- Published on
Have You Ever Seen
Have you ever seen a sheet on a river bed?
Or a single hair from a hammer’s head?
Has the foot of a mountain any toes?
And is there a pair of garden hose?
Does the needle ever wink its eye?
Why doesn’t the wing of a building fly?
Can you tickle the ribs of a parasol?
Or open the trunk of a tree at all?
Are the teeth of a rake ever going to bite?
Have the hands of a clock any left or right?
Can the garden plot be deep and dark?
And what is the sound of the birch’s bark?
By Author Unknown
Have you ever seen a sheet on a river bed?
Or a single hair from a hammer’s head?
Has the foot of a mountain any toes?
And is there a pair of garden hose?
Does the needle ever wink its eye?
Why doesn’t the wing of a building fly?
Can you tickle the ribs of a parasol?
Or open the trunk of a tree at all?
Are the teeth of a rake ever going to bite?
Have the hands of a clock any left or right?
Can the garden plot be deep and dark?
And what is the sound of the birch’s bark?
By Author Unknown
- Published on
The Walloping Window-Blind
A capital ship for an ocean trip
Was the ‘Walloping Window-Blind’ -
No gale that blew dismayed her crew
Or troubled the captain’s mind.
The man at the wheel was taught to feel
Contempt for the wildest blow,
And it often appeared, when the weather had cleared,
That he’d been in his bunk below.
The boatswain’s mate was very sedate,
Yet fond of amusement, too;
And he played hop-scotch with the starboard watch,
While the captain tickled the crew.
And the gunner we had was apparently mad,
For he sat on the after rail,
And fired salutes with the captain’s boots,
In the teeth of the booming gale.
The captain sat in a commodore’s hat
And dined in a royal way
On toasted pigs and pickles and figs
And gummery bread each day.
But the cook was Dutch and behaved as such:
For the food that he gave the crew
Was a number of tons of hot-cross buns
Chopped up with sugar and glue.
And we all felt ill as mariners will,
On a diet that’s cheap and rude;
And we shivered and shook as we dipped the cook
In a tub of his gluesome food.
Then nautical pride we laid aside,
And we cast the vessel ashore
On the Gulliby Isles, where the Poohpooh smiles,
And the Anagazanders roar.
Composed of sand was that favored land,
And trimmed with cinnamon straws;
And pink and blue was the pleasing hue
Of the Tickletoeteaser’s claws.
And we sat on the edge of a sandy ledge
And shot at the whistling bee;
And the Binnacle-bats wore water-proof hats
As they danced in the sounding sea.
On rubagub bark, from dawn to dark,
We fed, till we all had grown
Uncommonly shrunk, - when a Chinese junk
Came by from the torriby zone.
She was stubby and square, but we didn’t much care,
And we cheerily put to sea;
And we left the crew of the junk to chew
The bark of the rubagub tree.
By Charles E. Carryl (1885); type of work: nonsense poem
Charles Edward Carryl was born on 30 December 1841 in New York, United States of America. He was married to Mary Wetmore in 1869. He became a businessman, a stockbroker, and a writer of children’s literature. Charles Edward Carryl passed on at 78 years of age on 3 July 1920.
A capital ship for an ocean trip
Was the ‘Walloping Window-Blind’ -
No gale that blew dismayed her crew
Or troubled the captain’s mind.
The man at the wheel was taught to feel
Contempt for the wildest blow,
And it often appeared, when the weather had cleared,
That he’d been in his bunk below.
The boatswain’s mate was very sedate,
Yet fond of amusement, too;
And he played hop-scotch with the starboard watch,
While the captain tickled the crew.
And the gunner we had was apparently mad,
For he sat on the after rail,
And fired salutes with the captain’s boots,
In the teeth of the booming gale.
The captain sat in a commodore’s hat
And dined in a royal way
On toasted pigs and pickles and figs
And gummery bread each day.
But the cook was Dutch and behaved as such:
For the food that he gave the crew
Was a number of tons of hot-cross buns
Chopped up with sugar and glue.
And we all felt ill as mariners will,
On a diet that’s cheap and rude;
And we shivered and shook as we dipped the cook
In a tub of his gluesome food.
