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"By the Way''
By Esther Kem ThomasVolume III
Published by the Old Swimmin' Hole Press
Greenfield, IndianaCopyright, 1946
By Esther Kem ThomasTo Arn
Foot Path
O, I would seek an unknown trail
And throw away the map,
To look on vastnesses where bills
And valleys overlap.And see if trees and earth and sky
Are prettier by far
In virgin state, untouched by man,
As some folks say they are....But me, why, I'm as pleased as punch
To spot a lonely shack,
Or any sign that man has been
This way and left his track....Seems like it justifies my awe
And multiplies its worth
To know one day another walked
This special stretch of earth!Mountains
It's good for man to gaze upon
An awesome God-made view,
And know His was the selfsame hand
That made us creatures, too!Taproots
Peculiarly, I never want to travel in the Spring,
Or yearn to visit some far distant spot;
No concert ball has tunes like these my special robins sing,
No soil so rich as in my garden plot!The smell of earth and onion sets is like a rendezvous
With supernatural force, whose taproots cling
To life, itself--and, suddenly, I'm firmly rooted, too,
In things familiar as returning Spring!I wouldn't trade my backyard fence for any cultured lieu
Where lorgnettes perch and bluebloods clip their r's
Or forfeit one 'good morning' or a friendly 'howdydo'
For wagons trailing distant shooting stars;With lowly steps I'm satisfied, if that step is the way
Into my house, or to my lettuce bed--
Such distance is a heart's desire--to journey would betray
My gladness for this Spring sky, overhead!Up Pops Spring
The old sun took the earth one day
And turned it inside out--
Its dormant possibilities
I knew, without a doubt,
But during winter's ice-bound spell
Each year my eyes forget
The magic of a blade of grass
And purple violet ...
Until, one day, a spell is cast
That makes my pulses sing--
The season waves a magic wand
And up pops Spring!The river bounds and pounds itself
Among the willow roots;
The sucking soil yields to the weight
Of muddied rubber boots;
The corners of the fenced-in fields
Are melted out foursquare;
The horse-trough floats its icy boats
And earth scents fill the air;
The handle on the barnyard pump
Has lost its sticker cling--
The last of winter drips away,
And up pops Spring!Navy Rhythm
I bought a navy dress,
A navy hat, and navy shoes,
A navy purse, and now I guess
I've got the navy blues!I never saw an ocean or a ship at sea--
The poop deck and the prow are all the same to me,
But, gee, I've got obsessions,
Wantta pack up my possessions--
I think I've got the navy blues!
I'll get a roll in my walk, a lotta sea slang talk,
And ride the waves to freedom like an old sea-hawk;
There'll be no anchors draggin'
When I check my duffle bag 'n
Shout 'Avast' to the navy blues!Vain Hope
To claim defeat before a try
Perhaps is 'wishful thinking,'
For if one stoops to tip the cup
Might not one stoop to drinking?The Poet
If he can take each fruitful day
As God and time bestow it,
And winnow out the sound and good,
Then, that one is the poet!If he can grasp a shining star
Yet feel the earth below it,
And sense the theme of life's short span,
Then he, too, is a poet!Were this his goal, to praise the rose
And bless the soils that grow it,
Sing of the soul, and love the man,
Then, there will be the poet!Preparedness
Let my gladness accent your sorrow,
Or your joy embolden my grief,
I'll cling to my lot till tomorrow
And lighten its weight with belief--
For, if I should barter my burden
Or beg you to bear it at length,
My life might withhold joy and sorrow
In view of an untested strength!The Promise
God proclaimed He should be born
Of virgin womb;
He said he would arise
From out the tomb;
He has said He'll come to purge
Each sinful stain--
He was born! He arose!
He'll come again!He arose, and those who doubted
Kneeled in awe;
He arose, believers cringed
At what they saw,
For he cast aside His bonds,
Endured the pain--
He was born! He arose!
He'll come again!As a symbol of His promise
Lilies bloom;
Candles celebrate the darkness
Of the tomb;
Bells sing out, "The Savior has not
Died in vain!
He was born! He arose!
He'll come again!''An Easter Thought
No cross of wood shall I be forced to shoulder,
No thorny crown adorn my bleeding head,
No nails shall pierce the flesh to mortal anguish,
For Jesus walked that cruel path instead!Whatever burden is my lot to carry,
Upon His shoulders He will take a share;
No darkness can entomb me if I call Him--
He'll roll away the stone, and find me there!He said, "I will be with you--with you, always!''
On Easter Day my thankful prayer shall be
That when I need him most, if I but ask it,
He'll take my cross, and carry it for me!Invitation
"Let them come unto Me,'' the Master said,
And the children touched His Hand,
And were blessed by the wisdom of His Lips
In the words they understand;
"And forbid them not,'' He says today
So the smallest may bear, and see
That a child was meant when the Savior said,
"For of such shall the Kingdom be!''A Mother's Day Off
Bang goes the door! ...
Clank go the pans! ...
Swish goes the broom! ...
Till the family demands,
"Well, what's wrong with you?''
And I pretend to scoff
At their united whispers,
"Mom needs a day off!''A day off for Mother!--
Fred tackles the dishes,
Faye grabs up the broom
And bustles and swishes,
While Dad does quick tricks
In arranging the beds
As lumped up as people
Still under the spreads!So ...there's nothing for me
But to get on my dress,
While I wince at my dishwasher's
Slopping process;
And I pin on my hat, fondly
Open that door
Whose innocent portals
I'd banged shut before,
For, somehow, on leaving
I wanted to stay
And the glitter of going
Had vanished away;
Why, I even invented
A sudden, bad cough,
But they pushed me right out,
"Have a happy day off!''I had said I'd like
To nose through the shops,
But what good is it
When your heart almost stops
At the thought of the scissors
Laid carelessly by
To punch out or injure
A little boy's eye;
Or the vision of baby feet
Slipping on stairs
With no one to caution
A list of 'bewares';
And the dangers of bathtubs--
What mind is at rest
With fatalities hoarded
In medicine chests? ...
Oh, the peace of my luncheon
Was shredded with guilt,
And my hat was shoved into
A crazier tilt
When I suddenly thought of
The heater left on,
And I dashed to a phone,
("I shouldn't have gone--
I'll be patient!'')--and then,
I heard on the line
A blessed voice saying,
"Sure, Mother, we're fine!''
