Best Famous Crackers Poems

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

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• All Famous Crackers Poems

Written by Vachel Lindsay | The Chinese Nightingale A Song in Chinese Tapestries "How, how," he said. "Friend Chang," I said, "San Francisco sleeps as the dead— Ended license, lust and play: Why do you iron the night away? Your big clock speaks with a deadly sound, With a tick and a wail till dawn comes round. While the monster shadows glower and creep, What can be better for man than sleep?" "I will tell you a secret," Chang replied; "My breast with vision is satisfied, And I see green trees and fluttering wings, And my deathless bird from Shanghai sings." Then he lit five fire-crackers in a pan. "Pop, pop," said the fire-crackers, "cra-cra-crack." He lit a joss stick long and black. Then the proud gray joss in the corner stirred; On his wrist appeared a gray small bird, And this was the song of the gray small bird: "Where is the princess, loved forever, Who made Chang first of the kings of men?" And the joss in the corner stirred again; And the carved dog, curled in his arms, awoke, Barked forth a smoke-cloud that whirled and broke. It piled in a maze round the ironing-place, And there on the snowy table wide Stood a Chinese lady of high degree, With a scornful, witching, tea-rose face.... Yet she put away all form and pride, And laid her glimmering veil aside With a childlike smile for Chang and for me. The walls fell back, night was aflower, The table gleamed in a moonlit bower, While Chang, with a countenance carved of stone, Ironed and ironed, all alone. And thus she sang to the busy man Chang: "Have you forgotten.... Deep in the ages, long, long ago, I was your sweetheart, there on the sand— Storm-worn beach of the Chinese land? We sold our grain in the peacock town Built on the edge of the sea-sands brown— Built on the edge of the sea-sands brown.... "When all the world was drinking blood From the skulls of men and bulls And all the world had swords and clubs of stone, We drank our tea in China beneath the sacred spice-trees, And heard the curled waves of the harbor moan. And this gray bird, in Love's first spring, With a bright-bronze breast and a bronze-brown wing, Captured the world with his carolling. Do you remember, ages after, At last the world we were born to own? You were the heir of the yellow throne— The world was the field of the Chinese man And we were the pride of the Sons of Han? We copied deep books and we carved in jade, And wove blue silks in the mulberry shade...." "I remember, I remember That Spring came on forever, That Spring came on forever," Said the Chinese nightingale. My heart was filled with marvel and dream, Though I saw the western street-lamps gleam, Though dawn was bringing the western day, Though Chang was a laundryman ironing away.... Mingled there with the streets and alleys, The railroad-yard and the clock-tower bright, Demon clouds crossed ancient valleys; Across wide lotus-ponds of light I marked a giant firefly's flight. And the lady, rosy-red, Flourished her fan, her shimmering fan, Stretched her hand toward Chang, and said: "Do you remember, Ages after, Our palace of heart-red stone? Do you remember The little doll-faced children With their lanterns full of moon-fire, That came from all the empire Honoring the throne?— The loveliest fête and carnival Our world had ever known? The sages sat about us With their heads bowed in their beards, With proper meditation on the sight. Confucius was not born; We lived in those great days Confucius later said were lived aright.... And this gray bird, on that day of spring, With a bright bronze breast, and a bronze-brown wing, Captured the world with his carolling. Late at night his tune was spent. Peasants, Sages, Children, Homeward went, And then the bronze bird sang for you and me. We walked alone. Our hearts were high and free. I had a silvery name, I had a silvery name, I had a silvery name — do you remember The name you cried beside the tumbling sea?" Chang turned not to the lady slim— He bent to his work, ironing away; But she was arch, and knowing and glowing, And the bird on his shoulder spoke for him. "Darling . . . darling . . . darling . . . darling . . ." Said the Chinese nightingale. The great gray joss on a rustic shelf, Rakish and shrewd, with his collar awry, Sang impolitely, as though by himself, Drowning with his bellowing the nightingale's cry: "Back through