Then nautical pride we laid aside,
And we cast the vessel ashore
On the Gulliby Isles, where the Poohpooh smiles,
And the Anagazanders roar.
Composed of sand was that favored land,
And trimmed with cinnamon straws;
And pink and blue was the pleasing hue
Of the Tickletoeteaser’s claws.
And we sat on the edge of a sandy ledge
And shot at the whistling bee;
And the Binnacle-bats wore water-proof hats
As they danced in the sounding sea.
On rubagub bark, from dawn to dark,
We fed, till we all had grown
Uncommonly shrunk, - when a Chinese junk
Came by from the torriby zone.
She was stubby and square, but we didn’t much care,
And we cheerily put to sea;
And we left the crew of the junk to chew
The bark of the rubagub tree.
By Charles E. Carryl (1885); type of work: nonsense poem
Charles Edward Carryl was born on 30 December 1841 in New York, United States of America. He was married to Mary Wetmore in 1869. He became a businessman, a stockbroker, and a writer of children’s literature. Charles Edward Carryl passed on at 78 years of age on 3 July 1920.
- Published on
Extremes
A little boy once played so loud
That the thunder, up in a thundercloud,
Said, “Since I can’t be heard, why then
I’ll never, never thunder again!”
And a little girl once kept so still
That she heard a fly on the window sill
Whisper and say to a ladybird -
“She’s the stillest child I ever heard!”
by James Whitcomb Riley
James Whitcomb Riley was born on 7 October 1849 in a two-room cabin in Greenfield, Indiana, United States of America. He became a writer and a poet. His poems tended to be humorous or sentimental, and of the approximately one thousand poems that he wrote, the majority are in dialect. His best-known works include “Little Orphant Annie” and “The Raggedy Man.” He served on the staff of the “Indianapolis Journal” newspaper. James Whitcomb Riley passed on at 66 years of age on 22 July 1916 in Indianapolis, Indiana, United States of America.
A little boy once played so loud
That the thunder, up in a thundercloud,
Said, “Since I can’t be heard, why then
I’ll never, never thunder again!”
And a little girl once kept so still
That she heard a fly on the window sill
Whisper and say to a ladybird -
“She’s the stillest child I ever heard!”
by James Whitcomb Riley
James Whitcomb Riley was born on 7 October 1849 in a two-room cabin in Greenfield, Indiana, United States of America. He became a writer and a poet. His poems tended to be humorous or sentimental, and of the approximately one thousand poems that he wrote, the majority are in dialect. His best-known works include “Little Orphant Annie” and “The Raggedy Man.” He served on the staff of the “Indianapolis Journal” newspaper. James Whitcomb Riley passed on at 66 years of age on 22 July 1916 in Indianapolis, Indiana, United States of America.
- Published on
The Reformation of Godfrey Gore
Godfrey Gordon Gustavus Gore -
No doubt you have heard the name before -
Was a boy who never would shut a door!
The wind might whistle, the wind might roar,
And teeth be aching and throats be sore,
But still he never would shut the door.
His father would beg, his mother implore,
“Godfrey Gordon Gustavus Gore,
We really do wish you would shut the door!”
Their hands they wrung, their hair they tore;
But Godfrey Gordon Gustavus Gore
Was deaf as the buoy out at the Nore.
When he walked forth the folks would roar,
“Godfrey Gordon Gustavus Gore,
Why don’t you think to shut the door?”
They rigged out a Shutter with sail and oar,
And threatened to pack off Gustavus Gore
On a voyage of penance to Singapore.
But he begged for mercy, and said, “No more!
Pray do not send me to Singapore
On a Shutter, and then I will shut the door!”
“You will?” said his parents; “then keep on shore!
But mind you do! For the plague is sore
Of a fellow that never will shut the door,
Godfrey Gordon Gustavus Gore!”
by William Brighty Rands
William Brighty Rands was born on 24 December 1823 in Chelsea, London, England. He became a writer and a poet. He is known for his many nursery rhymes. William Brighty Rands passed on at 58 years of age on 23 April 1882 in East Dulwich, London, England.
Godfrey Gordon Gustavus Gore -
No doubt you have heard the name before -
Was a boy who never would shut a door!
The wind might whistle, the wind might roar,
And teeth be aching and throats be sore,
But still he never would shut the door.