And, with watery knees,
I laughed lightly and gay
Till they thought, "Mother's having
Herself a fine day!''The bus, going home, fairly
Gets down and creeps--
My, I'm racing ahead,
And thought anxiously leaps
To get back there, inside
My four walls, my estate,
Where again I can challenge
And trade blows with fate ...
The lights burning softly,
The children in bed;
I pause by each one,
Rosy face, tousled head;
Take a peak at each room,
Set the coffee to perk,
Tie on, with my apron,
My badge of housework,
And, in placid contentment,
I dust off a pledge
To remember, next time,
When my nerves are on edge
And the doors bang and pans clang,
And brooms bob and swish,
To be careful as Midas
In checking my wish,
And that stark, vagrant longing
To suddenly doff
My apron and dust mop
And take a day off!Somehow, their conniving
To give me these days
Is suspiciously useful
In working both ways--
Oh, I'd be most disheartened
To have them agree
What my family needs most is
A day off from me!Kitchenette
Take a one-woman kitchen
And a (quote) 'one-woman man'
And the combination furnishes
A most efficient plan;
This guy, and kitchen, also, say
I dare not gain an ounce,
Or change from kitchen slacks to frocks
With any flare or flounce;
Why, I can reach the salt, or friendly kiss
With equal ease--
Just what advantages of space
Could counter-balance these?
Now, on our anniversary
This next Thanksgiving Day,
I'm going anti-modern
As the touted one-horse shay
And do some thankful thinking
While I juggle pot and pan
In my one-woman kitchen for
My (quote) 'one-woman' man!Echoes
Ears that are tuned to it
Must miss the sound
Of children's voices
Raucous, yet profound;
The feel of sloppy kisses,
Sticky hands,
The swift-said prayers at night;
All their demands
Whose each fragility
Is strong as steel
To pull me back in substance
To the real....
Dreams may entrap me,
And ambitions burn,
But to this need of mine
I shall return!The Pay-Off
How should I be punished?
It's really past belief
That I, a mother, brand myself
A beggar and a thief!
I begged my infant for a kiss--
She turned to run away;
I snatched her up and stole a few!
Who says crime doesn't pay?Little One
A little one! So new, so dear, for you!
Out of the Great Unknown, God's mystery
Fashioned itself into this blessedness;
A sacred trust--this little 'life-to-be!'
Two tiny bands to tangle in your heart,
Two baby lips, so moist and sweet to kiss,
Soft, precious bundle of potential joy--
What could be greater happiness than this?
Dim in a hazy future stands your child
Whose course of life shall Destiny portray,
But all along the path, may gladness grow,
Mingled with faith, and love, and words to pray!
No one has been more blessed, or yet may be,
Than she who whispers, softly, "My baby!''Birthday
Dimpled fingers on her hand--
One swift year for each;
Inches marked up on the door
Where her top curls reach!Tousled curls, once gold then brown,
Laughing eyes, deep blue ...
For so much we humbly owe
Five glad years to you!Expression
If you've a thought to be expressed,
Then say it!
If you've a new tune on your chest,
Well, play it!
Don't hang back saying, "It's no good,''
Or, "I might be misunderstood ...''
There'll be someone to wish you would
Just say it!Now take the cow when she says 'Moo,'
Her language may be Greek to you--
She's not at fault--You don't know how
Much 'moo' means, to another cow!
Yessir, the barnyard's full of talk--
The old hen's cluck, the guinea's squawk,
The nosey pig fast in the fence
That grunts and squeals; it won't make sense
To you or me, and yet, somehow,
There'll be a hen or pig or cow
Who understands what it's about,
This 'oink' that issues from a snout,
Who has the wit to speak right out
And say it!One aged removed, have man and mate
Been ever quite articulate ...
Each generation, new yet old,
Coins phrases, feeling gay and bold;
For instance, from your point of view,
What's 'bubba, bubba' mean to you?
But, say, if you're turned seventeen
And hear 'slick chick'--see what I mean?
One third who hears say "It's absurd!''
And one protests, "There's no such word!''
But always there remains a third
To say it!Whatever trend your talents seek,
Display it!
And if your impulse is unique,
Obey it!
There'll be someone to understand
The 'you' for which your world was planned,
And when you find him, grab his hand
And say it!Salvation, 1946
Extra! Extra! What a day!
The world is saved by the O.P.A.!
No worrisome need can the future bold
With 'just what I wanted' de-controlled--
Horse blankets, midget cars, eyebrow dyes,
Buttonhooks, pin-cushions, swatters for flies,
Cuticle clippers and new mop-sticks,
False teeth, coat-bangers, AND, Slick Chicks,
If you can't get a home or a cut of beef,
Or a shirt or pants or a handkerchief,
Or a butterpat, or a chunk of mutton,
Hurray, anyway, for the collar button!Quaker Lady
In a little Quaker town a Quaker lady
In her modest Quaker gown and bonnet, too,
Used to move along the quiet streets and shady,
And, in answer to each friendly 'howdy-do,'
Cupped a hand above her eyes to peer out smiling,
And reach a soft veined one to you or me,
And, in a voice in memory beguiling,
She queried, oftentime, "And who is thee?''In this little Quaker town this Quaker lady
And her husband of renown and dignity
Strolled through life in bright sunshine and pathways shady,
Her hand upon his arm where it should be,
And, as their eyes grew dim and names elusive,
The Quaker town would meet them patiently,
And hold her soft veined hand-small, unobtrusive--
As she often peered and asked, "And who is thee?''In the Great Beyond I hope this Quaker Lady
Shall respond when I get there (or if I do)
As she once did on the friendly street and shady,
To my careless, sometimes hurried 'howdy-do';
For, this time, I want to stop awhile and listen
To the thoughts behind her smile! There could not be
A street of gold to shine, or jewel to glisten
Without her soft-voiced quest, "And who is thee?''Picnic Frailties
Life is a picnic table
Where one starts with a paper plate,
And more utensils stored away
Than he can manipulate;
The table is long, the choice is wide--
(Select what you want as you go)--
And for those who strive to heap their plates
There may be an overflow,
But never mind, that takes care of those
Content with the crumbs at their feet-
That non-contributing, floating group
That goes to picnics to eat.Life is a bounteous table
Where viands accumulate,
And what one collects seems inferior
To that on the other man's plate;
But, regardless of how much he finally 'gets'--
(The happiest may take the least)--
He's sated, not by the helpings he takes,
But by what he donates to the feast;
Life is a tempting table,
Surrounded by men whose fate
Is the struggle to balance their sustenance
Down its length, on a flimsy plate!That Woman, Again
She's like a rare limburger cheese--the first bite is so-so,
But, oh, the after-taste of what she "thinks you ought to know!''Ah, she's a one! You'll know her when she rat-tats on your screen--
Her onward Christian soldier march, the purpose in her mien;
Her weight of suff'ring for the deed she KNOWS she's born to do
Steeped in her righteous aim to hang a mental crepe on you;
And, once inside, she's got you like a rare bug on a pin
Where squirm you will, or else! She preens her neatness to begin--
She pats the prim pleat in her dress, strokes up her hair-do so--
You'll see at once she's burdened with the "things you ought to know!''"My dear,'' she plinks, "so long it's been--well, I did see the Mister
At lunch today-that pretty girl!--she must have been his sister? ...