a hundred, hundred years Hear the waves as they climb the piers, Hear the howl of the silver seas, Hear the thunder. Hear the gongs of holy China How the waves and tunes combine In a rhythmic clashing wonder, Incantation old and fine: `Dragons, dragons, Chinese dragons, Red fire-crackers, and green fire-crackers, And dragons, dragons, Chinese dragons.'" Then the lady, rosy-red, Turned to her lover Chang and said: "Dare you forget that turquoise dawn When we stood in our mist-hung velvet lawn, And worked a spell this great joss taught Till a God of the Dragons was charmed and caught? From the flag high over our palace home He flew to our feet in rainbow-foam — A king of beauty and tempest and thunder Panting to tear our sorrows asunder. A dragon of fair adventure and wonder. We mounted the back of that royal slave With thoughts of desire that were noble and grave. We swam down the shore to the dragon-mountains, We whirled to the peaks and the fiery fountains. To our secret ivory house we were bourne. We looked down the wonderful wing-filled regions Where the dragons darted in glimmering legions. Right by my breast the nightingale sang; The old rhymes rang in the sunlit mist That we this hour regain — Song-fire for the brain. When my hands and my hair and my feet you kissed, When you cried for your heart's new pain, What was my name in the dragon-mist, In the rings of rainbowed rain?" "Sorrow and love, glory and love," Said the Chinese nightingale. "Sorrow and love, glory and love," Said the Chinese nightingale. And now the joss broke in with his song: "Dying ember, bird of Chang, Soul of Chang, do you remember? — Ere you returned to the shining harbor There were pirates by ten thousand Descended on the town In vessels mountain-high and red and brown, Moon-ships that climbed the storms and cut the skies. On their prows were painted terrible bright eyes. But I was then a wizard and a scholar and a priest; I stood upon the sand; With lifted hand I looked upon them And sunk their vessels with my wizard eyes, And the stately lacquer-gate made safe again. Deep, deep below the bay, the sea-weed and the spray, Embalmed in amber every pirate lies, Embalmed in amber every pirate lies." Then this did the noble lady say: "Bird, do you dream of our home-coming day When you flew like a courier on before From the dragon-peak to our palace-door, And we drove the steed in your singing path— The ramping dragon of laughter and wrath: And found our city all aglow, And knighted this joss that decked it so? There were golden fishes in the purple river And silver fishes and rainbow fishes. There were golden junks in the laughing river, And silver junks and rainbow junks: There were golden lilies by the bay and river, And silver lilies and tiger-lilies, And tinkling wind-bells in the gardens of the town By the black-lacquer gate Where walked in state The kind king Chang And his sweet-heart mate.... With his flag-born dragon And his crown of pearl...and...jade, And his nightingale reigning in the mulberry shade, And sailors and soldiers on the sea-sands brown, And priests who bowed them down to your song— By the city called Han, the peacock town, By the city called Han, the nightingale town, The nightingale town." Then sang the bird, so strangely gay, Fluttering, fluttering, ghostly and gray, A vague, unravelling, final tune, Like a long unwinding silk cocoon; Sang as though for the soul of him Who ironed away in that bower dim: — "I have forgotten Your dragons great, Merry and mad and friendly and bold. Dim is your proud lost palace-gate. I vaguely know There were heroes of old, Troubles more than the heart could hold, There were wolves in the woods Yet lambs in the fold, Nests in the top of the almond tree.... The evergreen tree... and the mulberry tree... Life and hurry and joy forgotten, Years on years I but half-remember... Man is a torch, then ashes soon, May and June, then dead December, Dead December, then again June. Who shall end my dream's confusion? Life is a loom, weaving illusion... I remember, I remember There were ghostly veils and laces... In the shadowy bowery places... With lovers' ardent faces Bending to one another, Speaking each his part. They infinitely echo In the red cave of my heart. `Sweetheart, sweetheart, sweetheart.' They said to one another. They spoke, I think, of perils past. They spoke, I think, of peace at last. One thing I remember: Spring came on forever, Spring came on forever," Said the Chinese nightingale.

