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Best Famous Ogden Nash Poems

Here is a collection of the all-time best famous Ogden Nash poems. This is a select list of the best famous Ogden Nash poetry. Reading, writing, and enjoying famous Ogden Nash poetry (as well as classical and contemporary poems) is a great past time. These top poems are the best examples of Ogden Nash poems.

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by Ogden Nash |

Will Consider Situation

 There here are words of radical advice for a young man looking for a job;
Young man, be a snob.
Yes, if you are in search of arguments against starting at the bottom, Why I've gottem.
Let the personnel managers differ; It,s obvious that you will get on faster at the top than at the bottom because there are more people at the bottom than at the top so naturally the competition at the bottom is stiffer.
If you need any further proof that my theory works Well, nobody can deny that presidents get paid more than vice-presidents and vice-presidents get paid more than clerks.
Stop looking at me quizzically; I want to add that you will never achieve fortune in a job that makes you uncomfortable physically.
When anybody tells you that hard jobs are better for you than soft jobs be sure to repeat this text to them, Postmen tramp around all day through rain and snow just to deliver other people's in cozy air-conditioned offices checks to them.
You don't need to interpret tea leaves stuck in a cup To understand that people who work sitting down get paid more than people who work standing up.
Another thing about having a comfortable job is you not only accommodate more treasure; You get more leisure.
So that when you find you have worked so comfortably that your waistline is a menace, You correct it with golf or tennis.
Whereas is in an uncomfortable job like piano-moving or stevedoring you indulge, You have no time to exercise, you just continue to bulge.
To sum it up, young man, there is every reason to refuse a job that will make heavy demands on you corporally or manually, And the only intelligent way to start your career is to accept a sitting position paying at least twenty-five thousand dollars annually.

by Ogden Nash |

Two Dogs HaveI

 For years we've had a little dog,
Last year we acquired a big dog;
He wasn't big when we got him,
He was littler than the dog we had.
We thought our little dog would love him, Would help him to become a trig dog, But the new little dog got bigger, And the old little dog got mad.
Now the big dog loves the little dog, But the little dog hates the big dog, The little dog is eleven years old, And the big dog only one; The little dog calls him Schweinhund, The little dog calls him Pig-dog, She grumbles broken curses As she dreams in the August sun.
The big dog's teeth are terrible, But he wouldn't bite the little dog; The little dog wants to grind his bones, But the little dog has no teeth; The big dog is acrobatic, The little dog is a brittle dog; She leaps to grip his jugular, And passes underneath.
The big dog clings to the little dog Like glue and cement and mortar; The little dog is his own true love; But the big dog is to her Like a scarlet rag to a Longhorn, Or a suitcase to a porter; The day he sat on the hornet I distinctly heard her purr.
Well, how can you blame the little dog, Who was once the household darling? He romps like a young Adonis, She droops like an old mustache; No wonder she steals his corner, No wonder she comes out snarling, No wonder she calls him Cochon And even Espèce de vache.
Yet once I wanted a sandwich, Either caviar or cucumber, When the sun had not yet risen And the moon had not yet sank; As I tiptoed through the hallway The big dog lay in slumber, And the little dog slept by the big dog, And her head was on his flank.

by Ogden Nash |

The Abominable Snowman

 I've never seen an abominable snowman, 
I'm hoping not to see one, 
I'm also hoping, if I do, 
That it will be a wee one.

by Ogden Nash |

The Bargain

 As I was going to St.
Ives I met a man with seven lives; Seven lives, In seven sacks, Like seven beeves On seven racks.
These seven lives He offered to sell, But which was best He couldn't tell.
He swore with any I'd be happy forever; I bought all seven And thought I was clever, But his parting words I can't forget: Forever Isn't over yet.

by Ogden Nash |

The Ant

 The ant has made herself illustrious
By constant industry industrious.
So what? Would you be calm and placid If you were full of formic acid?