In spite of all a wife can do, the gal has scored a point;
And, in her wake, a wifely nose is slightly out of joint;
Especially when HIS sister is in Maine or Kankakee
And, to save your life, you can't think who this luncheon date could be!
Now, since the bearer of the seed has sown her aggravation,
There'll be, on HIS return, a crop of tears and explanation;
Then when it's all ironed out, one day this helpful So and So
Attacks your door again, with bomb-like "things you ought to know!''Or maybe you're the target for behind-the-hand suggestions
That the curly-headed plumber solves more than your plumbing questions!And bow it gets beneath the skin to toady and explain
That his too-frequent calls are on a stopped-up toilet drain;
She looks askance, but sweetly says, "I hate to be the one
To carry tales to friends of mine, but when a tale's begun
I cannot shirk my duty and let the story grow--
I'll go right to the person with the "things she ought to know!''"Your little girl--so sweet,'' she sighed, "Her pretty flower head--
I scarce could see her when she dug, out in my flower bed--
(Your flower bed! I gasped.) "How Junior grows!'' and as she said it
Somehow I sensed his growth was all a son has to his credit ...
She hinted on of kids and cars and speed and drink and sin
And with her help, I pictured where my Junior fitted in!
"Oh, me,'' I murmured, when she left-my head was in a whirl,
For, Midas-like, she'd touched my life, my man, my boy, my girl--
She did her duty, but she didn't carry tales--oh, no!
As friend to friend she pointed out the "things one ought to know!''She lives in every neighborhood, on every street in town--
Nobody yet has shut her up, nobody talked her down;
Her chief responsibility is spilling in the ear
Of half the world the words the other half is loathe to bear!
She tells the men about their wives, the wives about their men
And, if they dare to stagger up before the count of ten,
Then, like a martyr to a cause, she deals a knock-out blow--
"I wouldn't carry tales but, well--I think you ought to know!''Woman
Proof of Nature's superfluity
Is woman's ingenuity
To baffle simple folk like you and me!..
Punch a clock or darn a sock,
Plow and rake, or bake a cake,
Press a throttle, fix a bottle,
Be demure, or bright and witty,
Go to church, or "feed the kitty,''
Conquer vice, or squeal at mice,
Drive a jeep, or dust and sweep,
Kill a Jap, or nurse the baby,
Teach a guy what bliss is--maybe,
Run a store, or scrub a floor,
Make munitions, flaunt ambitions--
And, with due regard to pater,
She's the human incubator
To infest this earth with folk like you and me!Doggerel
There's a brand new baby at our house
We call him 'Tippy Tin';
He has the saddest, doleful eyes
And softest, quivery chin;
He trots and falls around the house
On awkward, bowed-out knees--
His can of baby powder reads,
"Kills dog ticks, mites, and fleas!''Swingtime
It sat in the gloom of the basement stair,
A hitching post for the cobwebs there,
While the canned food dwindled on the shelf
And the furnace roared and gorged itself;
And none who traveled the basement stair
Saw a summer's promise harbored there
To whet desire for a leisured place
To pause and dangle a while in space
Till the calendar rushed away past Spring
And roused a call for the old porch swing!Oh, the old porch swing more than anything
Is like a finger tied with string
To waken the memory of summer heat
And the lolling moments of busy feet;
The slats are cleaned of the winter's dust
And the jangling chains are oiled for rust ...
Long legs, short ones, old and young
Have a special notch where it should be hung
And, tried for size, there's a just right ring
Where the hook belongs on the old porch swing!And swinging there is the warm delight
Of many a "two'' on a sultry night,
When the ribboned box of candied sweet
Is moved from between on the old swing seat
And a careless arm on the swing back placed
Slips intimately around her waist ...
But, overheard, the folks can tell
That with their young ones all is well
If, tuned to their laughs and murmuring
Is the steady screak of the old porch swing!Swinging high or swinging low,
First the heel and then the toe,
Free and cool on the upward fling
Are the moments spent on the old porch swing!Sum Age
"Oh, Mom, will Grandpa live to be
About, say-ninety-two?''
"Why, yes,'' said Mom, "He's eighty-five,
And many people do,''
"Well, good,'' said Freddy. "Why?'' asked Mom.
(His thoughts run rare and rich!)
"Well, if he started now, Grandpa
Could have the seven-year itch!''Which
Is it any reason that I should be doleful
If my stuff is labeled more soilful than soulful?Rock-a-bye, Birdies
Rock-a-bye, birdies, up in the tree top--
Out of their eggs they came poppity-pop;
Three little birds huddled up in a nest,
Squinting and blinking and not hardly dressed;
You'd shiver, too--how would you like to be
Dressed in nothing but down in the top of a tree?Three little birds in the nest in the tree;
Two grew as fat--as fat as could be;
Their mother flew north and their father flew south
To get a fat worm for each wide, hungry mouth,
But one little bird grew thinner and thinner--
Now what do you think bad become of his dinner?One baby bird in the top of the tree--
Oh, such a greedy young fellow was he;
He opened his mouth up so wide, so wide,
His eyes went tight shut, and oh, so hard he tried
To get every worm, but to his sad surprise
The worm would be gone when he opened his eyes!--
But the other two birdies grew fatter and fatter--
I wonder if those birds knew what was the matter?The mother bird sat and thought in the tree,
And watched the three birds to see what she could see;
The father flew in with a worm in his bill,
One bird jumped up, while the others sat still,
And opened his mouth up so wide, so wide,
That Mother Bird looked at his skinny insideAnd said, "Here, you greedy one, you'll miss your dinner--
No wonder they're fat and, you're thinner and thinner;
Your mouth's so wide open, your eyes go shut tight--
Now, I see where your dinner is going alright!''Three little birds in a nest in a tree--
Now they were well-behaved birdies, all three,
And they knew very little is gotten by greed,
But a dinner that's shared is a dinner indeed;
And they grew till they almost bulged out of their nest,
And the greedy one bird shared his worms with the rest.
