Monday, December 11, 2017

Horse Sense

A horse can’t pull while kicking.
This fact I merely mention.
And he can’t kick while pulling,
Which is our chief contention.

Let’s imitate the good old horse
And lead a life that’s fitting;
Just pull an honest load, and then
There’ll be no time for kicking.

~ Anonymous

Friday, December 8, 2017


When you're lying awake with a dismal headache, and repose is
taboo'd by anxiety,
I conceive you may use any language you choose to indulge in
without impropriety;
For your brain is on fire - the bedclothes conspire of usual
slumber to plunder you:
First your counterpane goes and uncovers your toes, and your sheet
slips demurely from under you;
Then the blanketing tickles - you feel like mixed pickles, so
terribly sharp is the pricking,
And you're hot, and you're cross, and you tumble and toss till
there's nothing 'twixt you and the ticking.
Then the bedclothes all creep to the ground in a heap, and you pick
'em all up in a tangle;
Next your pillow resigns and politely declines to remain at its
usual angle!
Well, you get some repose in the form of a doze, with hot eyeballs
and head ever aching,
But your slumbering teems with such horrible dreams that you'd very
much better be waking;
For you dream you are crossing the Channel, and tossing about in a
steamer from Harwich,
Which is something between a large bathing-machine and a very small
second-class carriage;
And you're giving a treat (penny ice and cold meat) to a party of
friends and relations -
They're a ravenous horde - and they all came on board at Sloane
Square and South Kensington Stations.
And bound on that journey you find your attorney (who started that
morning from Devon);
He's a bit undersized, and you don't feel surprised when he tells
you he's only eleven.
Well, you're driving like mad with this singular lad (by the bye
the ship's now a four-wheeler),
And you're playing round games, and he calls you bad names when you
tell him that "ties pay the dealer";
But this you can't stand, so you throw up your hand, and you find
you're as cold as an icicle,
In your shirt and your socks (the black silk with gold clocks),
crossing Salisbury Plain on a bicycle:
And he and the crew are on bicycles too - which they've somehow or
other invested in -
And he's telling the tars all the particuLARS of a company he's
interested in -
It's a scheme of devices, to get at low prices, all goods from
cough mixtures to cables
(Which tickled the sailors) by treating retailers, as though they
were all vegeTAbles -
You get a good spadesman to plant a small tradesman (first take off
his boots with a boot-tree),
And his legs will take root, and his fingers will shoot, and
they'll blossom and bud like a fruit-tree -
From the greengrocer tree you get grapes and green pea,
cauliflower, pineapple, and cranberries,
While the pastry-cook plant cherry-brandy will grant - apple puffs,
and three-corners, and banberries -
The shares are a penny, and ever so many are taken by ROTHSCHILD
And just as a few are allotted to you, you awake with a shudder
despairing -
You're a regular wreck, with a crick in your neck, and no wonder
you snore, for your head's on the floor, and you've needles and
pins from your soles to your shins, and your flesh is a-creep, for
your left leg's asleep, and you've cramp in your toes, and a fly on
your nose, and some fluff in your lung, and a feverish tongue, and
a thirst that's intense, and a general sense that you haven't been
sleeping in clover;
But the darkness has passed, and it's daylight at last, and the
night has been long - ditto, ditto my song - and thank goodness
they're both of them over!

~ W.S. Gilbert

Thursday, December 7, 2017

The Smoking World

Tobacco is a dirty weed:
I like it.
It satisfies no normal need:
I like it.
It makes you thin, it makes you lean,
It takes the hair right off your bean,
Its the worst darn stuff I've ever seen:
I like it.

~ Graham Lee Hemminger

Wednesday, December 6, 2017

How Doth the Little Crocodile

How doth the little crocodile 
Improve his shining tail;
And pour the waters of the Nile 
On every golden scale! 

How cheerfully he seems to grin, 
How neatly spreads his claws, 
And welcomes little fishes in, 
With gently smiling jaws!

~ Lewis Carroll

Tuesday, December 5, 2017

The Pobble Who Has No Toes

The Pobble who has no toes
Had once as many as we;
When they said, 'Some day you may lose them all;'--
He replied, -- 'Fish fiddle de-dee!'
And his Aunt Jobiska made him drink,
Lavender water tinged with pink,
For she said, 'The World in general knows
There's nothing so good for a Pobble's toes!'

The Pobble who has no toes,
Swam across the Bristol Channel;
But before he set out he wrapped his nose,
In a piece of scarlet flannel.
For his Aunt Jobiska said, 'No harm
'Can come to his toes if his nose is warm;
'And it's perfectly known that a Pobble's toes
'Are safe, -- provided he minds his nose.'

The Pobble swam fast and well
And when boats or ships came near him
He tinkedly-binkledy-winkled a bell
So that all the world could hear him.
And all the Sailors and Admirals cried,
When they saw him nearing the further side,--
'He has gone to fish, for his Aunt Jobiska's
'Runcible Cat with crimson whiskers!'