His father would beg, his mother implore,
“Godfrey Gordon Gustavus Gore,
We really do wish you would shut the door!”
Their hands they wrung, their hair they tore;
But Godfrey Gordon Gustavus Gore
Was deaf as the buoy out at the Nore.
When he walked forth the folks would roar,
“Godfrey Gordon Gustavus Gore,
Why don’t you think to shut the door?”
They rigged out a Shutter with sail and oar,
And threatened to pack off Gustavus Gore
On a voyage of penance to Singapore.
But he begged for mercy, and said, “No more!
Pray do not send me to Singapore
On a Shutter, and then I will shut the door!”
“You will?” said his parents; “then keep on shore!
But mind you do! For the plague is sore
Of a fellow that never will shut the door,
Godfrey Gordon Gustavus Gore!”
by William Brighty Rands
William Brighty Rands was born on 24 December 1823 in Chelsea, London, England. He became a writer and a poet. He is known for his many nursery rhymes. William Brighty Rands passed on at 58 years of age on 23 April 1882 in East Dulwich, London, England.
- Published on
A Kind Headed Statue
The quiet little Transvaal,
On peaceful profit bent,
Was ruled by wise Paul Kruger
Its farmer president.
So stoutly had he carried
The burdens on him laid,
The grateful Boers decided
To have his statue made.
Their plans were quite completed, -
A statue big and tall,
So set that all the city
Might see the great “Oom Paul.”
But first, - as was a proper
And gracious thing to do, -
They called on Mrs. Kruger,
To get her notions, too.
Then spoke that royal woman,
With simple, kind intent:
“Be sure to put a hat, sirs,
Upon the president;
And hollow out the top, please,
That rain may fill it up,
“And all the birds may find it
A useful drinking-cup!”
So spoke dear Mrs Kruger.
And gratefully, I think,
The birds will sing her praises
Whene’er they take a drink.
Ah, happy is the nation
Whose ruler cares for men;
And if his wife takes thought for birds,
Why, it is blest again!
by Author Unknown
The quiet little Transvaal,
On peaceful profit bent,
Was ruled by wise Paul Kruger
Its farmer president.
So stoutly had he carried
The burdens on him laid,
The grateful Boers decided
To have his statue made.
Their plans were quite completed, -
A statue big and tall,
So set that all the city
Might see the great “Oom Paul.”
But first, - as was a proper
And gracious thing to do, -
They called on Mrs. Kruger,
To get her notions, too.
Then spoke that royal woman,
With simple, kind intent:
“Be sure to put a hat, sirs,
Upon the president;
And hollow out the top, please,
That rain may fill it up,
“And all the birds may find it
A useful drinking-cup!”
So spoke dear Mrs Kruger.
And gratefully, I think,
The birds will sing her praises
Whene’er they take a drink.
Ah, happy is the nation
Whose ruler cares for men;
And if his wife takes thought for birds,
Why, it is blest again!
by Author Unknown
- Published on
Teddy Bear
A bear, however hard he tries,
Grows tubby without exercise.
Our Teddy Bear is short and fat,
Which is not to be wondered at;
He gets what exercise he can
By falling off the ottoman,
But generally seems to lack
The energy to clamber back.
Now tubbiness is just the thing
Which gets a fellow wondering;
And Teddy worried lots about
The fact that he was rather stout.
He thought: “If only I were thin!
But how does anyone begin?”
He thought: “It really isn’t fair
To grudge me exercise and air.”
For many weeks he pressed in vain
His nose against the window-pane,
And envied those who walked about
Reducing their unwanted stout.
None of the people he could see
“Is quite” (he said) “as fat as me!”
Then with a still more moving sigh,
“I mean” (he said) “as fat as I!”
Now Teddy, as was only right,
Slept in the ottoman at night,
And with him crowded in as well
More animals than I can tell;
Not only these, but books and things,
Such as a kind relation brings -
Old tales of, “Once upon a time,”
And history retold in rhyme.
One night it happened that he took
A peep at an old picture-book,
Wherein he came across by chance
The picture of a King of France
(A stoutish man) and, down below,
These words: “King Louis So and So,
Nicknamed ‘The Handsome!’ “There he sat,
And (think of it) the man was fat!
