"Daddy" Warbucks
In Memoriam
What’s missing is the eyeballs
In each of us, but it doesn’t matter
Because you’ve got the bucks, the bucks, the bucks.
You let me touch them, fondle the green faces
Lick at their numbers and it lets you be
My “Daddy!” “Daddy!” and though I fought all alone
With molesters and crooks, I knew your money
Would save me, your courage, your “I’ve had
Considerable experience as a soldier…
Fighting to win millions for myself, it’s true.
But I did win,” and me praying for “our men out there”
Just made it okay to be an orphan whose blood was no one’s,
Whose curls were hung up on a wire machine and electrified,
While you built and unbuilt intrigues called nations,
And did in the bad ones, always, always,
And always came at my perils, the black Christs of childhood,
Always came when my heart stood
And they threw apples at it or twelve-day-old-dead-fish.
“Daddy!” “Daddy,” we all won that war,
When you sang me the money songs
Annie, Annie you sang
And I knew you drove a pure gold car
And put diamonds in you coke
For the crunchy sound, the adorable sound
And the moon too was in your portfolio,
As well as the ocean with its sleepy dead.
And I was always brave, wasn’t I?
I never bled?
I never saw a man expose himself.
No. No.
I never saw a drunkard in his blubber.
I never let lightning go in one car and out the other.
And all the men out there were never to come.
Never, like a deluge, to swim over my breasts
And lay their lamps in my insides.
No. No.
Just me and my “Daddy”
And his tempestuous bucks
Rolling in them like corn flakes
And only the bad ones died.
But I died yesterday,
“Daddy,” I died,
Swallowing the Nazi-Jap animal
And it won’t get out
It keeps knocking at my eyes,
My big orphan eyes,
Kicking! Until eyeballs pop out
And even my dog puts up his four feet
And lets go
Of his military secret
With his big red tongue
Flying up and down
Like yours should have
As we board our velvet train.
Related poetry:
- Money When I had money, money, O! I knew no joy till I went poor; For many a false man as a friend Came knocking all day at my door. Then felt I like a child that holds A trumpet that he must not blow Because a man is dead; I dared Not speak to let […]...
- HIS GRANGE, OR PRIVATE WEALTH Though clock, To tell how night draws hence, I’ve none, A cock I have to sing how day draws on: I have A maid, my Prue, by good luck sent, To save That little, Fates me gave or lent. A hen I keep, which, creeking day by day, Tells when She goes her long white […]...
- The Idea Of Order At Key West She sang beyond the genius of the sea. The water never formed to mind or voice, Like a body wholly body, fluttering Its empty sleeves; and yet its mimic motion Made constant cry, caused constantly a cry, That was not ours although we understood, Inhuman, of the veritable ocean. The sea was not a mask. […]...
- Twilight So Mary died last night! To-day The news has travelled here. And Robert died at Michaelmas, And Walter died last year. I went at sunset up the lane, I lingered by the stile; I saw the dusky fields that stretched Before me many a mile. I leaned against the stile, and thought Of her whose […]...
- What Then? His chosen comrades thought at school He must grow a famous man; He thought the same and lived by rule, All his twenties crammed with toil; ‘What then?’ sang Plato’s ghost. ‘What then?’ Everything he wrote was read, After certain years he won Sufficient money for his need, Friends that have been friends indeed; ‘What […]...
- The Moss Of His Skin “Young girls in old Arabia were often buried alive next To their fathers, apparently as sacrifice to the goddesses Of the tribes…” Harold Feldman, “Children of the Desert” Psychoanalysis And Psychoanalytic Review, Fall 1958 It was only important To smile and hold still, To lie down beside him And to rest awhile, To be folded […]...
- Three Marching Songs I Remember all those renowned generations, They left their bodies to fatten the wolves, They left their homesteads to fatten the foxes, Fled to far countries, or sheltered themselves In cavern, crevice, or hole, Defending Ireland’s soul. Be still, be still, what can be said? My father sang that song, But time amends old wrong, […]...
- John M. Church I was attorney for the “Q” And the Indemnity Company which insured The owners of the mine. I pulled the wires with judge and jury, And the upper courts, to beat the claims Of the crippled, the widow and orphan, And made a fortune thereat. The bar association sang my praises In a high-flown resolution. […]...
- Carlovingian Dreams COUNT these reminiscences like money. The Greeks had their picnics under another name. The Romans wore glad rags and told their neighbors, “What of it?” The Carlovingians hauling logs on carts, they too Stuck their noses in the air and stuck their thumbs to their noses And tasted life as a symphonic dream of fresh […]...
