Best Famous Lingo Poems

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

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• All Famous Lingo Poems

Written by Ogden Nash | Look What You Did Christopher! In fourteen hundred and ninety-two, Someone sailed the ocean blue. Somebody borrowed the fare in Spain For a business trip on the bounding main, And to prove to the people, by actual test, You could get to the East by sailing West. Somebody said, Sail on! Sail on! And studied China and China's lingo, And cried from the bow, There's China now! And promptly bumped into San Domingo. Somebody murmured, Oh dear, oh dear! I've discovered the Western Hemisphere. And that, you may think, my friends, was that. But it wasn't. Not by a fireman's hat. Well enough wasn't left alone, And Columbus was only a cornerstone. There came the Spaniards, There came the Greeks, There came the Pilgrims in leather breeks. There came the Dutch, And the Poles and Swedes, The Persians, too, And perhaps the Medes, The Letts, the Lapps, and the Lithuanians, Regal Russians, and ripe Roumanians. There came the French And there came the Finns, And the Japanese With their formal grins. The Tartars came, And the Terrible Turks - In a word, humanity shot the works. And the country that should have been Cathay Decided to be The U.S.A. And that, you may think, my friends, was that. But it wasn't. Not by a fireman's hat. Christopher C. was the cornerstone, And well enough wasn't left alone. For those who followed When he was through, They burned to discover something, too. Somebody, bored with rural scenery, Went to work and invented machinery, While a couple of other mental giants Got together And thought up Science. Platinum blondes (They were once peroxide), Peruvian bonds And carbon monoxide, Tax evaders And Vitamin A, Vice crusaders, And tattletale gray - These, with many another phobia, We owe to that famous Twelfth of Octobia. O misery, misery, mumble and moan! Someone invented the telephone, And interrupted a nation's slumbers, Ringing wrong but similar numbers. Someone devised the silver screen And the intimate Hollywood magazine, And life is a Hades Of clicking cameras, And foreign ladies Behaving amorous. Gags have erased Amusing dialog, As gas has replaced The crackling firelog. All that glitters is sold as gold, And our daily diet grows odder and odder, And breakfast foods are dusty and cold - It's a wise child That knows its fodder. Someone invented the automobile, And good Americans took the wheel To view American rivers and rills And justly famous forests and hills - But someone equally enterprising Had invented billboard advertising. You linger at home In dark despair, And wistfully try the electric air. You hope against hope for a quiz imperial, And what do they give you? A doctor serial. Oh, Columbus was only a cornerstone, And well enough wasn't left alone, For the Inquisition was less tyrannical Than the iron rules of an age mechanical, Which, because of an error in '92, Are clamped like corsets on me and you, While Children of Nature we'd be today If San Domingo Had been Cathay. And that, you may think, my friends, is that. But it isn't - not by a fireman's hat. The American people, With grins jocose, Always survive the fatal dose. And though our systems are slightly wobbly, We'll fool the doctor this time, probly.

Written by Robert Francis | Thoreau in Italy Lingo of birds was easier than lingo of peasants- they were elusive, though, the birds, for excellent reasons. He thought of Virgil, Virgil who wasn't there to chat with. History he never forgave for letting Latin lapse into Italian, a renegade jabbering musical enough but not enough to call music So he conversed with stones, imperial and papal. Even the preposterous popes he could condone a moment for the clean arrogance of their inscriptions. He asked the Italians only to leave him in the past alone, but this was what they emphatically never did. Being the present, they never ceased to celebrate it. Something was always brushing him on the street, satyr or saint-impossible to say which the more foreign. At home he was called touchy; here he knew he was. Impossible to say. The dazzling nude with sex lovingly displayed like carven fruit, the black robe sweeping a holy and unholy dust. Always the flesh whether to lacerate of kiss- Conspiracy of fauns and clerics smiling back and forth at each other acquiescently through leaves. Caught between wan monastic mountains wearing the tonsure and the all-siren, ever-dimpling sea, he saw (how could he fail?) at heart geography to blame. So home to Concord where (as he might have known he would) he found the Italy he wanted to remember. Why had he sailed if not for the savour of returning? An Italy distilled of all extreme, conflict, Collusion-an Italy without the Italians- in whose green context he could con again his Virgil. In cedar he read cypress, in the wild apple, olive. His hills would stand up favorably to the hills of Rome. His arrowheads could hold their own with are Etruscan. And Walden clearly was his Mediterranean whose infinite colors were his picture gallery. How far his little boat transported him-how far. He coughed discreetly and we likewise coughed; we waited and we heard him clear his throat. How to be perfect prisoners of the past this was the thing but now he too is past. Shall we go sit beside the Mississippi and watch the riffraft driftwood floating by?