Our bear rejoiced like anything
To read about this famous King,
Nicknamed the “Handsome.” Not a doubt
The man was definitely stout.
Why then, a bear (for all his tub)
Might yet be named, “The Handsome Cub!”
“Might yet be named.” Or did he mean
That years ago he “might have been”?
For now he felt a slight misgiving:
“Is Louis So and So still living?
Fashions in beauty have a way
Of altering from day to day.
Is ‘Handsome Louis’ with us yet?
Unfortunately I forget.”
Next morning (nose to window-pane)
The doubt occurred to him again.
One question hammered in his head:
“Is he alive or is he dead?”
Thus, nose to pane, he pondered; but
The lattice window, loosely shut,
Swung open. With one startled “Oh!”
Our Teddy disappeared below.
There happened to be passing by
A plump man with a twinkling eye,
Who, seeing Teddy in the street,
Raised him politely on his feet,
And murmured kindly in his ear
Soft words of comfort and of cheer:
“Well, well!” “Allow me!” “Not at all.”
“Tut-tut!” A very nasty fall.”
Our Teddy answered not a word;
It’s doubtful if he even heard.
Our bear could only look and look:
The stout man in the picture-book!
That “handsome” King - could this be he,
This man of adiposity?
“Impossible,” he thought. “But still,
No harm in asking. Yes, I will!”
“Are you,” he said, “by any chance
His Majesty the King of France?”
The other answered, “I am that,”
Bowed stiffly, and removed his hat;
Then said, “Excuse me,” with an air
“But is it Mr. Edward Bear?”
And Teddy, bending very low,
Replied politely, “Even so!”
They stood beneath the window there,
The King and Mr. Edward Bear,
And, handsome, if a trifle fat,
Talked carelessly of this and that . . .
Then said His Majesty, “Well, well,
I must get on,” and rang the bell.
“Your bear, I think,” he smiled. “Good-day!”
And turned, and went upon his way.
A bear, however hard he tries,
Grows tubby without exercise.
Our Teddy Bear is short and fat,
Which is not to be wondered at.
But do you think it worries him
To know that he is far from slim?
No, just the other way about -
He’s proud of being short and stout.
by A. A. Milne
Alan Alexander Milne, also known as A. A. Milne, was born on 18 January 1882 in Kilburn, London, England. He became a novelist, a playwright, and a poet. He is known as the author of the book about a teddy bear titled, “Winnie the Pooh” (1926). Alan Alexander Milne passed on at 74 years of age on 31 January 1956 in Hartfield, Sussex, England.
A bear, however hard he tries,
Grows tubby without exercise.
Our Teddy Bear is short and fat,
Which is not to be wondered at;
He gets what exercise he can
By falling off the ottoman,
But generally seems to lack
The energy to clamber back.
Now tubbiness is just the thing
Which gets a fellow wondering;
And Teddy worried lots about
The fact that he was rather stout.
He thought: “If only I were thin!
But how does anyone begin?”
He thought: “It really isn’t fair
To grudge me exercise and air.”
For many weeks he pressed in vain
His nose against the window-pane,
And envied those who walked about
Reducing their unwanted stout.
None of the people he could see
“Is quite” (he said) “as fat as me!”
Then with a still more moving sigh,
“I mean” (he said) “as fat as I!”
Now Teddy, as was only right,
Slept in the ottoman at night,
And with him crowded in as well
More animals than I can tell;
Not only these, but books and things,
Such as a kind relation brings -
Old tales of, “Once upon a time,”
And history retold in rhyme.
One night it happened that he took
A peep at an old picture-book,
Wherein he came across by chance
The picture of a King of France
(A stoutish man) and, down below,
These words: “King Louis So and So,
Nicknamed ‘The Handsome!’ “There he sat,
And (think of it) the man was fat!
Our bear rejoiced like anything
To read about this famous King,
Nicknamed the “Handsome.” Not a doubt
The man was definitely stout.
Why then, a bear (for all his tub)
Might yet be named, “The Handsome Cub!”
“Might yet be named.” Or did he mean
That years ago he “might have been”?
For now he felt a slight misgiving:
“Is Louis So and So still living?
Fashions in beauty have a way
Of altering from day to day.
