Poems classified by content
List of Poems
List of Poems
List of Poems
List of Poems
List of Poems
List of Poems
List of Poems
List of Poems
List of classifications
HUMOROUS POEMS
1. A Bold Little Chicken (Spring, 1953)
7. Nothing More (Fall, 1953)
11. Happy Birthday (Oct. 28, 1955)
18. The Devil Toupee (Fall, 1956)
44. My Vale of Scarlet (Nonsense poem #1)
57. Whoo? (Nonsense poem #2; fall, 1960)
68. Invitation To A Ukrainian Easter Egg Party (April, 1962)
74. Poem O' Granite (3rd Nonsense poem; Aug. 18, 1966)
97. Day or Night It's The Same Old World (4/28/79)
List of Poems
1. A BOLD LITTLE CHICKEN (Spring, 1953)
(to Ron Fox)
A bold little chicken is digging my flowers,
Among the bright blooms where I've spent many hours;
My grandfather's blunderbuss I will get down,
And one little chicken will roll on the ground.
I can't find the powder, I can't find the ball,
I've searched in the attic, I've scoured the hall.
With hoe and a rake I'll chase naughty fowl,
And give him the evil eye plus a dark scowl.
My uncle has borrowed my shovel and hoe;
My rake has been borrowed, by whom I don't know.
A rusty old lawnmower is all that I see,
If I use it, then the chicken will flee,
And the grass will be cut and then it will fall.
This don't work either, the grass is too tall.
It's breaking the blades on this rusty old tool.
I'll catch that bird yet; I'll prove I'm no fool.
A shaker of salt or a butterfly net,
A rod and a reel, a chicken would get.
Skyhooks or beartraps would bring reward fine;
I'd catch me a chicken and then I would dine.
Perhaps he is thirsty--I'll lure him with drink;
Now who in the world ran off with my sink?
There goes the doorbell, someone's at the door,
Which I can't find 'cause I can't find the floor.
I've misplaced 'bout everything that you can name,
But it's not really my fault, my wife is to blame.
But there's chicken and dumplings for dinner I'm sure,
No bird my skunk cabbages can long endure.
The old clock is striking a quarter to four;
The telephone's ringing, now who is that for?
The fire siren's screeching, a horrible wail,
Or maybe my wife has escaped from the jail.
She'll probably come here to hide under the bed.
All this confusion, I wish I were dead,
Or fighting tigers and wolves in Malay.
It's safer than living here, day after day.
7. NOTHING MORE (Fall 1953)
(by S.Z.Geny and M.Schnuppelgrutter with apologies to Edgar)
Once upon a midnight dreary, eerie, scary,
I was weary, I was wary, full of worry,
Thinking of my lost Lenore,
Of my cheery, merry, fairy, fiery dearie,
Marry, nary nothing more.
Ah! distinctly I remember every ember that December,
Turns from amber to burnt umber;
I was burning limber lumber in my chamber that December,
And it left an amber ember,
Amber glare and little more.
And the silken sad uncertain flirtin' of a
Certain curtain soothed the partin' that was hurtin',
Hurtin' me down to the core,
Partin' from a pert an' perky kitten, quittin' courtin',
Quittin' now forevermore.
I was napping when a tapping on the over-
Lapping coping woke me yapping, gaping, groping;
Toward the rapping I went hopping, leaping, hoping
That the rapping on the coping
Was my little lost Lenore.
Then on opening the shutter to admit the latter critter,
In she'd flutter from the gutter with her bitter eyes a-glitter,
So I opened wide the door.
What was there where, sighing, I bent ear and eye,
Peering, fearing, hearing nothing near or by,
But the breakers on the shore?
Naught was near but the drear moor, the dark weir,
The mere door and nothing more.
Then in strode a stately raven, shaven like a
Bard of Avon, yes, a shaven, rovin' raven
Seekin' haven at my door.
Yes, that grievin', rovin' raven had been movin'--
Get me, Stephen?--for the warm and lovin' haven,
Of my stove and oven door,
Oven door and nothing more.
(Snomskec Zom Geny was a code name of Ron Fox,
.and Montmorency Schnuppelgrutter was a code name of mine,
.whose cousin was my bassoon, Potpotsammy von Ishwoim Schnuppelgrutter)
11. HAPPY BIRTHDAY (Oct. 28, 1955)
(dedicated to my youngest brother David, born Nov. 1, 1939)
Gad--a birthday rolls around!
Sixteen years ago we found
A little bundle of frogs and snails
Thoroughly mixed with some puppydog's tails.
As time went by this monster grew,
And now we find that it's become you.
A most obstreperous, 'strornry pet,
But we find we love you yet.
So I wish you happy birthday, brother,
Make the most of your years--and be good to your mother!
18. THE DEVIL TOUPEE (Fall, 1956)
(for Jan Andrea Newman)
Now, since I have nothing to do,
and lest I start the day to rue
And end up feeling very blue
and go to bed before it's through
And maybe have a nightmare, too
I had better start anew
to work on something, for it's true
That if they find I nothing do
I'll have to paddle my own canoe,
and beat the pavement with my shoe,
In search of work, that I might accrue
a savings fund, the residue
To purchase me my bread and stew,
And other things that I may chew.
