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Best Famous Baboon Poems

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

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Written by Gregory Corso | Create an image from this poem

Gregory Corso

 Budger of history Brake of time You Bomb
 Toy of universe Grandest of all snatched sky I cannot hate you
 Do I hate the mischievous thunderbolt the jawbone of an ***
 The bumpy club of One Million B.
C.
the mace the flail the axe Catapult Da Vinci tomahawk Cochise flintlock Kidd dagger Rathbone Ah and the sad desparate gun of Verlaine Pushkin Dillinger Bogart And hath not St.
Michael a burning sword St.
George a lance David a sling Bomb you are as cruel as man makes you and you're no crueller than cancer All Man hates you they'd rather die by car-crash lightning drowning Falling off a roof electric-chair heart-attack old age old age O Bomb They'd rather die by anything but you Death's finger is free-lance Not up to man whether you boom or not Death has long since distributed its categorical blue I sing thee Bomb Death's extravagance Death's jubilee Gem of Death's supremest blue The flyer will crash his death will differ with the climbor who'll fall to die by cobra is not to die by bad pork Some die by swamp some by sea and some by the bushy-haired man in the night O there are deaths like witches of Arc Scarey deaths like Boris Karloff No-feeling deaths like birth-death sadless deaths like old pain Bowery Abandoned deaths like Capital Punishment stately deaths like senators And unthinkable deaths like Harpo Marx girls on Vogue covers my own I do not know just how horrible Bombdeath is I can only imagine Yet no other death I know has so laughable a preview I scope a city New York City streaming starkeyed subway shelter Scores and scores A fumble of humanity High heels bend Hats whelming away Youth forgetting their combs Ladies not knowing what to do with their shopping bags Unperturbed gum machines Yet dangerous 3rd rail Ritz Brothers from the Bronx caught in the A train The smiling Schenley poster will always smile Impish death Satyr Bomb Bombdeath Turtles exploding over Istanbul The jaguar's flying foot soon to sink in arctic snow Penguins plunged against the Sphinx The top of the Empire state arrowed in a broccoli field in Sicily Eiffel shaped like a C in Magnolia Gardens St.
Sophia peeling over Sudan O athletic Death Sportive Bomb the temples of ancient times their grand ruin ceased Electrons Protons Neutrons gathering Hersperean hair walking the dolorous gulf of Arcady joining marble helmsmen entering the final ampitheater with a hymnody feeling of all Troys heralding cypressean torches racing plumes and banners and yet knowing Homer with a step of grace Lo the visiting team of Present the home team of Past Lyre and tube together joined Hark the hotdog soda olive grape gala galaxy robed and uniformed commissary O the happy stands Ethereal root and cheer and boo The billioned all-time attendance The Zeusian pandemonium Hermes racing Owens The Spitball of Buddha Christ striking out Luther stealing third Planeterium Death Hosannah Bomb Gush the final rose O Spring Bomb Come with thy gown of dynamite green unmenace Nature's inviolate eye Before you the wimpled Past behind you the hallooing Future O Bomb Bound in the grassy clarion air like the fox of the tally-ho thy field the universe thy hedge the geo Leap Bomb bound Bomb frolic zig and zag The stars a swarm of bees in thy binging bag Stick angels on your jubilee feet wheels of rainlight on your bunky seat You are due and behold you are due and the heavens are with you hosanna incalescent glorious liaison BOMB O havoc antiphony molten cleft BOOM Bomb mark infinity a sudden furnace spread thy multitudinous encompassed Sweep set forth awful agenda Carrion stars charnel planets carcass elements Corpse the universe tee-hee finger-in-the-mouth hop over its long long dead Nor From thy nimbled matted spastic eye exhaust deluges of celestial ghouls From thy appellational womb spew birth-gusts of of great worms Rip open your belly Bomb from your belly outflock vulturic salutations Battle forth your spangled hyena finger stumps along the brink of Paradise O Bomb O final Pied Piper both sun and firefly behind your shock waltz God abandoned mock-nude beneath His thin false-talc's apocalypse He cannot hear thy flute's happy-the-day profanations He is spilled deaf into the Silencer's warty ear His Kingdom an eternity of crude wax Clogged clarions untrumpet Him Sealed angels unsing Him A thunderless God A dead God O Bomb thy BOOM His tomb That I lean forward on a desk of science an astrologer dabbling in dragon prose half-smart about wars bombs especially bombs That I am unable to hate what is necessary to love That I can't exist in a world that consents a child in a park a man dying in an electric-chair That I am able to laugh at all things all that I know and do not know thus to conceal my pain That I say I am a poet and therefore love all man knowing my words to be the acquainted prophecy of all men and my unwords no less an acquaintanceship That I am manifold a man pursuing the big lies of gold or a poet roaming in bright ashes or that which I imagine myself to be a shark-toothed sleep a man-eater of dreams I need not then be all-smart about bombs Happily so for if I felt bombs were caterpillars I'd doubt not they'd become butterflies There is a hell for bombs They're there I see them there They sit in bits and sing songs mostly German songs And two very long American songs and they wish there were more songs especially Russian and Chinese songs and some more very long American songs Poor little Bomb that'll never be an Eskimo song I love thee I want to put a lollipop in thy furcal mouth A wig of Goldilocks on thy baldy bean and have you skip with me Hansel and Gretel along the Hollywoodian screen O Bomb in which all lovely things moral and physical anxiously participate O fairylike plucked from the grandest universe tree O piece of heaven which gives both mountain and anthill a sun I am standing before your fantastic lily door I bring you Midgardian roses Arcadian musk Reputed cosmetics from the girls of heaven Welcome me fear not thy opened door nor thy cold ghost's grey memory nor the pimps of indefinite weather their cruel terrestial thaw Oppenheimer is seated in the dark pocket of Light Fermi is dry in Death's Mozambique Einstein his mythmouth a barnacled wreath on the moon-squid's head Let me in Bomb rise from that pregnant-rat corner nor fear the raised-broom nations of the world O Bomb I love you I want to kiss your clank eat your boom You are a paean an acme of scream a lyric hat of Mister Thunder O resound thy tanky knees BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM ye skies and BOOM ye suns BOOM BOOM ye moons ye stars BOOM nights ye BOOM ye days ye BOOM BOOM BOOM ye winds ye clouds ye rains go BANG ye lakes ye oceans BING Barracuda BOOM and cougar BOOM Ubangi BOOM orangutang BING BANG BONG BOOM bee bear baboon ye BANG ye BONG ye BING the tail the fin the wing Yes Yes into our midst a bomb will fall Flowers will leap in joy their roots aching Fields will kneel proud beneath the halleluyahs of the wind Pinkbombs will blossom Elkbombs will perk their ears Ah many a bomb that day will awe the bird a gentle look Yet not enough to say a bomb will fall or even contend celestial fire goes out Know that the earth will madonna the Bomb that in the hearts of men to come more bombs will be born magisterial bombs wrapped in ermine all beautiful and they'll sit plunk on earth's grumpy empires fierce with moustaches of gold
Written by Carl Sandburg | Create an image from this poem