His lesson he'd learned--yet, he thought everyday,
"Well, where did those worms go to--hmmmm--anyway?''My House
My house I built on firm and solid ground,
Then wandered, aimless, past its boundary,
And there, aroused by sentient questing, saw
The outline of mirage awaiting me;
If I were but to wander far enough
Could naked eyes look back with clarity
And broad perspective, sensing the mirage
Distinguished from my house of sanctity,
Or will the house I built appear to be
A mere mirage--and you, reality?Friendship
A dog is a dog when he chases the cat,
Or wallows the plumage on somebody's hat,
Or kicks up the rug, scratches marks on the door,
Or gnaws an old bone on the clean kitchen floor;
But then, when a fellow is down on his lot--
His sunshine obscured by its fog
His hand reaches out to the best friend he's got,
And his dog becomes more than a dog!An ear to be scratched, or a back to be rubbed,
By an arm hanging lax from a chair,
And two faithful eyes to commend or command
Offer comfort by just being there
To romp when you're gay, to wait while you grieve--
Man's whims are a dog's catalog ...
Throw your wishes, he'll see them and run to retrieve
When a dog becomes more than a dog!A dog is a dog in the new flower bed,
Or nosing his way in a loaf of fresh bread,
Or perking his ears at the word-signal 'rats!',
Or chewing the 'welcome' from neighbors' door mats;
But then, in his faithful, intuitive way,
Wagging slowly, or madly agog,
The moods of HIS MASTER are his to display
When a dog becomes more than a dog!Joy
A home-coming footstep,
A khaki embrace,
A laugh and a sob
Spilling out on a face.Gracious Summer
When summertime blurs into fall,
You can't tell when or where
The seasons start and end; there is
A feeling in the air
Of overblown maturity
When green begins to sere,
And objects pierce with clarity
The mellow atmosphere ...
The sun more golden, shadows deep,
And closer, bluer skies;
The children's darkened skins enhance
The laughter in their eyes;
When winds and snows of winter change
To fluffy tints of spring,
Then summertime begins to grow,
Each season seems to cling
And overlap its beauty and its charm,
But of them all,
The time most gracious comes between
The summer and the fall!Idle-escence
Let me eat, 'n sleep, 'n dream;
Let me dream, 'n sleep, 'n eat--
Nothin' on my weary brain,
And a desk to h'ist my feet
Till ambition, dim and dimmer,
Frees me from the faintest glimmer
Of a 'will I--won't I' need,
Or a hurry-scurry speed ...
"Say, Old World,'' I'll rouse to murmur,
"Speed along and pay your fine,
While I savor to the full
This idle-escent stage of mine!''Seems the years have pushed each other
From beginning up to now,
And I've got a doin' nothin' urge
To slow 'em down somehow;
Should my aspirations suffer,
Let 'em! ...I'll not be a buffer
To a likely care or sorrow
Rushing at me with tomorrow;
Opportunity can knock and knock--
I'm banging out a sign
Clearly marked, "Please don't disturb
This idle-escent stage of mine!''Packing Trouble
Why can't my friends, for goodness' sake,
Make up their minds what I should take
Upon my trip out West this year? ...
Each tells me what is best; oh, dear!
There's one cries cold and one cries hot,
Between the two it's like as not
I'll swim at beaches while I'm gone
In bathing suit, and ear-muffs on!Next year I'm thinking more than twice
Before I ask that friend's advice
Who, with a supercilious air,
Bespeaking, "Sister, I've been there!''
Pooh-poohs away my shorts and socks
And bathing suit and sun-backed frocks
"There's snow in them thar bills,'' he quotes--
Once more it's wools and heavy coats
Till moths, I swear, have placed a bet
On when and what will get me yet!Now, when I've made a trip or two
To some vacation rendezvous
And shivered in my summer shorts,
Or baked in wool at warm resorts,
Experience gives me the right
To be somebody's 'guiding light'
In packing what he'll need to take--
Won't I have fun, for goodness' sake?Remembrance
I cannot see the sunset when it lies
On its horizon, where it fills the skies
Above my head with pale, suggestive hues--
The jagged, city buildings thwart my views,
And yet, I know its beauty waits for me,
For once I lived where I could see!I cannot see the happiness and peace,
And sense the calm of violent war's surcease
Within myself, to lave an aching mind,
And soothe the waiting dread of womankind,
And yet, I hold the feel of joy's release,
For I have lived in love and peace!I Walked Alone
I walked alone until I saw
My destiny in step with yours;
In solitude there seemed no flaw--
I walked alone until I saw! ...
There was no reason Fate should draw
My destiny in step with yours;
I walked alone until I saw
The dread ahead of bolted doors!The Dotted Line
And this is the story of Super Do--
The moral is, "Don't let this happen to you!''There once was a salesman named Super Do--
That is, he was super, from his point of view;
He knew all the angles, the right things to say,
He polished his shoes, and went out every day
With his red tie knotted under his chin,
His chest thrust out, and his stummick in
But somehow, along toward the end of the day
His 'build' began leaning the opposite way--
The prospects he SOLD, his technique was fine
Except for the name, on the dotted line!For example, one prospect he called on for weeks
But the guy wouldn't sign--sat and puffed out his cheeks
And raveled the nerves of poor Super Do
With, "Someday I might give my business to YOU.''
Well, the day finally came--there wasn't a hitch;
Thought Super, "I've sold the son of a-which
Of the contracts is this? Say, I've brought the wrong one--
Wait a sec., Mr.Prospect!''--He went on the run,
But returned a bit late, and there bung a sign,
'Out of town,' and no name on the dotted line!Then once when the town had a contract to let
And some business the company wanted to get,
The day of the bid Super Do was in bed
And nursing a miserable 'day after' head;
To an ice pack sez he, "I can't stand the noise--
Anyway, I've been out and seen all the boys;
They'll give it to me-say, they're friends of mine!''
