'
A cross-wise of the way,
And the little bull was a-expandin',
Hisself on a wisp of hay.
But Ellick he sat with his head bent down,
A-studyin' and musin' powerfully,
And his forrud was creased with a turrible frown,
And he was a-wurken' appearently
A 'rethmetic sum that wouldn't gee,
Fur he kep' on figgerin' away in the sand
With his finger, and motionin' with his hand,
And I seed it WAS Ellick Garry.
And agin I heard him softly bleat
To hisself, like a lamb: 'Hauh? nine from eight
Leaves nuthin' -- and none to carry!'
I woa'd my mules mighty easy
(Ellick's back was towards the road
And the wind hit was sorter breezy)
And I got down off'n my load,
And I crep' up close to Ellick's back,
And I heerd him a-talkin' softly, thus:
'Them figgers is got me under the hack.
I caint see how to git out'n the muss,
Except to jest nat'ally fail and bus'!
My crap-leen calls for nine hundred and more.
My counts o' sales is eight hundred and four,
Of cotton for Ellick Garry.
Thar's eight, ought, four, jest like on a slate:
Here's nine and two oughts -- Hauh? nine from eight
Leaves nuthin' -- and none to carry.
'Them crap-leens, oh, them crap-leens!
I giv one to Pardman and Sharks.
Hit gobbled me up like snap-beans
In a patch full o' old fiel'-larks.
But I thought I could fool the crap-leen nice,
And I hauled my cotton to Jammel and Cones.
But shuh! 'fore I even had settled my price
They tuck affidavy without no bones
And levelled upon me fur all ther loans
To the 'mount of sum nine hundred dollars or more,
And sold me out clean for eight hundred and four,
As sure as I'm Ellick Garry!
And thar it is down all squar and straight,
But I can't make it gee, fur nine from eight
Leaves nuthin' -- and none to carry.'
Then I says 'Hello, here, Garry!
However you star' and frown
Thare's somethin' fur YOU to carry,
Fur you've worked it upside down!'
Then he riz and walked to his little bull-cart,
And made like he neither had seen nor heerd
Nor knowed that I knowed of his raskilly part,
And he tried to look as if HE wa'nt feared,
And gathered his lines like he never keered,
And he driv down the road 'bout a quarter or so,
And then looked around, and I hollered 'Hello,
Look here, Mister Ellick Garry!
You may git up soon and lie down late,
But you'll always find that nine from eight
Leaves nuthin' -- and none to carry.'
poem by Sidney Lanier
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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