Wouldn't that be a splendid coup?
But it all might be a big snafu,
and I'll have to go to Timbuktu,
And live a pauper, that my due
for spending in work, hours so few,
As these I use to write to you,
So I must end it now, adieu!
44. MY VALE OF SCARLET (Nonsense Poem #1; 3/11/1960)
(to Patricia)
My vale of scarlet has refused to sing
as before which older sunshine played,
What were his colour, former rivers bring
to running stones which eat or drink no shade;
And liquid greak some fewer flying hills
who constantly like gravel going to seed
Have for her by me of daffodils,
her lake-blue dancing teeth on mortal bleed.
On top by summer's dusty wilder fold
for shadows gleaming sundry shot his sight;
And swampy bellow launching redder gold
he after many, tender laughter quite.
Sprinkling, spanking, quenched through indiscreet,
more is it were does sometime overstand.
Aroma in how droning rainbow sweet
exploded, some dissolved who contraband.
What has I whirled, which liver spleen
(unfinished)
57. WHOO? (fall, 1960)
(just for rhythmic fun)
One - puzzle, - yakking - free,
One by two, - four by me.
Over, under, roundabout,
Some is multiple, without doubt.
Under the rickety skidding pile,
Which sundered a shuddering platinum file,
Once upon a summertime the sugary silverware
Fattened up a porcupine whose handkerchief was buried there.
(the first line is in a quarter-note rhythm;
.the second and third lines are in a eighth-note rhythm;
.the fourth line has a triplet on the second beat;
.the fifth line has two triplets, two eighth-notes, one quarter-note;
.the sixth line has three triplets and a quarter-note;
.the seventh line has 4 sixteenths twice and two triplets;
.the last line is all sixteenth notes)
68. INVITATION TO A UKRAINIAN EASTER EGG PARTY (April, 1962)
(to everyone)
hey nonny nonny
hey nonny mouse
why do the birds sing and the children play
because it's spring
because it's Easter
because they're happy
because it's good
come come come come come come come come come come
do not, do not -- unnecessarily, do not unnecessarily complicate,
do not unnecessarily complicate things
come to 2645 Shasta Road, Berkeley
April 21
Sunset -- ??
Ukrainian Easter Egg Party
folk sing before during after forever
yolks folks songs gongs hey nonny mouse
from the court fool
("hey nonny mouse" is a misspelling of "anonymous")
."Do not unnecessarily complicate things" was a round i wrote
.for Steve Kresge's musical in 1957)
74. POEM O' GRANITE (2nd NONSENSE POEM; Aug. 18, 1966)
(to noone)
A wanderer wandered right into my room
"Pardon me, sir, may I have a broom?"
I turned away quickly, hiding my face --
"There's nary a broom or a mop anyplace
But what dances or sings like a devil or girl
Beginning forever to braid up her curl."
He looked from the ceiling around to the wall
"Then may I proceed to your phone and then call
The wasps or its cousins who shatter with night
To examine the emptiness, whether it's right?"
I jumped and I bumped with my fist at the door --
"Pray leave me and do not come here any more!"
His eyes glistened white like a sunset at dawn,
"If you wish, sir, I'll stay here while you travel on."
A greenish pink blackness came into my heart
As I said, "But the apples, don't they need a start
To bottom the buttons and butter the blue
And scour the biscuits for pumpkins, don't you?"
He whirled his orange, and pursed up his jaws,
And pulled out a file to sharpen his claws,
And slowly, oh, slowly, he once more did say,
"Didn't you wonder or wind up the day
To be like a sky?" I said, with a grin,
"If I had, then the horses would never get in!"
"Oh, of course, I forgot, or perhaps never knew,
But now that I can, I shall, after you."
He smiled, like the clouds as they sing to the sun;
So I said, rather quickly, for I hadn't begun,
"Why do you finish and please, whom you will,
For others and many last night whether still?"
The sunshine and mutterings rose to a peak
And whenever other palatable squeak,
"Thunder! and bedtime! and none have their joy!"
"Oh, blessed! and bleeding! my ancestor boy
Has an ankle behind him and running right back,"
But the shades were all closed and I sat on a tack.
97. DAY OR NIGHT IT'S THE SAME OLD WORLD (4/28/79)
(to Fate)
I hate red lights with a venomous passion;
I'd surely be glad if they went out of fashion.
Red lights, they stop me wherever I go,
Whether I'm driving fast or slow,
Red lights, they stop me on ev'ry street,
I turn at a corner, another I meet.
I look up ahead, the next one is green;
But scarcely a green light I've ever seen
But what changes again as I come near,
Making me see red as I see red appear.
Like a slap in the face, or a trip by a foot,
I'm thwarted as up their barriers they put.
Why can't my ride be continuous flow?
Why do they stop me wherever I go?
It seems like it must be more than just chance.
It must be a demon which halts my advance,
A demon which blocks and tries me to upset,
Then laughs at me, the madder I get.
"I win! I win!" he invisibly jeers
While I boil inside, shifting my gears.
Well, day or night it's the same old world:
At each red light my dander gets curled.
The demon still lurks, with glee to annoy me;
I guess that some day he'll surely destroy me.