But a friend ain't a friend, on a dotted line!One day Super Do had in mind a Big Deal,
And the talk he prepared was a masterful spiel--
He was sold on his product, he sold the man, too;
Ah, success overwhelmed and confused Super Do!
He talked through the contract, he talked through a lunch,
He effused, he explained, and his selling bad punch,
He talked till the man was all ready to sign,
But stop? No, he talked through the dotted line!Well, at first he ignored the 'selective sale'--
Sez Super, "That's grabbing the bull by the tail!
Down there in the office, now how can they know
Who I aughtta see here, where I aughtta go?
John Doe isn't buying; I've called on him--pooh!''
And that's the reaction of smart Super Do;
But accidents happen--Doe really did sign
In the absence of Super, and HIS dotted line!Of the signers who didn't, these are but a few--
Say, what was the matter with poor Super Do?
Likeable, voluble, smart, on the go--
Well, sit, what was wrong? Super Do didn't know!
(But we know, don't we?)Bird's Nest
I've seen him carry in his beak
A string, or twig, or feather;
I've seen him make, oh, many trips,
And yet, I don't know whether
He sneaks it up when I'm asleep--
I guess I shouldn't care,
But every year I wonder how
He gets that mud up there!At summer's end, I've torn one up ...
Most parts I recognize,
Because he built and fashioned it
Beneath my watchful eyes;
It's aggravating, in a way,
And each year I declare
I'll take time off and find out how
He gets that mud up there!Now, does he have a secret pouch,
Or bidden cement-mixer,
Or does he dribble from his beak
Some dirt and strange elixir,
Or does he hunt up mudholes
And cart it in his toes,
Or does he--? Well, sir, I give up!
I've watched him, goodness knows;
Someday, I'll catch that wary bird,
When I've the time to spare,
And tell the wide world when and how
He gets that mud up there!Aged Summer
Here in our midst the old girl sits and waits;
Beautiful in achievement--lush in traits;
Now, with her work complete and seeking rest,
She shoves her child, Abundance, from her breast;
Her eyelids droop and from her ample girth
Maturity and Harvest fall to earth;
The flowers in her hair will slip askew
And, from her hands, the leaves drop, two by two;
Artist, provider, mystic--all these three--
Aged, but endless as infinity! ...School Scraps
There now, the sewing's done
And scraps have dribbled to the floor;
How cute she is in this blue one--
It's only a size four;
And here's a pin-stripe cotton scrap--
We made a suit from it,
(That's when she climbed up on my lap
And sat to talk a bit.)Three inches left of edging lace,
So dainty on her blouse,
And crisp, bright prints--I know I'll trace
Reminders through the house
Of smiles and tears whose remnants were
Bright thread left on a spool
To stitch, from mem'ry, scraps of her
When she has gone to school!First Day of School
The ways of education may
Improve, digress, and change;
Beginners may ignore
Their A, B, C's;
Associated thoughts replace
McGuffey's Reader style,
Research eliminate
Diogenes ...
But whatever else the First Grade
May discard, adopt, or lack,
Conspicuously 'present' is
The big boy, in the back!First day of school he fidgets there,
Makes faces at the 'pretties,'
Unscrews his desk and scuffs his feet
And slyly whispers ditties,
But, when the roll is being called,
His most accomplished feat
Is accidentally stopping school
By falling off his seat!
The teacher quells an impulse toward
A good resounding whack,
And tolerates with 'first day' smiles
The big boy, in the back!The little ladies frown on him,
The ones less righteous giggle,
The squirmer and precocious child
May stare and twist and wriggle;
The shy ones twist their handkerchiefs
In envy of this fellow
And those whose mammas went on home
Forget to sniff and bellow!
And though the ruler teacher taps
May one day firmly crack,
The threat escapes the notice of
The big boy, in the back!
Oh, ways of education may
Redecorate the room
And flood the balls with white
Fluorescent light;
In spite of modern methods
First Grade teachers may assume
Some things remain, as sure as
Wrong and right ...
And, right or wrong, first day of school
Would know a vital lack
If progress changed the antics of
The big boy, in the back!Beginner
Crisp new dresses in a row,
Each one with its pert hair bow;
Patent slippers, small and neat,
Soon to march off down the street;
"Now, I'll go to school!'' she glows,
With shining eyes and school-girl pose;
Hair pinned high to make a curl
She's quite grown-up, this little girl!Winter-Straight Ahead
There's a vine-topped post, in the pasture lot,
Where the sign reads, fiery red,
In bold brush strokes on the ivy leaves,
"Winter-straight ahead!'' ...And down that road are stores of days,
Some blustery, and cold,
Where autumn bargains and pays the price
From her own days, crisp and gold;And the sign post has no turning back,
For the vine leaves, fiery red
Are traffic signals for nature's law,
"Winter-straight ahead!''The Wind
As restless as a windy day
That whips the world from gold to gray
And gold again ...
As jarring as a shout, the wind
That turns the foliage wrong side out
And right again ...
Tormenting as a vagrant gust
That threads your hair in angry thrust
And back again ...
But sweet the murmur to my ear,
"Once you were here!''
(The world is gold,
And heartbeats shout;
The winds are bold,
Rough-fingered in my hair,
If you are there) ...
Someday
I will not be disturbed by wind or rain,
When you have gone away
To come again!And Now The Fields Are Brown
While new, beginning Spring seems but a Summer's breath away,
Low skies, first copper-gold, then temperamental, swirling gray,
Bend on the winnowed fields a fleeting smile or fitful frown;
Once young and freshly green they were--and now, the fields are brown!
Fields, stubbled since, bear witness to the bulging storage bin
Of Harvest-roughly stubbled as the drooping, giant chin
Of one preoccupied, exhausted, sprawling at full length
In open-handed yielding of maturity and strength,
Or whispering, "Look to the Hills! There is my brilliant crown--
Turn to the sun-warmed, frosty heights for now, the fields are brown!''
Mute witness, too, are garden plots, of summer shelved away,
Whose vine and root and moulding fruit in pungent scramble lay; ...
And pointing smoke, sucked high and straight into the brooding sky
Is redolent of leaves, flung to the ground to crisp and dry ...
