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Best Famous Cartoons Poems

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

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Far Out

 Beyond the dark cartoons 
Are darker spaces where 
Small cloudy nests of stars 
Seem to float on air.
 

These have no proper names: 
Men out alone at night 
Never look up at them 
For guidance or delight, 

For such evasive dust 
Can make so little clear: 
Much less is known than not, 
More far than near.

Written by Howard Nemerov |

Style

 Flaubert wanted to write a novel
About nothing.
 It was to have no subject
And be sustained upon the style alone,
Like the Holy Ghost cruising above
The abyss, or like the little animals
In Disney cartoons who stand upon a branch
That breaks, but do not fall
Till they look down.
 He never wrote that novel,
And neither did he write another one
That would have been called La Spirale,
Wherein the hero's fortunes were to rise
In dreams, while his walking life disintegrated.


Even so, for these two books
We thank the master.
 They can be read,
With difficulty, in the spirit alone,
Are not so wholly lost as certain works
Burned at Alexandria, flooded at Florence,
And are never taught at universities.

Moreover, they are not deformed by style,
That fire that eats what it illuminates.

Written by Carl Sandburg |

Hoodlums

 I AM a hoodlum, you are a hoodlum, we and all of us are a world of hoodlums—maybe so.

I hate and kill better men than I am, so do you, so do all of us—maybe—maybe so.

In the ends of my fingers the itch for another man’s neck, I want to see him hanging, one of dusk’s cartoons against the sunset.

This is the hate my father gave me, this was in my mother’s milk, this is you and me and all of us in a world of hoodlums—maybe so.

Let us go on, brother hoodlums, let us kill and kill, it has always been so, it will always be so, there is nothing more to it.

Let us go on, sister hoodlums, kill, kill, and kill, the torsoes of the world’s mother’s are tireless and the loins of the world’s fathers are strong—so go on—kill, kill, kill.

Lay them deep in the dirt, the stiffs we fixed, the cadavers bumped off, lay them deep and let the night winds of winter blizzards howl their burial service.

The night winds and the winter, the great white sheets of northern blizzards, who can sing better for the lost hoodlums the old requiem, “Kill him! kill him!…”
Today my son, to-morrow yours, the day after your next door neighbor’s—it is all in the wrists of the gods who shoot craps—it is anybody’s guess whose eyes shut next.

Being a hoodlum now, you and I, being all of us a world of hoodlums, let us take up the cry when the mob sluffs by on a thousand shoe soles, let us too yammer, “Kill him! kill him!…”
Let us do this now … for our mothers … for our sisters and wives … let us kill, kill, kill—for the torsoes of the women are tireless and the loins of the men are strong.
Chicago, July 29, 1919.