Wilderness

 THERE is a wolf in me … fangs pointed for tearing gashes … a red tongue for raw meat … and the hot lapping of blood—I keep this wolf because the wilderness gave it to me and the wilderness will not let it go.
There is a fox in me … a silver-gray fox … I sniff and guess … I pick things out of the wind and air … I nose in the dark night and take sleepers and eat them and hide the feathers … I circle and loop and double-cross.
There is a hog in me … a snout and a belly … a machinery for eating and grunting … a machinery for sleeping satisfied in the sun—I got this too from the wilderness and the wilderness will not let it go.
There is a fish in me … I know I came from saltblue water-gates … I scurried with shoals of herring … I blew waterspouts with porpoises … before land was … before the water went down … before Noah … before the first chapter of Genesis.
There is a baboon in me … clambering-clawed … dog-faced … yawping a galoot’s hunger … hairy under the armpits … here are the hawk-eyed hankering men … here are the blond and blue-eyed women … here they hide curled asleep waiting … ready to snarl and kill … ready to sing and give milk … waiting—I keep the baboon because the wilderness says so.
There is an eagle in me and a mockingbird … and the eagle flies among the Rocky Mountains of my dreams and fights among the Sierra crags of what I want … and the mockingbird warbles in the early forenoon before the dew is gone, warbles in the underbrush of my Chattanoogas of hope, gushes over the blue Ozark foothills of my wishes—And I got the eagle and the mockingbird from the wilderness.
O, I got a zoo, I got a menagerie, inside my ribs, under my bony head, under my red-valve heart—and I got something else: it is a man-child heart, a woman-child heart: it is a father and mother and lover: it came from God-Knows-Where: it is going to God-Knows-Where—For I am the keeper of the zoo: I say yes and no: I sing and kill and work: I am a pal of the world: I came from the wilderness.
Written by A R Ammons | Create an image from this poem

