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Best Famous Bite Me Poems

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

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Written by Andrew Barton Paterson | Create an image from this poem

Mulligans Mare

 Oh, Mulligan's bar was the deuce of a place 
To drink, and to fight, and to gamble and race; 
The height of choice spirits from near and from far 
Were all concentrated on Mulligan's bar.
There was "Jerry the Swell", and the jockey-boy Ned, "Dog-bite-me" -- so called from the shape of his head -- And a man whom the boys, in their musical slang, Designated the "Gaffer of Mulligan's Gang".
Now Mulligan's Gang had a racer to show, A bad un to look at, a good un to go; Whenever they backed her you safely might swear She'd walk in a winner, would Mulligan's mare.
But Mulligan, having some radical views, Neglected his business and got on the booze; He took up with runners -- a treacherous troop -- Who gave him away, and he "fell in the soup".
And so it turned out on a fine summer day, A bailiff turned up with a writ of "fi.
"; He walked to the bar with a manner serene, "I levy," said he, "in the name of the Queen.
" Then Mulligan wanted, in spite of the law, To pay out the bailiff with "one on the jaw"; He drew out to hit him; but ere you could wink, He changed his intention and stood him a drink.
A great consultation there straightway befell 'Twixt jockey-boy Neddy and Jerry the Swell, And the man with the head, who remarked "Why, you bet! Dog-bite-me!" said he, "but we'll diddle 'em yet.
"We'll slip out the mare from her stall in a crack, And put in her place the old broken-down hack; The hack is so like her, I'm ready to swear The bailiff will think he has Mulligan's mare.
"So out with the racer and in with the screw, We'll show him what Mulligan's talent can do; And if he gets nasty and dares to say much, I'll knock him as stiff as my grandfather's crutch.
" Then off to the town went the mare and the lad; The bailiff came out, never dreamt he was "had"; But marched to the stall with a confident air -- "I levy," said he, "upon Mulligan's mare.
" He watched her by day and he watched her by night, She was never an instant let out of his sight, For races were coming away in the West And Mulligan's mare had a chance with the best.
"Here's a slant," thought the bailiff, "to serve my own ends, I'll send off a wire to my bookmaking friends: 'Get all you can borrow, beg, snavel or snare And lay the whole lot against Mulligan's mare.
'" The races came round, and the crowd on the course Were laying the mare till they made themselves hoarse, And Mulligan's party, with ardour intense, They backed her for pounds and for shillings and pence.
But think of the grief of the bookmaking host At the sound of the summons to go to the post -- For down to the start with her thoroughbred air As fit as a fiddle pranced Mulligan's mare! They started, and off went the boy to the front, He cleared out at once, and he made it a hunt; He steadied as rounding the corner they wheeled, Then gave her her head -- and she smothered the field.
The race put her owner right clear of his debts; He landed a fortune in stakes and in bets, He paid the old bailiff the whole of his pelf, And gave him a hiding to keep for himself.
So all you bold sportsmen take warning, I pray, Keep clear of the running, you'll find it don't pay; For the very best rule that you'll hear in a week Is never to bet on a thing that can speak.
And whether you're lucky or whether you lose, Keep clear of the cards and keep clear of the booze, And fortune in season will answer your prayer And send you a flyer like Mulligan's mare.

Written by Jack Gilbert | Create an image from this poem

Portrait Number Five: Against A New York Summer

 I'd walk her home after work
buying roses and talking of Bechsteins.
She was full of soul.
Her small room was gorged with heat and there were no windows.
She'd take off everything but her pants and take the pins from her hair throwing them on the floor with a great noise.
Like Crete.
We wouldn't make love.
She'd get on the bed with those nipples and we'd lie sweating and talking of my best friend.
They were in love.
When I got quiet she'd put on usually Debussy and leaning down to the small ribs bite me.
Written by Andrew Barton Paterson | Create an image from this poem