Written by Eugene Field | The Conversazzhony What conversazzhyonies wuz I really did not know, For that, you must remember, wuz a powerful spell ago; The camp wuz new 'nd noisy, 'nd only modrit sized, So fashionable sossiety wuz hardly crystallized. There hadn't been no grand events to interest the men, But a lynchin', or a inquest, or a jackpot now an' then. The wimmin-folks wuz mighty scarce, for wimmin, ez a rool, Don't go to Colorado much, excep' for teachin' school, An' bein' scarce an' chipper and pretty (like as not), The bachelors perpose, 'nd air accepted on the spot. Now Sorry Tom wuz owner uv the Gosh-all-Hemlock mine, The wich allowed his better haff to dress all-fired fine; For Sorry Tom wuz mighty proud uv her, an' she uv him, Though she wuz short an' tacky, an' he wuz tall an' slim, An' she wuz edjicated, an' Sorry Tom wuz not, Yet, for her sake, he'd whack up every cussid cent he'd got! Waal, jest by way uv celebratin' matrimonial joys, She thought she'd give a conversazzhyony to the boys,-- A peert an' likely lady, 'nd ez full uv 'cute idees 'Nd uv etiquettish notions ez a fyste is full uv fleas. Three-fingered Hoover kind uv kicked, an' said they might be durned So far ez any conversazzhyony was concerned; He'd come to Red Hoss Mountain to tunnel for the ore, An' not to go to parties,--quite another kind uv bore! But, bein' he wuz candidate for marshal uv the camp, I rayther had the upper holts in arguin' with the scamp; Sez I, "Three-fingered Hoover, can't ye see it is yer game To go for all the votes ye kin an' collar uv the same?" The wich perceivin', Hoover sez, "Waal, ef I must, I must; So I'll frequent that conversazzhyony, ef I bust!" Three-fingered Hoover wuz a trump! Ez fine a man wuz he Ez ever caused an inquest or blossomed on a tree!-- A big, broad man, whose face bespoke a honest heart within,-- With a bunch uv yaller whiskers appertainin' to his chin, 'Nd a fierce mustache turnt up so fur that both his ears wuz hid, Like the picture that you always see in the "Life uv Cap'n Kidd." His hair wuz long an' wavy an' fine as Southdown fleece,-- Oh, it shone an' smelt like Eden when he slicked it down with grease! I'll bet there wuzn't anywhere a man, all round, ez fine Ez wuz Three-fingered Hoover in the spring uv '69! The conversazzhyony wuz a notable affair, The bong tong deckolett 'nd en regaly bein' there; The ranch where Sorry Tom hung out wuz fitted up immense,-- The Denver papers called it a "palashal residence." There wuz mountain pines an' fern an' flowers a-hangin' on the walls, An' cheers an' hoss-hair sofies wuz a-settin' in the halls; An' there wuz heaps uv pictures uv folks that lived down East, Sech ez poets an' perfessers, an' last, but not the least, Wuz a chromo uv old Fremont,--we liked that best, you bet, For there's lots uv us old miners that is votin' for him yet! When Sorry Tom received the gang perlitely at the door, He said that keerds would be allowed upon the second floor; And then he asked us would we like a drop uv ody vee. Connivin' at his meanin', we responded promptly, "Wee." A conversazzhyony is a thing where people speak The langwidge in the which they air partickulerly weak: "I see," sez Sorry Tom, "you grasp what that 'ere lingo means." "You bet yer boots," sez Hoover; "I've lived at Noo Orleens, An', though I ain't no Frenchie, nor kin unto the same, I kin parly voo, an' git there, too, like Eli, toot lee mame!" As speakin' French wuz not my forte,--not even oovry poo,-- I stuck to keerds ez played by them ez did not parly voo, An' bein' how that poker wuz my most perficient game, I poneyed up for 20 blues an' set into the same. Three-fingered Hoover stayed behind an' parly-vood so well That all the kramy delly krame allowed he wuz the belle. The other candidate for marshal didn't have a show; For, while Three-fingered Hoover parlyed, ez they said, tray bow, Bill Goslin didn't know enough uv French to git along, 'Nd I reckon that he had what folks might call a movy tong. From Denver they had freighted up a real pianny-fort Uv the warty-leg and pearl-around-the-keys-an'-kivver sort, An', later in the evenin', Perfesser Vere de Blaw Performed on that pianny, with considerble eclaw, Sech high-toned opry airs ez one is apt to hear, you know, When he rounds up down to Denver at a Emmy Abbitt show; An' Barber Jim (a talented but ornery galoot) Discoursed a obligatter, conny mory, on the floot, 'Till we, ez sot up-stairs indulgin' in a quiet game, Conveyed to Barber Jim our wish to compromise the same. The maynoo that wuz spread that night wuz mighty hard to beat,-- Though somewhat awkward to pernounce, it was not so to eat: There wuz puddin's, pies, an' sandwidges, an' forty kinds uv sass, An' floatin' Irelands, custards, tarts, an' patty dee foy grass; An' millions uv cove oysters wuz a-settin' round in pans, 'Nd other native fruits an' things that grow out West in cans. But I wuz all kufflummuxed when Hoover said he'd choose "Oon peety morso, see voo play, de la cette Charlotte Rooze;" I'd knowed Three-fingered Hoover for fifteen years or more, 'Nd I'd never heern him speak so light uv wimmin folks before! Bill Goslin heern him say it, 'nd uv course he spread the news Uv how Three-fingered Hoover had insulted Charlotte Rooze At the conversazzhyony down at Sorry Tom's that night, An' when they asked me, I allowed that Bill for once wuz right; Although it broke my heart to see my friend go up the fluke, We all opined his treatment uv the girl deserved rebuke. It warn't no use for Sorry Tom to nail it for a lie,-- When it come to sassin' wimmin, there wuz blood in every eye; The boom for Charlotte Rooze swep' on an' took the polls by storm, An' so Three-fingered Hoover fell a martyr to reform! Three-fingered Hoover said it was a terrible mistake, An' when the votes wuz in, he cried ez if his heart would break. We never knew who Charlotte wuz, but Goslin's brother Dick Allowed she wuz the teacher from the camp on Roarin' Crick, That had come to pass some foreign tongue with them uv our alite Ez wuz at the high-toned party down at Sorry Tom's that night. We let it drop--this matter uv the lady--there an' then, An' we never heerd, nor wanted to, of Charlotte Rooze again, An' the Colorado wimmin-folks, ez like ez not, don't know How we vindicated all their sex a twenty year ago. For in these wondrous twenty years has come a mighty change, An' most of them old pioneers have gone acrosst the range, Way out into the silver land beyond the peaks uv snow,-- The land uv rest an' sunshine, where all good miners go. I reckon that they love to look, from out the silver haze, Upon that God's own country where they spent sech happy days; Upon the noble cities that have risen since they went; Upon the camps an' ranches that are prosperous and content; An' best uv all, upon those hills that reach into the air, Ez if to clasp the loved ones that are waitin' over there.