But before he touched the shore,
The shore of the Bristol Channel,
A sea-green Porpoise carried away
His wrapper of scarlet flannel.
And when he came to observe his feet
Formerly garnished with toes so neat
His face at once became forlorn
On perceiving that all his toes were gone!

And nobody ever knew
From that dark day to the present,
Whoso had taken the Pobble's toes,
In a manner so far from pleasant.
Whether the shrimps or crawfish gray,
Or crafty Mermaids stole them away --
Nobody knew; and nobody knows
How the Pebble was robbed of his twice five toes!

The Pobble who has no toes
Was placed in a friendly Bark,
And they rowed him back, and carried him up,
To his Aunt Jobiska's Park.
And she made him a feast at his earnest wish
Of eggs and buttercups fried with fish;--
And she said,-- 'It's a fact the whole world knows,
'That Pebbles are happier without their toes.'

~ Edward Lear

Monday, December 4, 2017

There Was a Man So Wise

There was a Man so wise, 
He jumped into 
A Bramble Bush,
 And scratcht out both his eyes. 
And when he saw,
His Eyes were out, 
And had reason to Complain,
He jumpt into a Quickset Hedge,
And Scratcht them in again.

~ Anonymous

Friday, December 1, 2017

Three Young Rats with Black Felt Hats

Three young rats with black felt hats,
Three young ducks with white straw flats,
Three young dogs with curling tails,
Three young cats with demi-veils,
Went out to walk with two young pigs
In satin vests and sorrel wings,
But suddenly it chanced to rain
And so they all went home again.

~ Anonymous

Thursday, November 30, 2017


In the boarding house where I live
Things are getting very old.
Long gray hairs in the butter,
 And the cheese is green with mold,
When the dog died we had sausage,
 When the cat died, catnip tea.
When the landlord died I left it; 
Spareribs are too much for me.

~ Anonymous

Wednesday, November 29, 2017

Dried Apple Pies

I loathe, abhor, detest, despise,
Abominate dried-apple pies.
I like good bread, I like good meat,
Or anything that's fit to eat;
But of all poor grub beneath the skies,
The poorest is dried apple pies.
Give me the toothache, or sore eyes,
But don't give me dried apple pies.
The farmer takes his gnarliest fruit,
'Tis wormy, bitter, and hard, to boot;
He leaves the hulls to make us cough,
And don't take half the peeling off.
Then on a dirty cord 'tis strung
And in a garret window hung,
And there it serves as roost for flies,
Until it's made up into pies.
Tread on my corns, or tell me lies,
But don't pass me dried-apple pies.

~ Anonymous

Tuesday, November 28, 2017

To a Segar

Sweet antidote to sorrow, toil and strife,
Charm against discontent and wrinkled care,
Who knows thy power can never know despair;
Who knows thee not, one solace lacks of life:
When cares oppress, or when the busy day
Gives place to tranquil eve, a single puff
Can drive ev'n want and lassitude away,
And give a mourner happiness enough.
From thee when curling clouds of incense rise,
They hide each evil that in prospect lies;
But when in evanescence fades thy smoke,
Ah! what, dear sedative, my cares shall smother?
If thou evaporate, the charm is broke,
Till I, departing taper, light another.

~ Samuel Low

Monday, November 27, 2017

Too Great a Sacrifice

The maid, as by the papers doth appear, 
Whom fifty thousand dollars made so dear, 
To test Lothario’s passion, simply said, 
“Forego the weed before we go to wed. 
For smoke take flame; I ’ll be that flame’s bright fanner.
To have your Anna, give up your Havana.” 
But he, when thus she brought him to the scratch, 
Lit his cigar and threw away his match.

~ Anonymous

Friday, November 24, 2017

The Scent of a Good Cigar

What is it comes through the deepening dusk, --
Something sweeter than jasmine scent
Sweeter than rose and biolet blent, 
More potent in power than orange or musk?
The scent of a good cigar.

I am all alone in my quiet room,
And the windows are open wide and free
To let in the south winds kiss for me
While I rock in the softly gathering gloom, 
And that subtle fragrance steals.

Just as a loving, tender hand
Will sometimes steal in yours, 
It softly comes through the open doors, 
And memory wakes at its command,--
The scent of a good cigar.

And what does it say? Ah! That's for me
And my heart alone to know;
But that heart thrills with a sudden glow, 
Tears fill my eyes till I cannot see,--
From the scent of that good cigar.

~ Kate A. Carrington

Thursday, November 23, 2017

Get Up, Get Up

Get up, get up, you lazy-head,
Get up, you lazy sinner,
We need those sheets for tablecloths,
It's nearly time for dinner.

~ Anonymous

Wednesday, November 22, 2017

The Moron

See the happy moron,
He doesn’t give a damn!
I wish I were a moron ---
My God! Perhaps I am!

~ Anonymous