- A Western Ballad When I died, love, when I died My heart was broken in your care; I never suffered love so fair As now I suffer and abide When I died, love, when I died. When I died, love, when I died I wearied in an endless maze That men have walked for centuries, As endless as […]...
- The Record Fearing that she might go one day With some fine fellow of her choice, I called her from her childish play, And made a record of her voice. And now that she is truly gone, I hear it sweet and crystal clear From out my wheezy gramophone: “I love you, Daddy dear.” Indeed it’s true […]...
- To Sylvia “O love, lean thou thy cheek to mine, And let the tears together flow” Such was the song you sang to me Once, long ago. Such was the song you sang; and yet (O be not wroth!) I scarcely knew What sounds flow’d forth; I only felt That you were you. I scarcely knew your […]...
- The Fountain Oh in the deep blue night The fountain sang alone; It sang to the drowsy heart Of a satyr carved in stone. The fountain sang and sang But the satyr never stirred Only the great white moon In the empty heaven heard. The fountain sang and sang And on the marble rim The milk-white peacocks […]...
- Money Quarterly, is it, money reproaches me: ‘Why do you let me lie here wastefully? I am all you never had of goods and sex, You could get them still by writing a few cheques.’ So I look at others, what they do with theirs: They certainly don’t keep it upstairs. By now they’ve a second […]...
- In Harbor A young man, twenty eight years old, on a vessel from Tenos, Emes arrived at this Syrian harbor With the intention of learning the perfume trade. But during the voyage he was taken ill. And as soon As he disembarked, he died. His burial, the poorest, Took place here. A few hours before he died, […]...
- Elizabeth Catch, my Uncle Jack said And oh I caught this huge apple Red as Mrs Kelly’s bum. It’s red as Mrs Kelly’s bum, I said And Daddy roared And swung me on his stomach with a heave. Then I hid the apple in my room Till it shrunk like a face Growing eyes and teeth […]...
- Bankers Are Just Like Anybody Else, Except Richer This is a song to celebrate banks, Because they are full of money and you go into them and all You hear is clinks and clanks, Or maybe a sound like the wind in the trees on the hills, Which is the rustling of the thousand dollar bills. Most bankers dwell in marble halls, Which […]...
- When You See Millions Of The Mouthless Dead When you see millions of the mouthless dead Across your dreams in pale battalions go, Say not soft things as other men have said, That you’ll remember. For you need not so. Give them not praise. For, deaf, how should they know It is not curses heaped on each gashed head? Nor tears. Their blind […]...
- The Army of Death When you see millions of the mouthless dead Across your dreams in pale battalions go, Say not soft things as other men have said, That you’ll remember. For you need not so. Give them not praise. For, deaf, how should they know It is not curses heaped on each gashed head? Nor tears. Their blind […]...
- GARAGE SALE I sold her bed for a song. A song of yearning like an orphan’s. Or the one knives carve into bread. But the un-broken bread Song too. For the song that rivers Sing to the ferryman’s oars. With that dread in it. For a threadbare tune: garroted, Chest-choked, cheap. A sparrow’s, beggar’s, a foghorn’s call. […]...
- The Fury Of Guitars And Sopranos This singing Is a kind of dying, A kind of birth, A votive candle. I have a dream-mother Who sings with her guitar, Nursing the bedroom With a moonlight and beautiful olives. A flute came too, Joining the five strings, A God finger over the holes. I knew a beautiful woman once Who sang with […]...
- Unlike, For Example, The Sound Of A Riptooth Saw gnawing through a shinbone, a high howl Inside of which a bloody, slashed-by-growls note Is heard, unlike that Sound, and instead, its opposite: a barely sounded Sound (put your nuclear ears On for it, your giant hearing horn, its cornucopia mouth Wide) a slippery whoosh of rain Sliding down a mirror Leaned against a windfallen […]...
- Song (She Sat And Sang Alway) She sat and sang alway By the green margin of a stream, Watching the fishes leap and play Beneath the glad sunbeam. I sat and wept alway Beneath the moon’s most shadowy beam, Watching the blossoms of the May Weep leaves into the stream. I wept for memory; She sang for hope that is so […]...
- The Blind And The Dead She lay like a saint on her copper couch; Like an angel asleep she lay, In the stare of the ghoulish folks that slouch Past the Dead and sneak away. Then came old Jules of the sightless gaze, Who begged in the streets for bread. Each day he had come for a year of days, […]...
