Infidelity
Three Triangles TRIANGLE ONE My husband put some poison in my beer, And fondly hoped that I would drink it up. He would get rid of me – no bloody fear, For when his
The Ballad Of The Black Fox Skin
I There was Claw-fingered Kitty and Windy Ike living the life of shame, When unto them in the Long, Long Night came the man-who-had-no-name; Bearing his prize of a black fox pelt, out of
Grandad
Heaven’s mighty sweet, I guess; Ain’t no rush to git there: Been a sinner, more or less; Maybe wouldn’t fit there. Wicked still, bound to confess; Might jest pine a bit there. Heaven’s swell,
The Key Of The Street
“Miss Rosemary,” I dourly said, “Our balance verges on the red, We must cut down our overhead. One of the staff will have to go. There’s Mister Jones, he’s mighty slow, Although he does
The Song Of The Wage-Slave
When the long, long day is over, and the Big Boss gives me my pay, I hope that it won’t be hell-fire, as some of the parsons say. And I hope that it won’t
Fisherfolk
I like to look at fishermen And oftentimes I wish One would be lucky now and then And catch a little fish. I watch them statuesquely stand, And at the water look; But if
New Year's Eve
It’s cruel cold on the water-front, silent and dark and drear; Only the black tide weltering, only the hissing snow; And I, alone, like a storm-tossed wreck, on this night of the glad New
Toledo
Three widows of the Middle West We’re grimly chewing gum; The Lido chef a quail had dressed With garlic and with rum, And they were painfully oppressed For they had eaten some. Said One:
Gods In The Gutter
I dreamed I saw three demi-gods who in a cafe sat, And one was small and crapulous, and one was large and fat; And one was eaten up with vice and verminous at that.
Seven
If on water and sweet bread Seven years I’ll add to life, For me will no blood be shed, No lamb know the evil knife; Excellently will I dine On a crust and Adam’s
A Sourdough Story
Hark to the Sourdough story, told at sixty below, When the pipes are lit and we smoke and spit Into the campfire glow. Rugged are we and hoary, and statin’ a general rule, A
Dark Glasses
Sweet maiden, why disguise The beauty of your eyes With glasses black? Although I’m well aware That you are more than fair, Allure you lack. For as I stare at you I ask if
Ruins
Ruins in Rome are four a penny, And here along the Appian Way I see the monuments of many Esteemed almighty in their day. . . . Or so he makes me understand –
Triumph
Why am I full of joy although It drizzles on the links? Why am I buying Veuve Cliquot, And setting up the drinks? Why stand I like a prince amid My pals and envy
Young Mother
Her baby was so full of glee, And through the day It laughed and babbled on her knee In happy play. It pulled her hair all out of curl With noisy joy; So peppy