Written by Edgar Albert Guest | The Bachelors Soliloquy To wed, or not to wed; that is the question; Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer The bills and house rent of a wedded fortune, Or to say "nit" when she proposes, And by declining cut her. To wed; to smoke No more; And have a wife at home to mend The holes in socks and shirts And underwear and so forth. 'Tis a consummation Devoutly to be wished. To wed for life; To wed; perchance to fight; ay, there's the rub; For in that married life what fights may come, When we have honeymooning ceased Must give us pause; there's the respect That makes the joy of single life. For who would bear her mother's scornful tongue, Canned goods for tea, the dying furnace fire; The pangs of sleepless nights when baby cries; The pain of barking shins upon a chair and Closing waists that button down the back, When he himself might all these troubles shirk With a bare refusal? Who would bundles bear, And grunt and sweat under a shopping load? Who would samples match; buy rats for hair, Cart cheese and crackers home to serve at night For lunch to feed your friends; play pedro After tea; sing rag time songs, amusing Friendly neighbors. Buy garden tools To lend unto the same. Stay home at nights In smoking coat and slippers and slink to bed At ten o'clock to save the light bills? Thus duty does make cowards of us all, And thus the native hue of matrimony Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of chores; And thus the gloss of marriage fades away, And loses its attraction.

Written by Rudyard Kipling | The Jacket Through the Plagues of Egyp' we was chasin' Arabi, Gettin' down an' shovin' in the sun; An' you might 'ave called us dirty, an' you might ha' called us dry, An' you might 'ave 'eard us talkin' at the gun. But the Captain 'ad 'is jacket, an' the jacket it was new -- ('Orse Gunners, listen to my song!) An' the wettin' of the jacket is the proper thing to do, Nor we didn't keep 'im waitin' very long. One day they gave us orders for to shell a sand redoubt, Loadin' down the axle-arms with case; But the Captain knew 'is dooty, an' he took the crackers out An' he put some proper liquor in its place. An' the Captain saw the shrapnel, which is six-an'-thirty clear. ('Orse Gunners, listen to my song!) "Will you draw the weight," sez 'e, "or will you draw the beer?" An' we didn't keep 'im waitin' very long. For the Captain, etc. Then we trotted gentle, not to break the bloomin' glass, Though the Arabites 'ad all their ranges marked; But we dursn't 'ardly gallop, for the most was bottled Bass, An' we'd dreamed of it since we was disembarked: So we fired economic with the shells we 'ad in 'and, ('Orse Gunners, listen to my song!) But the beggars under cover 'ad the impidence to stand, An' we couldn't keep 'em waitin' very long. And the Captain, etc. So we finished 'arf the liquor (an' the Captain took champagne), An' the Arabites was shootin' all the while; An' we left our wounded 'appy with the empties on the plain, An' we used the bloomin' guns for pro-jec-tile! We limbered up an' galloped -- there were nothin' else to do -- ('Orse Gunners, listen to my song!) An' the Battery came a-boundin' like a boundin' kangaroo, But they didn't watch us comin' very long. As the Captain, etc. We was goin' most extended -- we was drivin' very fine, An' the Arabites were loosin' 'igh an' wide, Till the Captain took the glassy with a rattlin' right incline, An' we dropped upon their 'eads the other side. Then we give 'em quarter -- such as 'adn't up and cut, ('Orse Gunners, listen to my song!) An' the Captain stood a limberful of fizzy -- somethin' Brutt, But we didn't leave it fizzing very long. For the Captain, etc. We might ha' been court-martialled, but it all come out all right When they signalled us to join the main command. There was every round expended, there was every gunner tight, An' the Captain waved a corkscrew in 'is 'and. But the Captain 'ad 'is jacket, etc.

Written by Carl Sandburg | Localities WAGON WHEEL GAP is a place I never saw And Red Horse Gulch and the chutes of Cripple Creek. Red-shirted miners picking in the sluices, Gamblers with red neckties in the night streets, The fly-by-night towns of Bull Frog and Skiddoo, The night-cool limestone white of Death Valley, The straight drop of eight hundred feet From a shelf road in the Hasiampa Valley: Men and places they are I never saw. I have seen three White Horse taverns, One in Illinois, one in Pennsylvania, One in a timber-hid road of Wisconsin. I bought cheese and crackers Between sun showers in a place called White Pigeon Nestling with a blacksmith shop, a post-office, And a berry-crate factory, where four roads cross. On the Pecatonica River near Freeport I have seen boys run barefoot in the leaves Throwing clubs at the walnut trees In the yellow-and-gold of autumn, And there was a brown mash dry on the inside of their hands. On the Cedar Fork Creek of Knox County I know how the fingers of late October Loosen the hazel nuts. I know the brown eyes of half-open hulls. I know boys named Lindquist, Swanson, Hildebrand. I remember their cries when the nuts were ripe. And some are in machine shops; some are in the navy; And some are not on payrolls anywhere. Their mothers are through waiting for them to come home.

Written by Philip Levine | I Won You Lost The last of day gathers in the yellow parlor and drifts like fine dust across the face of the gilt-framed mirror I ofien prayed to. An old man's room without him, a room I came back to again and again to steal cigarettes and loose change, to open cans of sardines, to break open crackers and share what he had. Something is missing. The cut glass ashtray is here and overflowing, the big bottle of homemade, the pack of English Ovals, the new red bicycle deck wrapped in cellophane and gold edged, the dishes crusted with the last snack. The music is gone. The lilt of his worn voice broken with the weight of all those lost languages -- "If you knew Solly like I knew Solly, oy oy oy what a girl." That music made new each day and absent forever from the corners ofrooms like this one darkening with dusk. The music a boy would laugh at until it went out and days began and ended without the banging fist, without the old truths of blood and water, without the loud cries of I won, you lost, without song.

Written by C. E. Carryl | The Plant Of The Camel “Canary-birds feed on sugar and seed, Parrots have crackers to crunch; And as for the poodles, they tell me the noodles Have chickens and cream for their lunch. But there’s never a question About MY digestion— Anything does for me! “Cats, you’re aware, can repose in a chair, Chickens can roost upon rails; Puppies are able to sleep in a stable, And oysters can slumber in pails. But no one supposes A poor Camel dozes— Any place does for me! “Lambs are enclosed where it’s never exposed, Coops are constructed for hens; 35Kittens are treated to houses well heated, And pigs are protected by pens. But a Camel comes handy Wherever it’s sandy— Anywhere does for me! “People would laugh if you rode a giraffe, Or mounted the back of an ox; It’s nobody’s habit to ride on a rabbit, Or try to bestraddle a fox. But as for a Camel, he’s Ridden by families— Any load does for me! “A snake is as round as a hole in the ground; Weasels are wavy and sleek; And no alligator could ever be straighter Than lizards that live in a creek. But a Camel’s all lumpy And bumpy and humpy— Any shape does for me!”