Login
|
Join PoetrySoup
Home
Submit Poems
Login
Sign Up
Member Home
My Poems
My Quotes
My Profile & Settings
My Inboxes
My Outboxes
Soup Mail
Contest Results/Status
Contests
Poems
Poets
Famous Poems
Famous Poets
Dictionary
Types of Poems
Quotes
Short Stories
Articles
Forum
Blogs
Poem of the Day
New Poems
Resources
Syllable Counter
Anthology
Grammar Check
Greeting Card Maker
Classifieds
Member Area
Member Home
My Profile and Settings
My Poems
My Quotes
My Short Stories
My Articles
My Comments Inboxes
My Comments Outboxes
Soup Mail
Poetry Contests
Contest Results/Status
Followers
Poems of Poets I Follow
Friend Builder
Soup Social
Poetry Forum
New/Upcoming Features
The Wall
Soup Facebook Page
Who is Online
Link to Us
Member Poems
Poems - Top 100 New
Poems - Top 100 All-Time
Poems - Best
Poems - by Topic
Poems - New (All)
Poems - New (PM)
Poems - New by Poet
Poems - Random
Poems - Read
Poems - Unread
Member Poets
Poets - Best New
Poets - New
Poets - Top 100 Most Poems
Poets - Top 100 Most Poems Recent
Poets - Top 100 Community
Poets - Top 100 Contest
Famous Poems
Famous Poems - African American
Famous Poems - Best
Famous Poems - Classical
Famous Poems - English
Famous Poems - Haiku
Famous Poems - Love
Famous Poems - Short
Famous Poems - Top 100
Famous Poets
Famous Poets - Living
Famous Poets - Most Popular
Famous Poets - Top 100
Famous Poets - Best
Famous Poets - Women
Famous Poets - African American
Famous Poets - Beat
Famous Poets - Cinquain
Famous Poets - Classical
Famous Poets - English
Famous Poets - Haiku
Famous Poets - Hindi
Famous Poets - Jewish
Famous Poets - Love
Famous Poets - Metaphysical
Famous Poets - Modern
Famous Poets - Punjabi
Famous Poets - Romantic
Famous Poets - Spanish
Famous Poets - Suicidal
Famous Poets - Urdu
Famous Poets - War
Poetry Resources
Anagrams
Bible
Book Store
Character Counter
Cliché Finder
Poetry Clichés
Common Words
Copyright Information
Grammar
Grammar Checker
Homonym
Homophones
How to Write a Poem
Lyrics
Love Poem Generator
New Poetic Forms
Plagiarism Checker
Poetics
Poetry Art
Publishing
Random Word Generator
Spell Checker
Store
What is Good Poetry?
Word Counter
Email Poem
Your IP Address: 18.221.187.121
From Email:
Required
Email Address Not Valid.
To Email:
Email Address Not Valid.
Required
Subject
Required
Personal Note:
Poem Title:
Poem
Now Fireman Flynn met Hank the Finn where lights of Lust-land glow; "Let's leave," says he, "the lousy sea, and give the land a show. I'm fed up to the molar mark with wallopin' the brine; I feel the bloody barnacles a-carkin' on me spine. Let's hit the hard-boiled North a crack, where creeks are paved with gold." "You count me in," says Hank the Finn. "Ay do as Ay ban told." And so they sought the Lonely Land and drifted down its stream, Where sunny silence round them spanned, as dopey as a dream. But to the spell of flood and fell their gold-grimed eyes were blind; By pine and peak they paused to seek, but nothing did they find; No yellow glint of dust to mint, just mud and mocking sand, And a hateful hush that seemed to crush them down on every hand. Till Fireman Flynn grew mean as sin, and cursed his comrade cold, But Hank the Finn would only grin, and . . . do as he was told. Now Fireman Flynn had pieces ten of yellow Yankee gold, Which every night he would invite his partner to behold. "Look hard," says he; "It's all you'll see in this god-blasted land; But you fret, I'm gonna let you hold them i your hand. Yeah! Watch 'em gleam, then go and dream they're yours to have and hold." Then Hank the Finn would scratch his chin and . . . do as he was told. But every night by camp-fire light, he'd incubate his woes, And fan the hate of mate for mate, the evil Artic knows. In dreams the Lapland withes gloomed like gargoyles overhead, While the devils three of Helsinkee came cowering by his bed. "Go take," said they, "the yellow loot he's clinking in his belt, And leave the sneaking wolverines to snout around his pelt. Last night he called you Swedish scum, from out the glory-hole; To-day he said you were a bum, and damned your mother's soul. Go, plug with lead his scurvy head, and grab his greasy gold . . ." Then Hank the Finn saw red within, and . . . did as he was told. So in due course the famous Force of Men Who Get Their Man, Swooped down on sleeping Hank the Finn, and popped him in the can. And in due time his grievous crime was judged without a plea, And he was dated up to swing upon the gallows tree. Then Sheriff gave a party in the Law's almighty name, He gave a neck-tie party, and he asked me to the same. There was no hooch a-flowin' and his party wasn't gay, For O our hearts were heavy at the dawning of the day. There was no band a-playin' and the only dancin' there Was Hank the Fin interpretin' his solo in the air. We climbed the scaffold steps and stood beside the knotted rope. We watched the hooded hangman and his eyes were dazed with dope. The Sheriff was in evening dress; a bell began to toll, A beastly bell that struck a knell of horror to the soul. As if the doomed one was myself, I shuddered, waiting there. I spoke no word, then . . . then I heard his step upon the stair; His halting foot, moccasin clad . . . and then I saw him stand Between a weeping warder and a priest with Cross in hand. And at the sight a murmur rose of terror and of awe, And all them hardened gallows fans were sick at what they saw: For as he towered above the mob, his limbs with leather triced, By all that's wonderful, I swear, his face was that of Christ. Now I ain't no blaspheming cuss, so don't you start to shout. You see, his beard had grown so long it framed his face about. His rippling hair was long and fair, his cheeks were spirit-pale, His face was bright with holy light that made us wince and quail. He looked at us with eyes a-shine, and sore were we confused, As if he were the Judge divine, and we were the accused. Aye, as serene he stood between the hangman and the cord, You would have sworn, with anguish torn, he was the Blessed Lord. The priest was wet with icy sweat, the Sheriff's lips were dry, And we were staring starkly at the man who had to die. "Lo! I am raised above you all," his pale lips seemed to say, "For in a moment I shall leap to God's Eternal Day. Am I not happy! I forgive you each for what you do; Redeemed and penitent I go, with heart of love for you." So there he stood in mystic mood, with scorn sublime of death. I saw him gently kiss the Cross, and then I held by breath. That blessed smile was blotted out; they dropped the hood of black; They fixed the noose around his neck, the rope was hanging slack. I heard him pray, I saw him sway, then . . . then he was not there; A rope, a ghastly yellow rope was jerking in the air; A jigging rope that soon was still; a hush as of the tomb, And Hank the Finn, that man of sin, had met his rightful doom. His rightful doom! Now that's the point. I'm wondering, because I hold a man is what he is, and never what he was. You see, the priest had filled that guy so full of holy dope, That at the last he came to die as pious as the Pope. A gentle ray of sunshine made a halo round his head. I thought to see a sinner - lo! I saw a Saint instead. Aye, as he stood as martyrs stand, clean-cleansed of mortal dross, I think he might have gloried had . . . WE NAILED HIM TO A CROSS.
Type the characters you see in the picture
Required