Written by Robert William Service | Bingo The daughter of the village Maire Is very fresh and very fair, A dazzling eyeful; She throws upon me such a spell That though my love I dare not tell, My heart is sighful. She has the cutest brown caniche, The French for "poodle" on a leash, While I have Bingo; A dog of doubtful pedigree, Part pug or pom or chow maybe, But full of stingo. The daughter of the village Maire Would like to speak with me, I'll swear, In her sweet lingo; But parlez-vous I find a bore, For I am British to the core, And so is Bingo Yet just to-day as we passed by, Our two dogs haulted eye to eye, In friendly poses; Oh, how I hope to-morrow they Will wag their tails in merry play, And rub their noses. * * * * * * * The daughter of the village Maire Today gave me a frigid stare, My hopes are blighted. I'll tell you how it came to pass . . . Last evening in the Square, alas! My sweet I sighted; And as she sauntered with her pet, Her dainty, her adored Frolette, I cried: "By Jingo!" Well, call it chance or call it fate, I made a dash . . . Too late, too late! Oh, naughty Bingo! The daughter of the village Maire That you'll forgive me, is my prayer And also Bingo. You should have shielded your caniche: You saw my dog strain on his leash And like a spring go. They say that Love will find a way - It definitely did, that day . . . Oh, canine noodles! Now it is only left to me To wonder - will your offspring be Poms, pugs or poodles?