- Mysterious doings As once I rambled in the woods I chanced to spy amid the brake A huntsman ride his way beside A fair and passing tranquil lake; Though velvet bucks sped here and there, He let them scamper through the green Not one smote he, but lustily He blew his horn what could it mean? As […]...
- Frogs in chorus The chorus frogs in the big lagoon Would sing their songs to the silvery moon. Tenor singers were out of place, For every frog was a double bass. But never a human chorus yet Could beat the accurate time they set. The solo singer began the joke; He sang, “As long as I live I’ll […]...
- The Truth the Dead Know For my Mother, born March 1902, died March 1959 And my Father, born February 1900, died June 1959 Gone, I say and walk from church, Refusing the stiff procession to the grave, Letting the dead ride alone in the hearse. It is June. I am tired of being brave. We drive to the Cape. I […]...
- Aunt Jane When Aunt Jane died we hunted round, And money everywhere we found. How much I do not care to say, But no death duties will we pay, And Aunt Jane will be well content We bilked the bloody Government. While others spent she loved to save, But couldn’t take it to her grave. While others […]...
- A Poem For Myself (or Blues for a Mississippi Black Boy) I was born in Mississippi; I walked barefooted thru the mud. Born black in Mississippi, Walked barefooted thru the mud. But, when I reached the age of twelve I left that place for good. My daddy chopped cotton And he drank his liquor straight. Said my daddy chopped […]...
- Only a Jockey Out in the grey cheerless chill of the morning light, Out on the track where the night shades still lurk, Ere the first gleam of the sungod’s returning light Round come the racehorses early at work. Reefing and pulling and racing so readily, Close sit the jockey-boys holding them hard, “Steady the stallion there canter […]...
- Adventure just as the dusk comes hooting Down through the shivering black leaves Of the swinging trees we (the brave ones Swaggering like marshalls through a lynch-mob) Crash-bang our way to the door Of the so-called haunted house Knock knock – kick in a pane of glass And the dusk hoots louder in our ears And […]...
- And you will claim And you will claim we need more births to keep Our population mix in check while nature’s truths Suggest there are too many of us yet? And you will make the claim with good intent, And wear the jeers precipitated by our peers, You’ll blame statistics for the deed no doubt, You’ll see the figures […]...
- Dumb Swede With barbwire hooch they filled him full, Till he was drunker than all hell, And then they peddled him the bull About a claim they had to sell. A thousand bucks they made him pay, Knowing that he had nothing more, And when he begged it back next day, And wept! – they kicked him […]...
- I rose because He sank I rose because He sank I thought it would be opposite But when his power dropped My Soul grew straight. I cheered my fainting Prince I sang firm even Chants I helped his Film with Hymn And when the Dews drew off That held his Forehead stiff I met him Balm to Balm I told […]...
- Circles of Doors I LOVE him, I love him, ran the patter of her lips And she formed his name on her tongue and sang And she sent him word she loved him so much, So much, and death was nothing; work, art, home, All was nothing if her love for him was not first Of all; the […]...
- Losses It was not dying: everybody died. It was not dying: we had died before In the routine crashes and our fields Called up the papers, wrote home to our folks, And the rates rose, all because of us. We died on the wrong page of the almanac, Scattered on mountains fifty miles away; Diving on […]...
- Homage To A Government Next year we are to bring all the soldiers home For lack of money, and it is all right. Places they guarded, or kept orderly, We want the money for ourselves at home Instead of working. And this is all right. It’s hard to say who wanted it to happen, But now it’s been decided […]...
- The Onset Always the same, when on a fated night At last the gathered snow lets down as white As may be in dark woods, and with a song It shall not make again all winter long Of hissing on the yet uncovered ground, I almost stumble looking up and round, As one who overtaken by the […]...
- Potomac River Mist ALL the policemen, saloonkeepers and efficiency experts in Toledo knew Bern Dailey; secretary ten years when Whitlock was mayor. Pickpockets, yeggs, three card men, he knew them all and how they flit from zone to zone, birds of wind and weather, singers, fighters, scavengers. The Washington monument pointed to a new moon for us and […]...
- The Corridor It may have been the pride in me for aught I know, or just a patronizing whim; But call it freak of fancy, or what not, I cannot hide the hungry face of him. I keep a scant half-dozen words he said, And every now and then I lose his name; He may be living […]...