Is ‘Handsome Louis’ with us yet?
Unfortunately I forget.”
Next morning (nose to window-pane)
The doubt occurred to him again.
One question hammered in his head:
“Is he alive or is he dead?”
Thus, nose to pane, he pondered; but
The lattice window, loosely shut,
Swung open. With one startled “Oh!”
Our Teddy disappeared below.
There happened to be passing by
A plump man with a twinkling eye,
Who, seeing Teddy in the street,
Raised him politely on his feet,
And murmured kindly in his ear
Soft words of comfort and of cheer:
“Well, well!” “Allow me!” “Not at all.”
“Tut-tut!” A very nasty fall.”
Our Teddy answered not a word;
It’s doubtful if he even heard.
Our bear could only look and look:
The stout man in the picture-book!
That “handsome” King - could this be he,
This man of adiposity?
“Impossible,” he thought. “But still,
No harm in asking. Yes, I will!”
“Are you,” he said, “by any chance
His Majesty the King of France?”
The other answered, “I am that,”
Bowed stiffly, and removed his hat;
Then said, “Excuse me,” with an air
“But is it Mr. Edward Bear?”
And Teddy, bending very low,
Replied politely, “Even so!”
They stood beneath the window there,
The King and Mr. Edward Bear,
And, handsome, if a trifle fat,
Talked carelessly of this and that . . .
Then said His Majesty, “Well, well,
I must get on,” and rang the bell.
“Your bear, I think,” he smiled. “Good-day!”
And turned, and went upon his way.
A bear, however hard he tries,
Grows tubby without exercise.
Our Teddy Bear is short and fat,
Which is not to be wondered at.
But do you think it worries him
To know that he is far from slim?
No, just the other way about -
He’s proud of being short and stout.
by A. A. Milne
Alan Alexander Milne, also known as A. A. Milne, was born on 18 January 1882 in Kilburn, London, England. He became a novelist, a playwright, and a poet. He is known as the author of the book about a teddy bear titled, “Winnie the Pooh” (1926). Alan Alexander Milne passed on at 74 years of age on 31 January 1956 in Hartfield, Sussex, England.
- Published on
Strictly Germ-Proof
The Antiseptic Baby and the Prophylactic Pup
Were playing in the garden when the Bunny gamboled up;
They looked upon the Creature with a loathing undisguised; -
It wasn’t Disinfected and it wasn’t Sterilized.
They said it was a Microbe and a Hotbed of Disease;
They steamed it in a vapor of a thousand-odd degrees;
They froze it in a freezer that was cold as Banished Hope
And washed it in permanganate with carbolated soap.
In sulphurated hydrogen they steeped its wiggly ears;
They trimmed its frisky whiskers with a pair of hard-boiled shears;
They donned their rubber mittens and they took it by the hand
And elected it a member of the Fumigated Band.
There’s not a Micrococcus in the garden where they play;
They bathe in pure iodoform a dozen times a day;
And each imbibes his rations from a Hygienic Cup -
The Bunny and the Baby and the Prophylactic Pup.
by Arthur Guiterman (1906)
Vocabulary
- Prophylactic: Disease-preventing.
- Permanganate: A salt of permanganic acid.
- Carbolated soap: A salt of carbolic acid.
- Micrococcus: Spherical bacterium, usually found on the skin of mammals.
- Iodoform: Compound of iodine used as an antiseptic.
Arthur Guiterman was born on 20 November 1871 in Vienna, Austria to American parents. He became an American writer and poet, as well as an editor of the “Woman’s Home Companion” and the “Literary Digest.” Arthur Guiterman passed on at 71 years of age on 11 January 1943.
The Antiseptic Baby and the Prophylactic Pup
Were playing in the garden when the Bunny gamboled up;
They looked upon the Creature with a loathing undisguised; -
It wasn’t Disinfected and it wasn’t Sterilized.
They said it was a Microbe and a Hotbed of Disease;
They steamed it in a vapor of a thousand-odd degrees;
They froze it in a freezer that was cold as Banished Hope
And washed it in permanganate with carbolated soap.
In sulphurated hydrogen they steeped its wiggly ears;
They trimmed its frisky whiskers with a pair of hard-boiled shears;
They donned their rubber mittens and they took it by the hand
And elected it a member of the Fumigated Band.