Johnson's Antidote

 Down along the Snakebite River, where the overlanders camp, 
Where the serpents are in millions, all of the most deadly stamp; 
Where the station-cook in terror, nearly every time he bakes, 
Mixes up among the doughboys half-a-dozen poison-snakes: 
Where the wily free-selector walks in armour-plated pants, 
And defies the stings of scorpions, and the bites of bull-dog ants: 
Where the adder and the viper tear each other by the throat,— 
There it was that William Johnson sought his snake-bite antidote.
Johnson was a free-selector, and his brain went rather *****, For the constant sight of serpents filled him with a deadly fear; So he tramped his free-selection, morning, afternoon, and night, Seeking for some great specific that would cure the serpent’s bite.
Till King Billy, of the Mooki, chieftain of the flour-bag head, Told him, “Spos’n snake bite pfeller, pfeller mostly drop down dead; Spos’n snake bite old goanna, then you watch a while you see, Old goanna cure himself with eating little pfeller tree.
” “That’s the cure,” said William Johnson, “point me out this plant sublime,” But King Billy, feeling lazy, said he’d go another time.
Thus it came to pass that Johnson, having got the tale by rote, Followed every stray goanna, seeking for the antidote.
Loafing once beside the river, while he thought his heart would break, There he saw a big goanna fighting with a tiger-snake, In and out they rolled and wriggled, bit each other, heart and soul, Till the valiant old goanna swallowed his opponent whole.
Breathless, Johnson sat and watched him, saw him struggle up the bank, Saw him nibbling at the branches of some bushes, green and rank; Saw him, happy and contented, lick his lips, as off he crept, While the bulging in his stomach showed where his opponent slept.
Then a cheer of exultation burst aloud from Johnson’s throat; “Luck at last,” said he, “I’ve struck it! ’tis the famous antidote.
“Here it is, the Grand Elixir, greatest blessing ever known,— Twenty thousand men in India die each year of snakes alone.
Think of all the foreign nations, negro, chow, and blackamoor, Saved from sudden expiration, by my wondrous snakebite cure.
It will bring me fame and fortune! In the happy days to be, Men of every clime and nation will be round to gaze on me— Scientific men in thousands, men of mark and men of note, Rushing down the Mooki River, after Johnson’s antidote.
It will cure delirium tremens, when the patient’s eyeballs stare At imaginary spiders, snakes which really are not there.
When he thinks he sees them wriggle, when he thinks he sees them bloat, It will cure him just to think of Johnson’s Snakebite Antidote.
” Then he rushed to the museum, found a scientific man— “Trot me out a deadly serpent, just the deadliest you can; I intend to let him bite me, all the risk I will endure, Just to prove the sterling value of my wondrous snakebite cure.
Even though an adder bit me, back to life again I’d float; Snakes are out of date, I tell you, since I’ve found the antidote.
” Said the scientific person, “If you really want to die, Go ahead—but, if you’re doubtful, let your sheep-dog have a try.
Get a pair of dogs and try it, let the snake give both a nip; Give your dog the snakebite mixture, let the other fellow rip; If he dies and yours survives him, then it proves the thing is good.
Will you fetch your dog and try it?” Johnson rather thought he would.
So he went and fetched his canine, hauled him forward by the throat.
“Stump, old man,” says he, “we’ll show them we’ve the genwine antidote.
” Both the dogs were duly loaded with the poison-gland’s contents; Johnson gave his dog the mixture, then sat down to wait events.
“Mark,” he said, “in twenty minutes Stump’ll be a-rushing round, While the other wretched creature lies a corpse upon the ground.
” But, alas for William Johnson! ere they’d watched a half-hour’s spell Stumpy was as dead as mutton, t’other dog was live and well.
And the scientific person hurried off with utmost speed, Tested Johnson’s drug and found it was a deadly poison-weed; Half a tumbler killed an emu, half a spoonful killed a goat, All the snakes on earth were harmless to that awful antidote.
Down along the Mooki River, on the overlanders’ camp, Where the serpents are in millions, all of the most deadly stamp, Wanders, daily, William Johnson, down among those poisonous hordes, Shooting every stray goanna, calls them “black and yaller frauds”.
And King Billy, of the Mooki, cadging for the cast-off coat, Somehow seems to dodge the subject of the snake-bite antidote.
Written by Emily Dickinson | Create an image from this poem

When I hoped I recollect

 When I hoped, I recollect
Just the place I stood --
At a Window facing West --
Roughest Air -- was good --

Not a Sleet could bite me --
Not a frost could cool --
Hope it was that kept me warm --
Not Merino shawl --

When I feared -- I recollect
Just the Day it was --
Worlds were lying out to Sun --
Yet how Nature froze --

Icicles upon my soul
Prickled Blue and Cool --
Bird went praising everywhere --
Only Me -- was still --

And the Day that I despaired --
This -- if I forget
Nature will -- that it be Night
After Sun has set --
Darkness intersect her face --
And put out her eye --
Nature hesitate -- before
Memory and I --