Always on time, is something I’m.
Always seemly, yes, extremely.
And polite? Oh, very, quite.
Don’t crack knuckles, won’t stamp feet.
My room, my handwriting, both are neat.
Never cry unless I’m hurt.
Never ask for more dessert.
Tie my shoes before I’m told.
Eat my food before it’s cold.
Respect old people ‘cause they’re old.
Ever lie? Oh, no – not I!
Little one, what have you heard, and how?
That grave-stones cluster on the hill’s cold brow
and wanderers are lost without a sound
beneath the moon, when the hard winds blow.
I hid here in the grass, and hide here now.
Little one, what have you seen, and where?
The dead and deathless wail upon the air;
the living will not go abroad for fear,
but build their fires up high, and sit, and stare
into the dark. I have been there.
Little one, what meaning do you find?
I wish to live, to live! Death is not kind.
The dying do not leave this world behind.
Worm, worm, worry-wart
Wriggling underground.
What should worms be worried for,
Hiding safe and sound?
If it were not for just one thing
They’d all be happy fellows:
But here’s what really worries worms:
They haven’t any elbows.
“Yes, yes, yes!” yells young Yvonne,
Yelling loudly all day long
Yelling, yowling, yelping, howling,
In the kitchen, on the lawn,
Caterwauling in the hallway,
“Yes, yes, yes!” from dusk till dawn;
Yelling till her mother wonders,
“How long can this noise go on?”
Yelling till her father tells her,
“Yes, all right! Go on, Yvonne!
Do what you wish, do what you want to,
Only please stop yelling so!”
But Yvonne cries, “No, no, no!”
Flying floating free and slow
High or in between or low
Flying’s easy if you try
Take two steps and grab the sky
Flying all last night I found
Air is friendlier than ground
Flying slower than the wind
I took the moonlight in my hand
Flying through the midnight trees
I left the moonlight on the leaves
Flying must have been a dream
But that’s not the way it seemed.
Fly sang his death song
All afternoon, mourning sky
Beyond his reaching.
Billy blew a bubble
With a piece of bubblegum.
Betty blew a bubble too.
Baby wanted some.
Baby chewed and Baby blew
Bit by bit by bit by bit;
The bubble grew, and grew… and grew…
Baby wouldn’t quit.
One day Baby’s got to stop
Or else that bubble has to pop.
A crow don’t care
Who knows he’s there.
He caws all day.
Got lots to say:
What’s that?
Who goes?
See that!
Want those!
A crow’s a racket in a tree
For all the world to hear and see.
A cat won’t share
The fact she’s there.
She’ll be where she
Decides to be:
She lies
In wait;
Claws sharp,
Tail straight.
A cat’s a shadow in the grass
You’ll barely notice as you pass.
I saw the cat an hour ago
About the time I heard the crow.
And now I do not see the cat.
And now it’s quiet. Funny, that.
All the sailors lost at sea
Are with the mermaid clan
Enjoying mussels by the shoals
Vacationing in far Japan.
They’ve left their brothers, mothers, lovers
Crying on the shore
For once you’ve heard the mermaids sing
You’ll come home never more.
Thomas Jefferson got squished by a train
Last month. Now the back of his head
Is all smooth, and nobody can remember
If he had a ponytail or regular hair.
Now his motto is just IN GOD
And LIBERTY is smeared out behind him
Smooth, vague, and barely legible.
You can read it only if you already know it’s there.
Reverse, his home’s half-pictured, MONT-something,
Surrounded by noble sentiments half-named:
PLURIBUS. UNITED. FIVE. The rest is gone,
Left on the rails, I guess.
I always heard a coin on the tracks
Could derail a train.
Maybe I just heard wrong. Or maybe
This is a job for Abraham Lincoln.
Bag of Anything 