Shit List; Or Omnium-gatherum Of Diversity Into Unity

 You'll rejoice at how many kinds of **** there are:
gosling **** (which J.
Williams said something was as green as), fish **** (the generality), trout ****, rainbow trout **** (for the nice), mullet ****, sand dab ****, casual sloth ****, elephant **** (awesome as process or payload), wildebeest ****, horse **** (a favorite), caterpillar **** (so many dark kinds, neatly pelleted as mint seed), baby rhinoceros ****, splashy jaybird ****, mockingbird **** (dive-bombed with the aim of song), robin **** that oozes white down lawnchairs or down roots under roosts, chicken **** and chicken mite ****, pelican ****, gannet **** (wholesome guano), fly **** (periodic), cockatoo ****, dog **** (past catalog or assimilation), cricket ****, elk (high plains) ****, and tiny scribbled little shrew ****, whale **** (what a sight, deep assumption), mandril **** (blazing blast off), weasel **** (wiles' waste), gazelle ****, magpie **** (total protein), tiger **** (too acid to contemplate), moral eel and manta ray ****, eerie shark ****, earthworm **** (a soilure), crab ****, wolf **** upon the germicidal ice, snake ****, giraffe **** that accelerates, secretary bird ****, turtle **** suspension invites, remora **** slightly in advance of the shark ****, hornet **** (difficult to assess), camel **** that slaps the ghastly dry siliceous, frog ****, beetle ****, bat **** (the marmoreal), contemptible cat ****, penguin ****, hermit crab ****, prairie hen ****, cougar ****, eagle **** (high totem stuff), buffalo **** (hardly less lofty), otter ****, beaver **** (from the animal of alluvial dreams)—a vast ordure is a broken down cloaca—macaw ****, alligator **** (that floats the Nile along), louse ****, macaque, koala, and coati ****, antelope ****, chuck-will's-widow ****, alpaca **** (very high stuff), gooney bird ****, chigger ****, bull **** (the classic), caribou ****, rasbora, python, and razorbill ****, scorpion ****, man ****, laswing fly larva ****, chipmunk ****, other-worldly wallaby ****, gopher **** (or broke), platypus ****, aardvark ****, spider ****, kangaroo and peccary ****, guanaco ****, dolphin ****, aphid ****, baboon **** (that leopards induce), albatross ****, red-headed woodpecker (nine inches long) ****, tern ****, hedgehog ****, panda ****, seahorse ****, and the **** of the wasteful gallinule.
Written by Edward Estlin (E E) Cummings | Create an image from this poem

a clowns smirk in the skull of a baboon

a clown's smirk in the skull of a baboon
(where once good lips stalked or eyes firmly stir
red)
my mirror gives me on this afternoon;
i am a shape that can but eat and turd
ere with the dirt death shall him vastly gird 
a coward waiting clumsily to cease
whom every perfect thing meanwhile doth miss;
a hand's impression in an empty glove 
a soon forgotten tune a house for lease.
I have never loved you dear as now i love behold this fool who in the month of June having certain stars and planets heard rose very slowly in a tight balloon until the smallening world became absurd; him did an archer spy(whose aim had erred never)and by that little trick or this he shot the aeronaut down into the abyss -and wonderfully i fell through the green groove of twilight striking into many a piece.
I have never loved you dear as now i love god's terrible face brighter than a spoon collects the image of one fatal word; so that my life(which liked the sun and the moon) resembles something that has not occurred: i am a birdcage without any bird a collar looking for a dog a kiss without lips;a prayer lacking any knees but something beats within my shirt to prove he is undead who living noone is.
I have never loved you dear as now i love.
Hell(by most humble me which shall increase) open thy fire!for i have had some bliss of one small lady upon earth above; to whom i cry remembering her face i have never loved you dear as now i love
Written by Andrew Barton Paterson | Create an image from this poem