The Autumn, from conception, wears a multi-colored gown--
Black earth, green growth, gold harvesttime, and now, the fields are brown!America
They were so few--that little band
Who stood on their selected soil,
Raw, rugged, to be tamed by toil
Of back and hand--they were so few!They were so brave--those men who cheered,
In tricorn hats and frilled jabots;
Their shouts of freedom swelled and rose
To happy tears--they were so brave!We are so blessed--in spite of war--
For have not we been wholly free?
We learned to live, found it to be
Worth fighting for! We are so blessed!The First Thanksgiving
The coastline was November bleak
But not so bleak as days at sea--
A sea whose unknown vastness was,
To flimsy craft, a treachery.They landed, joyful, felt the soil
Of freedom firm beneath the knees
On which they knelt to thank their God
For strength! (America is these.)The first days were a silhouette,
Or so it seems, in black and white
Splotched with the sweat and blood of those
In toil, or massacre, or fightFighting the native in his way,
Fighting the soil and elements;
Clasping the shield of faith to win
Liberty, as a recompense;Graves marked the spot where many died,
Leaving behind ones sore bereft
Save for their sacrificial debt
To fortify the handful left ...A handful there with faith in God,
To till the soil and hew the wood;
How fervent was their gratitude!
How humbly thankful, when they stoodBefore the harvest of their seed,
A roof above, a feast to share
With hard-won friends whose grimness mocked
The colored feathers in their hair.Simple, austere, this Pilgrim faith
In God, and home, and living ...
Bountiful grew their sustenance,
Reverent, their thanksgiving!Little Willyum's Thanksgiving Turkey
Th' other night, with supper done,
Mom made and checked a list
Of all of our relations
To be sure there's none she'd missed,
An' I was workin' 'rithmetic
As close up as I can
To watch the punkin blubberin'
Real slow--like in the pan,
'N Dad was crackin' walnuts
In the basement by the stair
When Mom called down, "Oh, Will, dear,
Stop a minute, please, down there--
This year let's pen the turkey up
To get him plump and nice--
My goodness, do you think he'll make
Each one a second slice?'' ...
An' Dad yelled back, in fun, "Well, sir,
What worries me the worst
Is not the second helping
But a chance to get a 'first'!
As far as me and Will's concerned,''
(That's what my Dad calls me),
"On OUR Thanksgiving turkey
Why, there'll only need to be
A sheaf of ribs, 'n gizzard,
For, most likely, I expec'
That's all we'll know exists
A-tween the tail an' scrawny neck!''An' Mom sez, "Will, how you can talk!
We allus have enough--
A-course, with all the folks
You can't expec' to sit and stuff!''
'N Dad acts like he's figurin',
"Le's see, what is the ration?
There's twenty pounds of turkey
To two ton of our relation!''
Mom laughed ...(An' I jist set an' see
Thanksgiving Day a-comin'! ...
An' Dad comes up the basement stair
A-eatin' nuts an' hummin'
A tune called 'Turkey in the Straw,'
"I'll pen 'im up tonight,''
An' Mom looks up frum choppin' fruit
To nod her head 'awright';
"But, Son,'' Dad grins, "The meat is for
The uncles, aunts, and nieces,
An' we'll pertend we LOVE to pick
His vertebray to pieces!''Aunt Bess won't eat the dark meat,
Uncle Jim can't eat the white--
A thigh for Grandpa Jones,
An' all the babies grabs a bite;
The giblets go to Great Grandma,
The legs are for the twins;
The pulley bone for some guy's girl
Who says, 'ooh, my,' an' grins;
Then Cousin Henry gets a wing,
Aunt Nancy takes one, too,
An' Mom a-beamin', "Have some more,
Please do!'' ...I'm tellin' you
Wy, when it's all divided up
From Babs to Grandpa Marcus,
We settle back, my Dad 'n me,
Real thankful fer the carcass!The turkey's in the fattenin' pen,
The fruit cake's in the tin,
The punkin's right fer makin' pies,
Ther's apples in the bin;
An' Grandma's come fer kitchen help--
There'll be all our relation,
An' even rich Aunt Hattie Barnes
We're meetin' at the station;
An' Dad jist laughs an' hangs aroun'
The turkey's fattenin' pen
To watch 'im eat! ..."Yessir,'' he sez,
'N leans to think, an' then,
"There's somethin' 'bout Thanksgiving
(Wy, we're thankfuller'n heck
To fatten up the middle part
An' EAT the tail, er neck!)If
If I had but done this or that--
If I bad thought to say--
If I bad only stopped to think,
Things might not be this way!Regret is agony--to be
Inadequate my crime;
But, if I can regret enough,
Perhaps I'll think next time!Kisses
My, how our relatives can kiss! ...
At any get-together,
We kiss and laugh 'hello' so much
Sometimes we can't tell whether
We've been the rounds, so to be sure
We don't miss Sis or Ben,
We grab a hand and slap a back
And kiss around again!Buttoned Up For Winter
There's a cricket in the closet singing 'plink, plink, plink,'
And a whistle in the chimney, warning, 'stuff up every chink!'
And the spider by the basement stair, industriously spinning
In the bar of slanting sunlight, palest gold and thinning, thinning,
Ties the coal pile to the ceiling with a web of gossamer rhyme--
Oh, the world is getting snugly buttoned up for wintertime!In the country, in the city, on the village corner, too,
Slips the frosty nip of warning that a season's on the brew;
Woodfolk move a little faster in the grove and river run;
Old folks, hunkered down in sweaters, hitch their chairs out in the sun--
There's a snug anticipation in this seasoned pantomime
When the world is busy getting buttoned up for wintertime!Thanksgiving
This is the answer to our prayers! ...
The stilling guns, the filling chairs
At home; and, overhead shalt be
The skies, devoid of energy
But for the sun and rain and snow
To cleanse and nurture this below!
Let us elucidate our answered pleas
By living so, and giving back to these
We taught to kill, their heritage of will
To live and to let live, and to fulfill
Their purpose and their fruitfulness of heart;
Such is the remedy to heal the part
Where war tore at each country's mighty breast--
Give us of wisdom to each day invest
THIS peace to draw the dividends of living
Handclasped world-wide, in ultimate thanksgiving!Resolved
A new week or a new month
Seem to sort of challenge you,
But a New Year! Now, there's something
You can get your teeth into! ...
I'm starting out with high resolves,
For, knowing my acumen,
With luck, I'll likely end the year
An average, erring human!The Christmas Story
The shepherds watching o'er their sheep
Those many years ago
Were startled by a heavenly light ...