There’s not a Micrococcus in the garden where they play;
They bathe in pure iodoform a dozen times a day;
And each imbibes his rations from a Hygienic Cup -
The Bunny and the Baby and the Prophylactic Pup.
by Arthur Guiterman (1906)
Vocabulary
- Prophylactic: Disease-preventing.
- Permanganate: A salt of permanganic acid.
- Carbolated soap: A salt of carbolic acid.
- Micrococcus: Spherical bacterium, usually found on the skin of mammals.
- Iodoform: Compound of iodine used as an antiseptic.
Arthur Guiterman was born on 20 November 1871 in Vienna, Austria to American parents. He became an American writer and poet, as well as an editor of the “Woman’s Home Companion” and the “Literary Digest.” Arthur Guiterman passed on at 71 years of age on 11 January 1943.
- Published on
I’d Like to Be a Lighthouse
I’d like to be a lighthouse
All scrubbed and painted white.
I’d like to be a lighthouse
And stay awake all night
To keep my eye on everything
That sails my patch of sea;
I’d like to be a lighthouse
With the ships all watching me.
by Rachel Lyman Field
I’d like to be a lighthouse
All scrubbed and painted white.
I’d like to be a lighthouse
And stay awake all night
To keep my eye on everything
That sails my patch of sea;
I’d like to be a lighthouse
With the ships all watching me.
by Rachel Lyman Field
- Published on
Whimsy on Doors
Doors are a wonderful invention
second to the wheel! Open one
at certain times and you will let fresh air in,
a guest as sweet as Spring, which has been
walking among flowers or marshes. If a gush
of Winter comes, you can - in a rush -
close it quickly with a fervent bang!
You’ll like doors - once you get the hang
of how they work! They have the terrific clout
to give two different worlds - In and Out -
to you, at will. The trick, now and again,
is knowing what to do with them - and when!
by Helen Harrington
Helen Gladys Harrington (maiden name Martin) was born on 28 February 1909 in Decatur County, Iowa, United States of America. She and her husband Marion Earl ‘Red’ Harrington (1908 - 1993) became farmers, and she also wrote poetry. Helen Gladys Harrington passed on at 90 years of age on 30 January 2000 in Lamoni, Iowa, United States of America.
Doors are a wonderful invention
second to the wheel! Open one
at certain times and you will let fresh air in,
a guest as sweet as Spring, which has been
walking among flowers or marshes. If a gush
of Winter comes, you can - in a rush -
close it quickly with a fervent bang!
You’ll like doors - once you get the hang
of how they work! They have the terrific clout
to give two different worlds - In and Out -
to you, at will. The trick, now and again,
is knowing what to do with them - and when!
by Helen Harrington
Helen Gladys Harrington (maiden name Martin) was born on 28 February 1909 in Decatur County, Iowa, United States of America. She and her husband Marion Earl ‘Red’ Harrington (1908 - 1993) became farmers, and she also wrote poetry. Helen Gladys Harrington passed on at 90 years of age on 30 January 2000 in Lamoni, Iowa, United States of America.
- Published on
A Sailor Ballad
Oh, tie your knot with a tug and twist,
And never a careless bend,
Look out for strands that you may have missed,
And never leave a loose end.
In law or love will the ruling hold:
If trouble away you’d fend,
Be careful ever, and often bold,
But never leave a loose end.
The lag or slip of a rope will give
A loop that you can’t defend.
You’ll hate yourself as long as you live -
Oh, never leave a loose end!
Some other fellow as quick as thought
Will do what you cannot mend -
Untie your luck or your true-love knot, -
So never leave a loose end.
by Ruby Archer
Oh, tie your knot with a tug and twist,
And never a careless bend,
Look out for strands that you may have missed,
And never leave a loose end.
In law or love will the ruling hold:
If trouble away you’d fend,
Be careful ever, and often bold,
But never leave a loose end.
The lag or slip of a rope will give
A loop that you can’t defend.
You’ll hate yourself as long as you live -
Oh, never leave a loose end!
Some other fellow as quick as thought
Will do what you cannot mend -
Untie your luck or your true-love knot, -
So never leave a loose end.
by Ruby Archer