Investigating Flora

 'Twas in scientific circles 
That the great Professor Brown 
Had a world-wide reputation 
As a writer of renown.
He had striven finer feelings In our natures to implant By his Treatise on the Morals Of the Red-eyed Bulldog Ant.
He had hoisted an opponent Who had trodden unawares On his "Reasons for Bare Patches On the Female Native Bears".
So they gave him an appointment As instructor to a band Of the most attractive females To be gathered in the land.
'Twas a "Ladies' Science Circle" -- Just the latest social fad For the Nicest People only, And to make their rivals mad.
They were fond of "science rambles" To the country from the town -- A parade of female beauty In the leadership of Brown.
They would pick a place for luncheon And catch beetles on their rugs; The Professor called 'em "optera" -- They calld 'em "nasty bugs".
Well, the thing was bound to perish For no lovely woman can Feel the slightest interest In a club without a Man -- The Professor hardly counted He was crazy as a loon, With a countenance suggestive Of an elderly baboon.
But the breath of Fate blew on it With a sharp and sudden blast, And the "Ladies' Science Circle" Is a memory of the past.
There were two-and-twenty members, Mostly young and mostly fair, Who had made a great excursion To a place called Dontknowwhere, At the crossing of Lost River, On the road to No Man's Land.
There they met an old selector, With a stockwhip in his hand, And the sight of so much beauty Sent him slightly "off his nut"; So he asked them, smiling blandly, "Would they come down to the hut?" "I am come," said the Professor, In his thin and reedy voice, "To investigate your flora, Which I feel is very choice.
" The selector stared dumbfounded, Till at last he found his tongue: "To investigate my Flora! Oh, you howlin' Brigham Young! Why, you've two-and-twenty wimmen -- Reg'lar slap-up wimmen, too! And you're after little Flora! And a crawlin' thing like you! Oh, you Mormonite gorilla! Well, I've heard it from the first That you wizened little fellers Is a hundred times the worst! But a dried-up ape like you are, To be marchin' through the land With a pack of lovely wimmen -- Well, I cannot understand!" "You mistake," said the Professor, In a most indignant tone -- While the ladies shrieked and jabbered In a fashion of their own -- "You mistake about these ladies, I'm a lecturer of theirs; I am Brown, who wrote the Treatise On the Female Native Bears! When I said we wanted flora, What I meant was native flowers.
" "Well, you said you wanted Flora, And I'll swear you don't get ours! But here's Flora's self a-comin', And it's time for you to skip, Or I'll write a treatise on you, And I'll write it with the whip! Now I want no explanations; Just you hook it out of sight, Or you'll charm the poor girl some'ow!" The Professor looked in fright: She was six feet high and freckled, And her hair was turkey-red.
The Professor gave a whimper, And threw down his bag and fled, And the Ladies' Science Circle, With a simultaneous rush, Travelled after its Professor, And went screaming through the bush! At the crossing of Lost River, On the road to No Man's Land, Where the grim and ghostly gumtrees Block the view on every hand, There they weep and wail and wander, Always seeking for the track, For the hapless old Professor Hasn't sense to guide 'em back; And they clutch at one another, And they yell and scream in fright As they see the gruesome creatures Of the grim Australian night; And they hear the mopoke's hooting, And the dingo's howl so dread, And the flying foxes jabber From the gum trees overhead; While the weird and wary wombats, In their subterranean caves, Are a-digging, always digging, At those wretched people's graves; And the pike-horned Queensland bullock, From his shelter in the scrub, Has his eye on the proceedings Of the Ladies' Science Club.
Written by Vachel Lindsay | Create an image from this poem