by Ogden Nash |

Childrens Party

 May I join you in the doghouse, Rover?
I wish to retire till the party's over.
Since three o'clock I've done my best To entertain each tiny guest.
My conscience now I've left behind me, And if they want me, let them find me.
I blew their bubbles, I sailed their boats, I kept them from each other's throats.
I told them tales of magic lands, I took them out to wash their hands.
I sorted their rubbers and tied their laces, I wiped their noses and dried their faces.
Of similarities there's lots Twixt tiny tots and Hottentots.
I've earned repose to heal the ravages Of these angelic-looking savages.
Oh, progeny playing by itself Is a lonely little elf, But progeny in roistering batches Would drive St.
francis from here to Natchez.
Shunned are the games a parent proposes, They prefer to squirt each other with hoses, Their playmates are their natural foemen And they like to poke each other's abdomen.
Their joy needs another woe's to cushion it, Say a puddle, and someone littler to push in it.
They observe with glee the ballistic results Of ice cream with spoons for catapults, And inform the assembly with tears and glares That everyone's presents are better than theirs.
Oh, little women and little men, Someday I hope to love you again, But not till after the party's over, So give me the key to the doghouse, Rover

by Ogden Nash |

The Sniffle

 In spite of her sniffle
Isabel's chiffle.
Some girls with a sniffle Would be weepy and tiffle; They would look awful, Like a rained-on waffle, But Isabel's chiffle In spite of her sniffle.
Her nose is more red With a cold in her head, But then, to be sure, Her eyes are bluer.
Some girls with a snuffle, Their tempers are uffle.
But when Isabel's snivelly She's snivelly civilly, And when she's snuffly She's perfectly luffly.

by Ogden Nash |

One Third Of The Calendar

 In January everything freezes.
We have two children.
Both are she'ses.
This is our January rule: One girl in bed, and one in school.
In February the blizzard whirls.
We own a pair of little girls.
Blessings upon of each the head ---- The one in school and the one in bed.
March is the month of cringe and bluster.
Each of our children has a sister.
They cling together like Hansel and Gretel, With their noses glued to the benzoin kettle.
April is made of impetuous waters And doctors looking down throats of daughters.
If we had a son too, and a thoroughbred, We'd have a horse, And a boy, And two girls In bed.

by Ogden Nash |

The Dog

 What I was doing with my white teeth exposed
like that on the side of the road I don't know,
and I don't know why I lay beside the sewer
so that the lover of dead things could come back
with is pencil sharpened and his piece of white paper.
I was there for a good two hours whistling dirges, shrieking a little, terrifying hearts with my whimpering cries before I died by pulling the one leg up and stiffening.
There is a look we have with the hair of the chin curled in mid-air, there is a look with the belly stopped in the midst of its greed.
The lover of dead things stoops to feel me, his hand is shaking.
I know his mouth is open and his glasses are slipping.
I think his pencil must be jerking and the terror of smell—and sight—is overtaking him; I know he has that terrified faraway look that death brings—he is contemplating.
I want him to touch my forehead once again and rub my muzzle before he lifts me up and throws me into that little valley.
I hope he doesn't use his shoe for fear of touching me; I know, or used to know, the grasses down there; I think I knew a hundred smells.
I hope the dog's way doesn't overtake him, one quick push, barely that, and the mind freed, something else, some other, thing to take its place.
Great heart, great human heart, keep loving me as you lift me, give me your tears, great loving stranger, remember, the death of dogs, forgive the yapping, forgive the shitting, let there be pity, give me your pity.
How could there be enough? I have given my life for this, emotion has ruined me, oh lover, I have exchanged my wildness—little tricks with the mouth and feet, with the tail, my tongue is a parrots's, I am a rampant horse, I am a lion, I wait for the cookie, I snap my teeth— as you have taught me, oh distant and brilliant and lonely.

by Ogden Nash |


 There is a knocking in the skull,
An endless silent shout
Of something beating on a wall,
And crying, “Let me out!”

That solitary prisoner
Will never hear reply.
No comrade in eternity Can hear the frantic cry.
No heart can share the terror That haunts his monstrous dark.
The light that filters through the chinks No other eye can mark.
When flesh is linked with eager flesh, And words run warm and full, I think that he is loneliest then, The captive in the skull.
Caught in a mesh of living veins, In cell of padded bone, He loneliest is when he pretends That he is not alone.
We’d free the incarcerate race of man That such a doom endures Could only you unlock my skull, Or I creep into yours.