The Cat With Wings
You never saw a cat with wings, I’ll bet a dollar well, I did; ‘Twas one of those fantastic things One runs across in old Madrid. A walloping big tom it was, (Maybe of
A Song Of Suicide
Deeming that I were better dead, “How shall I kill myself?” I said. Thus mooning by the river Seine I sought extinction without pain, When on a bridge I saw a flash Of lingerie
A Rusty Nail
I ran a nail into my hand, The wound was hard to heal; So bitter was the pain to stand I thought how it would feel, To have spikes thrust through hands and feet,
Old Scout
Is it because I’m bent and grey, Though wearing rather well, That I can slickly get away With all the yarns I tell? Is it because my bleary eye No longer beams with youth
Wrestling Match
What guts he had, the Dago lad Who fought that Frenchman grim with guile; For nigh an hour they milled like mad, And mauled the mat in rare old style. Then up and launched
Child Lover
Drunk or sober Uncle Jim Played the boy; Never glum or sour or grim, Oozin’ joy. Most folks thought he was no good, Blamin’ him; But where kiddies were, you could Bank on Jim.
His Boys
“I’m going, Billy, old fellow. Hist, lad! Don’t make any noise. There’s Boches to beat all creation, the pitch of a bomb away. I’ve fixed the note to your collar, you’ve got to get
The Haggis Of Private McPhee
“Hae ye heard whit ma auld mither’s postit tae me? It fair maks me hamesick,” says Private McPhee. “And whit did she send ye?” says Private McPhun, As he cockit his rifle and bleezed
The Ballad Of Touch-The-Button Nell
Beyond the Rocking Bridge it lies, the burg of evil fame, The huts where hive and swarm and thrive the sisterhood of shame. Through all the night each cabin light goes out and then
The Booby-Trap
I’m crawlin’ out in the mangolds to bury wot’s left o’ Joe Joe, my pal, and a good un (God! ‘ow it rains and rains). I’m sick o’ seein’ him lyin’ like a ‘eap
The Trail Of No Return
So now I take a bitter road Whereon no bourne I see, And wearily I lift the load That once I bore with glee. For me no more by sea or shore Adventure’s star
The Super
When I was with a Shakespeare show I played the part of Guildenstern, Or Rosenkrantz – at least I know It wasn’t difficult to learn; By Reader, do not at me scoff, For futhermore
My Cancer Cure
“A year to live,” the Doctor said; “There is no cure,” and shook his head. Ah me! I felt as good as dead. Yet quite resigned to fate was I, Thinking: “Well, since I
The Walkers
(He speaks.) Walking, walking, oh, the joy of walking! Swinging down the tawny lanes with head held high; Striding up the green hills, through the heather stalking, Swishing through the woodlands where the brown
Birds Of A Feather
Of bosom friends I’ve had but seven, Despite my years are ripe; I hope they’re now enjoying Heaven, Although they’re not the type; Nor, candidly, no more am I, Though overdue to die. For
My Inner Life
‘Tis true my garments threadbare are, And sorry poor I seem; But inly I am richer far Than any poet’s dream. For I’ve a hidden life no one Can ever hope to see; A
Rivera Honeymoon
Beneath the trees I lounged at ease And watched them speed the pace; They swerved and swung, they clutched and clung, They leapt in roaring chase; The crowd was thrilled, a chap was killed:
Nature's Way
To tribulations of mankind Dame Nature is indifferent; To human sorrow she is blind, And deaf to human discontent. Mid fear and fratricidal fray, Mid woe and tyranny of toil, She goes her unregarding
The Ballad Of Soulful Sam
You want me to tell you a story, a yarn of the firin’ line, Of our thin red kharki ‘eroes, out there where the bullets whine; Out there where the bombs are bustin’, And
Old David Smail
He dreamed away his hours in school; He sat with such an absent air, The master reckoned him a fool, And gave him up in dull despair. When other lads were making hay You’d
Two Words
‘God’ is composed of letters three, But if you put an ‘l’ Before the last it seems to me A synonym for Hell. For all of envy, greed and hate The human heart can