The Congo: A Study of the Negro Race

 I.
THEIR BASIC SAVAGERY Fat black bucks in a wine-barrel room, Barrel-house kings, with feet unstable, Sagged and reeled and pounded on the table, A deep rolling bass.
Pounded on the table, Beat an empty barrel with the handle of a broom, Hard as they were able, Boom, boom, BOOM, With a silk umbrella and the handle of a broom, Boomlay, boomlay, boomlay, BOOM.
THEN I had religion, THEN I had a vision.
I could not turn from their revel in derision.
THEN I SAW THE CONGO, CREEPING THROUGH THE BLACK, More deliberate.
Solemnly chanted.
CUTTING THROUGH THE FOREST WITH A GOLDEN TRACK.
Then along that riverbank A thousand miles Tattooed cannibals danced in files; Then I heard the boom of the blood-lust song And a thigh-bone beating on a tin-pan gong.
A rapidly piling climax of speed & racket.
And "BLOOD" screamed the whistles and the fifes of the warriors, "BLOOD" screamed the skull-faced, lean witch-doctors, "Whirl ye the deadly voo-doo rattle, Harry the uplands, Steal all the cattle, Rattle-rattle, rattle-rattle, Bing.
Boomlay, boomlay, boomlay, BOOM," A roaring, epic, rag-time tune With a philosophic pause.
From the mouth of the Congo To the Mountains of the Moon.
Death is an Elephant, Torch-eyed and horrible, Shrilly and with a heavily accented metre.
Foam-flanked and terrible.
BOOM, steal the pygmies, BOOM, kill the Arabs, BOOM, kill the white men, HOO, HOO, HOO.
Listen to the yell of Leopold's ghost Like the wind in the chimney.
Burning in Hell for his hand-maimed host.
Hear how the demons chuckle and yell Cutting his hands off, down in Hell.
Listen to the creepy proclamation, Blown through the lairs of the forest-nation, Blown past the white-ants' hill of clay, Blown past the marsh where the butterflies play: -- "Be careful what you do, Or Mumbo-Jumbo, God of the Congo, All the "O" sounds very golden.
Heavy accents very heavy.
Light accents very light.
Last line whispered.
And all of the other Gods of the Congo, Mumbo-Jumbo will hoo-doo you, Mumbo-Jumbo will hoo-doo you, Mumbo-Jumbo will hoo-doo you.
" II.
THEIR IRREPRESSIBLE HIGH SPIRITS Wild crap-shooters with a whoop and a call Rather shrill and high.
Danced the juba in their gambling-hall And laughed fit to kill, and shook the town, And guyed the policemen and laughed them down With a boomlay, boomlay, boomlay, BOOM.
THEN I SAW THE CONGO, CREEPING THROUGH THE BLACK, Read exactly as in first section.
CUTTING THROUGH THE FOREST WITH A GOLDEN TRACK.
A negro fairyland swung into view, Lay emphasis on the delicate ideas.
Keep as light-footed as possible.
A minstrel river Where dreams come true.
The ebony palace soared on high Through the blossoming trees to the evening sky.
The inlaid porches and casements shone With gold and ivory and elephant-bone.
And the black crowd laughed till their sides were sore At the baboon butler in the agate door, And the well-known tunes of the parrot band That trilled on the bushes of that magic land.
A troupe of skull-faced witch-men came With pomposity.
Through the agate doorway in suits of flame, Yea, long-tailed coats with a gold-leaf crust And hats that were covered with diamond-dust.
And the crowd in the court gave a whoop and a call And danced the juba from wall to wall.
But the witch-men suddenly stilled the throng With a great deliberation & ghostliness.
With a stern cold glare, and a stern old song: -- "Mumbo-Jumbo will hoo-doo you.
" .
.
.
Just then from the doorway, as fat as shotes, With overwhelming assurance, good cheer, and pomp.
Came the cake-walk princes in their long red coats, Canes with a brilliant lacquer shine, And tall silk hats that were red as wine.
And they pranced with their butterfly partners there, With growing speed and sharply marked dance-rhythm Coal-black maidens with pearls in their hair, Knee-skirts trimmed with the jassamine sweet, And bells on their ankles and little black-feet.
And the couples railed at the chant and the frown Of the witch-men lean, and laughed them down.
(O rare was the revel, and well worth while That made those glowering witch-men smile.
) The cake-walk royalty then began To walk for a cake that was tall as a man To the tune of "Boomlay, boomlay, BOOM," While the witch-men laughed, with a sinister air, With a touch of negro dialect, and as rapidly as possible toward the end.
And sang with the scalawags prancing there: -- "Walk with care, walk with care, Or Mumbo-Jumbo, God of the Congo, And all the other Gods of the Congo, Mumbo-Jumbo will hoo-doo you.
Beware, beware, walk with care, Boomlay, boomlay, boomlay, boom.
Boomlay, boomlay, boomlay, boom.
Boomlay, boomlay, boomlay, boom.
Boomlay, boomlay, boomlay, BOOM.
" Oh rare was the revel, and well worth while Slow philosophic calm.
That made those glowering witch-men smile.
III.
THE HOPE OF THEIR RELIGION A good old negro in the slums of the town Heavy bass.
With a literal imitation of camp-meeting racket, and trance.
Preached at a sister for her velvet gown.
Howled at a brother for his low-down ways, His prowling, guzzling, sneak-thief days.
Beat on the Bible till he wore it out Starting the jubilee revival shout.
And some had visions, as they stood on chairs, And sang of Jacob, and the golden stairs, And they all repented, a thousand strong From their stupor and savagery and sin and wrong And slammed with their hymn books till they shook the room With "glory, glory, glory," And "Boom, boom, BOOM.
" THEN I SAW THE CONGO, CREEPING THROUGH THE BLACK, Exactly as in the first section.
Begin with terror and power, end with joy.
CUTTING THROUGH THE FOREST WITH A GOLDEN TRACK.
And the gray sky opened like a new-rent veil And showed the Apostles with their coats of mail.
In bright white steel they were seated round And their fire-eyes watched where the Congo wound.
And the twelve Apostles, from their thrones on high Thrilled all the forest with their heavenly cry: -- "Mumbo-Jumbo will die in the jungle; Sung to the tune of "Hark, ten thousand harps and voices.
" Never again will he hoo-doo you, Never again will he hoo-doo you.
" Then along that river, a thousand miles With growing deliberation and joy.
The vine-snared trees fell down in files.
Pioneer angels cleared the way For a Congo paradise, for babes at play, For sacred capitals, for temples clean.
Gone were the skull-faced witch-men lean.
There, where the wild ghost-gods had wailed In a rather high key -- as delicately as possible.
A million boats of the angels sailed With oars of silver, and prows of blue And silken pennants that the sun shone through.
'Twas a land transfigured, 'twas a new creation.
Oh, a singing wind swept the negro nation And on through the backwoods clearing flew: -- "Mumbo-Jumbo is dead in the jungle.
To the tune of "Hark, ten thousand harps and voices.
" Never again will he hoo-doo you.
Never again will he hoo-doo you.
Redeemed were the forests, the beasts and the men, And only the vulture dared again By the far, lone mountains of the moon To cry, in the silence, the Congo tune: -- "Mumbo-Jumbo will hoo-doo you, Dying down into a penetrating, terrified whisper.
"Mumbo-Jumbo will hoo-doo you.
Mumbo .
.
.
Jumbo .
.
.
will .
.
.
hoo-doo .
.
.
you.
"
Written by Philip Freneau | Create an image from this poem