They were the first to know
The Lord had sent a Savior here
Of lowly, humble birth
To teach the lesson of good will
And blessed peace on earth!
An angel brought the message, and
Appeared in blinding light;
The shepherds were afraid until
She said, "Fear not! This night
A Savior, Christ the Lord is born
In nearby Bethlehem!'' ...
And straightway word was spread throughout
The countryside by them,The sky was filled with angels' song,
Rejoicing with great joy,
And hallowing the coming of
This Holy Baby Boy! ...
Born in an Inn where cattle slept,
The Mother Mary knew
He would be sought by men of wealth
And by the Wise Men, too;
A guiding star moved through the sky
And hung where Jesus lay
In swaddling clothes, his humble bed
A manger, filled with hay;
And richest gifts were given Him
Within this lowly shed,
And he was known as Jesus
By the halo 'round his head! ...This is the Christmas story--
Many years it has been told;
Each one renews the promise
That it never shall grow old,
For happiness and reverent joy
Hallow our Christmas Day
As though we knelt with Jesus
By a manger filled with hay;
And gifts of love at Christmas time
As given once by them
Bespeak the seeking in our lives
Again, for Bethlehem!Personal Patchwork
Little scraps of tinsel mixed
With needles from the tree
Are sticking in the corners;
And remaining, too, in me
Are great big scraps of Christmas joy
To which there may adhere
Stray dreams of mine in gay design
Throughout the coming year!First Snow
I knew it would be white; I knew
It would be soft and still;
I knew it would lie mounded here
Upon my window-sill ...
And yet, imaginatively,
I'm not prepared at all
For worlds white-silhouetted by
The winter's first snow-fall!Excited snow-flakes tranquilize
Themselves beneath my feet--
The way I walk transforms itself
Into a magic street
Where earth and sky and in between
Become an artist's ball
Whose shifting canvases portray
The winter's first snow-fall!Christmas Stockings
The funniest sight, I do believe,
Is a limpity sock on Christmas Eve--
Empty and flat and wrinkledy, too,
And maybe a mite too big for you,
Cause the bigger the stocking, the more goes in
And it's bung up tight with a safety pin,
And a note with suggestions for Santa Claus
As to whose lengthy stocking, this is, because
Old Santa might wonder if its size could be
A little too big for the size of me....
Oh, nothing looks stranger, I do believe,
Than a limpity stocking, on Christmas Eve!The jolliest sight, I'd surely say,
Is a knobbledy sock on Christmas Day,
With an orange way down in its bulged out toe,
And some big walnuts where a heel should go,
And a born, and a toy, and a lollipop,
And all sorts of things sticking out the top!
Why, the bigger its stuffed and away oversize
The better! Each bulge is a brand new surprise,
And the funniest thing, I can't believe
It's the limpity sock I bung up, Christmas Eve!Commercial Santy Claus
"Hellow, Sonny, what's your name?''...
(Familiar suit, his beard the same,
Slightly worn, a bit askew) ...
"What you want Santy to bring you?''
(And bless the older children there,
The moms and dads with graying hair,
Who push in from the 'seeing' side,
To listen with parental pride!)
"Well, little girl, bow old are you,
My, My, what purty curls! ...You're two?
A doll, a chair, a picture game?
Hello there, sonny, what's your name?
A sled, ice skates, a bag of blocks,
A war bond, toys for sister's socks,
A doctor set, two candy canes,
A tommy gun, and three airplanes--
That all? ...You write to Santy, too,
And I'll send back a card to you--
Alright, kiddies, who's next here?
Step on, son,--keep this aisle clear--
Pick out your toys before you leave!
Old Santy'll bring 'em, Christmas Eve!
You're kinda big-bow old are you?
Twelve? Hmmmm! You want a wrist-watch, too;
A good, used bike? ...Son, not so loud--
Oh, ho, your Dad's there in the crowd! ...
Let's move along--Well, what's your name?''
(Familiar suit, his words the same) ...
"See Toyland, kids, before you leave--
Old Santy'll bring 'em, Christmas Eve!''...The Old Rag Dolly
Nobody cries on Christmas Day,
But the old rag dolly did;
Everyone laughs, so happy and gay,
But the old rag dolly bid,
For someone had left her under a chair,
And she was ashamed and lay still there
Looking out at the Christmas tree
And a brand new doll, pretty as could be,
With a pink silk dress and curled up hair
And a dimpledy face; but the rag doll there
Was so unhappy--her dress was torn
And her face was soiled and her shoes were worn,
And even part of her hair was gone
And her bonnet off, and sewed back on,
For she bad been played with and loved all year,
But now, a big, new doll was here--
So the rag dolly hid underneath a chair
And looked at the beautiful dolly there!But the engineer on the 'lectric train
Saw the rag doll, thrown aside,
And be rounded the track and made it plain
That on Christmas, no one cried ...
And the wind-up duck went quack, quack, quack,
And the 'lectric train went clackity-clack,
And a toy dog squeaked, and a drum went boom,
And Christmas joy filled the living room,
And a Teddy Bear sat with its arms stretched out,
And children played and ran about;
And the stockings were emptied and thrown aside,
And the new doll went for a buggy ride; ...
But no one thought of the old rag dolly
Who felt so neglected, and so un-jolly!Then, at the end of this Christmas Day,
Or so the story goes,
The old rag dolly was happy and gay--
Now, what do you suppose? ...
Well, Christmas night, when bedtime came,
And the duck bad waddled himself 'most lame,
And the train sat still on his shining track
And the games were sorted and all put back,
And the drum was still, and the cannon, too,
And the house was quiet, through and through,
Can you guess what happened? When prayers were said
Little sleepy Mary climbed out of bed
And hunted, oh, almost everywhere
Till she found her rag doll, under the chair,
And she kissed her, and bugged her, and held her tight
And took her to bed to sleep that night! ...
Oh, she loved her new doll so beautifully dressed,
But, somehow, the rag dolly slept the best!
