#1912 #AmericanWriters #RhymesOfARollingStone
This crowded life of God’s good g… No man has relished more than I; I’ve been so goldarned busy living I’ve never had the time to die. So busy fishing, hunting, roving,
Three Holies sat in sacred place And quaffed celestial wine, As they discussed the human race With dignity divine. Said they: 'Although in doctrine…
O God, take the sun from the sky! It’s burning me, scorching me up. God, can’t You hear my cry? Water! A poor, little cup! It’s laughing, the cursed sun!
I like to think that when I fall, A rain—drop in Death’s shoreless… This shelf of books along the wall… Beside my bed, will mourn for me. Regard it. . . . Aye, my taste is…
I told a truth, a tragic truth That tore the sullen sky; A million shuddered at my sooth And anarchist was I. Red righteousness was in my word
Of bosom friends I’ve had but sev… Despite my years are ripe; I hope they’re now enjoying Heave… Although they’re not the type; Nor, candidly, no more am I,
You say I am the slave of Fate Bound by unalterable laws. I harken, but your words I hate, Your damnable Effect and Cause. If there’s no hope for happy Chan…
Poppies, you try to tell me, glowi… Poppies! Ah no! You mock me: It’… It’s gleaming wet in the grasses;… It dabbles the ferns and the clove… It leaps to the startled heavens;…
I stood beside the silken rope, Five dollars in my hand, And waited in my patient hope To sit anear the Band, And hear the famous Louie play
The Moon is like a ping—pong ball… I lean against the orchard wall, And see it soar into the void, A silky sphere of celluloid. Then fairy fire enkindles it,
God dwells in you; in pride and sh… In all you do to blight or bless; In all you are of praise and blame… In beauty or in ugliness. “Divine Creation” —What a fraud!
The humble garret where I dwell Is in that Quarter called the Lat… It isn’t spacious —truth to tell, There’s hardly room to swing a cat… But what of that! It’s there I fi…
. . . So I walked among the willo… There was no moon at all, at all;… There was no light at all, at all;… And I called him as his mother ca… Oh I called him all the night—tim…
He’s yonder, on the terrace of the… The little wizened Spanish man, I… He’s sitting with his Pernod on h… He’s staring at the passers with h… He never takes his piercing eyes f…
A prisoner speaks: Majority of twenty—three, I face the Judge with joy and gle… For am I not a lucky chap — No more hanging, no more cap;