To Mr. Blanchard the Celebrated Aeronaut in America

 Nil mortalibus ardui est
  Caelum ipsum petimus stultitia
   Horace

FROM Persian looms the silk he wove
No Weaver meant should trail above
The surface of the earth we tread,
To deck the matron or the maid.
But you ambitious, have design'd With silk to soar above mankind:-- On silk you hang your splendid car And mount towards the morning star.
How can you be so careless--gay: Would you amidst red lightnings play; Meet sulphurous blasts, and fear them not-- Is Phaeton's sad fate forgot? Beyond our view you mean to rise-- And this Balloon, of mighty size, Will to the astonish'd eye appear, An atom wafted thro' the air.
Where would you rove? amidst the storms, Departed Ghosts, and shadowy forms, Vast tracks of aether, and, what's more, A sea of space without a shore!-- Would you to Herschell find the way-- To Saturn's moons, undaunted stray; Or, wafted on a silken wing, Alight on Saturn's double ring? Would you the lunar mountains trace, Or in her flight fair Venus chase; Would you, like her, perform the tour Of sixty thousand miles an hour?-- To move at such a dreadful rate He must propel, who did create-- By him, indeed, are wonders done Who follows Venus round the sun.
At Mars arriv'd, what would you see!-- Strange forms, I guess--not such as we; Alarming shapes, yet seen by none; For every planet has its own.
If onward still, you urge your flight You may approach some satellite, Some of the shining train above That circle round the orb of Jove.
Attracted by so huge a sphere You might become a stranger here: There you might be, if there you fly, A giant sixty fathoms high.
May heaven preserve you from that fate! Here, men are men of little weight: There, Polypheme, it might be shown, Is but a middle sized baboon.
-- This ramble through, the aether pass'd, Pray tell us when you stop at last; Would you with gods that aether share, Or dine on atmospheric air?-- You have a longing for the skies, To leave the fogs that round us rise, To haste your flight and speed your wings Beyond this world of little things.
Your silken project is too great; Stay here, Blanchard, 'till death or fate To which, yourself, like us, must bow, Shall send you where you want to go.
Yes--wait, and let the heav'ns decide;-- Your wishes may be gratified, And you shall go, as swift as thought, Where nature has more finely wrought, Her Chrystal spheres, her heavens serene; A more sublime, enchanting scene Than thought depicts or poets feign.
Written by Hilaire Belloc | Create an image from this poem

The Big Baboon

 The Big Baboon is found upon
The plains of Cariboo:
He goes about with nothing on
(A shocking thing to do).
But if he dressed up respectably And let his whiskers grow, How like this Big Baboon would be To Mister So-and-so!