So, after all, Christmas was happy as ever
And old dollies shouldn't be sad, should they? Never! ...Undying Fire
The thought of winter coziness
Is like a glowing ember
To lend a hint of rosiness
To bleakly gray November;
And when our homes can rake aside
The ashes of distress
That steadfast glow shall burst into
The flame of happiness!Christmas Wishes
Wy, someway, when it's Christmas
At the big department store,
I'd like to be, jist fer a while,
A little kid of four;
But with the fellas watchin'
I pertend I'm not a-hearin',
Er if I do, I sneer-like
When I don't feel much like sneerin'--
It may seem kinda funny
Fer a boy as big as me
To be achin' to b'lieve in
Ever'thing I bear 'n see,--
I'm not growed-up, inside, I guess,
As much as ten, b'cause
It's purty tough to 'play-like'
Goin' back on Santy Claus!Shucks, I feel kind of lonesome-like,
An' kind of full of hopin'
That I could be a-standin'
With my mouth a-bangin' open
Like all the other kids ...
An' even settin' on his knee
A-tellin' Santy Claus what I
Want him to bring to me;
But when yer ten, 'n got long pants,
You can't be ennymore
As anxious 'n excited as
A kid of five er four!
But next to bein' four, I'd like
To be as old as Pap--
Well, not that old, but BIG, 'n with
My hair all out on top,
'N then I'd dress up fer the other
Little kids to see,
'N yell, 'hello,' 'n laugh, 'n put
The presents 'round the tree,
'N fill the empty stockin's till
They're all a-bulgin' out,
'N then on Christmas morning
Be the first one up to shout,
"Merry Christmas! ...Yep, he's been here!''
An' guard the front room stair
Till Mom gits into somep'n warm,
An' all the kids is there! ...
Wy, even if I am past ten,
An' growed up at the store,
On Christmas, I'm as b'lievin'
As a little kid of four!Oh, I don't mind to be growed up
In summertime to swim,
Er in the fall to practice ball,
Er try out in the gym,
Er go out fishin' with my Pop,
Er stay up exter late
On special nights when comp'ny comes--
Then, bein' ten is great!--
But when it's comin' Christmas time
An' wreaths is on the door--
Well, shucks, wy can't a fella be
A little kid of four?Harvest Time
There is no barrenness in Life--
No drought ...
And, if rotating crops seem slow,
Look out beyond yourself--
Beyond your earthly plot, in questless faith,
And then, as like as not,
You will discern below the thin top soil
The sprouting seeds of 'things-about-to-be,'
And tending them is satisfying toil
When, after Harvest Time, one still may see
Fertility and growth are ever there
To cultivate,
Although the fields are bare!Peace
"Peace! Peace! Hurray for peace!'' the children cry,
In mob hysteria, aping the sounds they hear;
"Peace! Peace!'' from lusty throats shouts ring and die
In wild hysteria, cheer overlapping cheer! ...But cries of peace, escaping here and there
From older tongues, are quieted by prayer,
For they have lived when shouts of peace have died,
And gay confetti has been swept aside ...
Now that our day is here, and guns shall cease,
Guide us, we pray, in searching for this peace!How can we look for it in endless skies
Of bowl-like void between sunset and rise,
Aware that living, breathing ones we knew
Were trapped up there, demolished as they flew
And plummeted to splat upon the earth,
Grotesque nonentities, of canceled worth;
Those who, in memory, may still live on
Have earned their right to life, but it is gone ...
Skies, sunshine, fluffs of cloud and summer air--
Can we look up for peace, and find it there?A ruthless, searching hand it is that delves
And probes for peace amongst the treasure shelves
Where loving ones have held and stored away
All his effects. On top, perchance, there lay
A dog-tag, medals in a velvet box,
A lucky coin, a pair of army socks;
Then underneath, a well-worn ball and bat,
High school diploma, bits of this and that;
His last good suit--and tied with ribbon string
A pair of baby shoes, and teething ring ...
How could a world find peace by searching there
When millions have these anguished shelves to bear?Or is peace to be found by one who sails,
Deaf to the threat of undertow or gales,
Upon that lake mirage whose surface, still,
Intrigues him on to row his craft at will
Pretending peace, until a careless oar
Dips deep enough to touch the hidden gore
Of war-to punch, disturb the ghastly bulks
Of slaughtered men, and lift the sodden hulks
Of ships and planes, besetting him with fear
Again, to cry of peace, "Not here! Not here!''
How can we live, remembering our debt? ...
Some things, dear Lord, for peace, let us forget!Post Script to Victory
The purtiest sight I'll ever see--
(Er that's bow it appears to me)--
A boy I know, a G. I. Joe,
A-wearin' grins frum head to toe,
And marchin' like some kid recruit,
Yelled, "Clerk, I wantta buy a suit!'''N others stopped, 'n smiled with Joe
Who, confidential, sez, "You know,
My Mom'll be expectin' me,
An' right away she's gonna see
I'm home to stay!--She'll laugh an' cry--
Hey, clerk, bring me a shirt 'n tie!''That Joe bought duds frum bat to sox--
(His uniform went in a box);
How young and strong! He hummed a song--
I thought, 'This world'll git along
'N heal itself'; we looked at him
'N thought of our own Joe an' Jim.They're comin' back-leastways most will--
Fergittin' bow it feels to kill,
An' learn agen the rights of men
To live their three score years an' ten,
Fer somehow home an' earth an' sky
Can soothe the insides of a guy!Yessir, that sight looked good to me
The purtiest one I'll ever see ...The March of Dimes
If that little boy in the cast were your boy,
Then, could you establish the worth
Of a dime?--To alleviate tortuous pain,
You'd want to move heaven and earth,
And call out to science, "Discover the cure!
Experiment! ...Give him your time!''
But the charges are slight when a million unite
And prepare for his care-Give a dime!
While the sun's shining bright, mend your roof for the rain;
Keep a step in advance of ill-fate;
Have your first-aid kit filled for emergency's rap
At your own, or at some other's gate;
Why, the paths of our gay Young America's feet
Are dogged by a monster of threat
Whose ransom demands call America's hands
To give-give a dime toward the debt!There's a boy waiting, now--maybe some baby girl
Whose face has turned aged with pain--
But the eyes of expectance believe and have faith
That their promised relief isn't vain,
And the help you give now may be asked for your own--
Pray it won't!--but it might be, sometime--
Each distorted small limb could be your "her or him,''
Lend your might to the fight-Give a dime!Dividends
Whatever the day is,
It's yours, for the living;
Its quota of pleasure
Increased in the giving
An ear for its sounds
An eye for its beauties,
Relaxed to its pleasures,
And taut for its duties ...
Whatever your bargain
In getting and giving,
Each twenty-four hours
Is yours, for the living!