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Best Famous Ninety Two Poems

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Written by Ogden Nash | Create an image from this poem

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 Lewis Carroll | Create an image from this poem

Fit the Fifth ( Hunting of the Snark )

 The Beaver's Lesson 

They sought it with thimbles, they sought it with care; 
They pursued it with forks and hope; 
They threatened its life with a railway-share; 
They charmed it with smiles and soap.
Then the Butcher contrived an ingenious plan For making a separate sally; And fixed on a spot unfrequented by man, A dismal and desolate valley.
But the very same plan to the Beaver occurred: It had chosen the very same place: Yet neither betrayed, by a sign or a word, The disgust that appeared in his face.
Each thought he was thinking of nothing but "Snark" And the glorious work of the day; And each tried to pretend that he did not remark That the other was going that way.
But the valley grew narrow and narrower still, And the evening got darker and colder, Till (merely from nervousness, not from goodwill) They marched along shoulder to shoulder.
Then a scream, shrill and high, rent the shuddering sky, And they knew that some danger was near: The Beaver turned pale to the tip of its tail, And even the Butcher felt *****.
He thought of his childhood, left far far behind-- That blissful and innocent state-- The sound so exactly recalled to his mind A pencil that squeaks on a slate! "'Tis the voice of the Jubjub!" he suddenly cried.
(This man, that they used to call "Dunce.
") "As the Bellman would tell you," he added with pride, "I have uttered that sentiment once.
"'Tis the note of the Jubjub! Keep count, I entreat; You will find I have told it you twice.
'Tis the song of the Jubjub! The proof is complete, If only I've stated it thrice.
" The Beaver had counted with scrupulous care, Attending to every word: But it fairly lost heart, and outgrabe in despair, When the third repetition occurred.
It felt that, in spite of all possible pains, It had somehow contrived to lose count, And the only thing now was to rack its poor brains By reckoning up the amount.
"Two added to one--if that could but be done," It said, "with one's fingers and thumbs!" Recollecting with tears how, in earlier years, It had taken no pains with its sums.
"The thing can be done," said the Butcher, "I think.
The thing must be done, I am sure.
The thing shall be done! Bring me paper and ink, The best there is time to procure.
" The Beaver brought paper,portfolio, pens, And ink in unfailing supplies: While strange creepy creatures came out of their dens, And watched them with wondering eyes.
So engrossed was the Butcher, he heeded them not, As he wrote with a pen in each hand, And explained all the while in a popular style Which the Beaver could well understand.
"Taking Three as the subject to reason about-- A convenient number to state-- We add Seven, and Ten, and then multiply out By One Thousand diminished by Eight.
"The result we proceed to divide, as you see, By Nine Hundred and Ninety Two: Then subtract Seventeen, and the answer must be Exactly and perfectly true.
"The method employed I would gladly explain, While I have it so clear in my head, If I had but the time and you had but the brain-- But much yet remains to be said.
"In one moment I've seen what has hitherto been Enveloped in absolute mystery, And without extra charge I will give you at large A Lesson in Natural History.
" In his genial way he proceeded to say (Forgetting all laws of propriety, And that giving instruction, without introduction, Would have caused quite a thrill in Society), "As to temper the Jubjub's a desperate bird, Since it lives in perpetual passion: Its taste in costume is entirely absurd-- It is ages ahead of the fashion: "But it knows any friend it has met once before: It never will look at a bride: And in charity-meetings it stands at the door, And collects--though it does not subscribe.
" Its flavor when cooked is more exquisite far Than mutton, or oysters, or eggs: (Some think it keeps best in an ivory jar, And some, in mahogany kegs) "You boil it in sawdust: you salt it in glue: You condense it with locusts and tape: Still keeping one principal object in view-- To preserve its symmetrical shape.
" The Butcher would gladly have talked till next day, But he felt that the lesson must end, And he wept with delight in attempting to say He considered the Beaver his friend.
While the Beaver confessed, with affectionate looks More eloquent even than tears, It had learned in ten minutes far more than all books Would have taught it in seventy years.
They returned hand-in-hand, and the Bellman, unmanned (For a moment) with noble emotion, Said "This amply repays all the wearisome days We have spent on the billowy ocean!" Such friends, as the Beaver and Butcher became, Have seldom if ever been known; In winter or summer, 'twas always the same-- You could never meet either alone.
And when quarrels arose--as one frequently finds Quarrels will, spite of every endeavor-- The song of the Jubjub recurred to their minds, And cemented their friendship for ever!
Written by Rg Gregory | Create an image from this poem

milano

 wandering around milan my father
i know that (bred in the bone) i'm you
i walk and think - my legs roll onwards
i take in the atmosphere but not the view

but now you're dead - and i've been silent
for the past five months since you were burned
a numbness that called itself acceptance
sat in my heart and outward yearned

with other deaths i've not been stingy
when my mother died and then my daughter
a kind of celebration knew me
and words flowed upwards like clear water

but you were ninety-two in dying
when nature came proudly to claim its own
you went as rightly as you'd journeyed
and words had best leave well alone

but as i sit on this sunny sunday
watching an italian family pass
i am this small boy holding tightly
his father's hand across the grass

and here as i sit now weeping lightly
i'm sorry for those speechless tomes
that only now dare dredge that language
to honour your presence in my bones

and child to you i am a father
and my own children i tightly need
for all those deaths i deal them daily
may these green words a little bleed
Written by Marriott Edgar | Create an image from this poem

Albert and His Savings

 One day, little Albert Ramsbottom
To see 'ow much money 'e'd got
Stuck a knife in 'is money-box slot 'ole
And fiddled and fished out the lot.
It amounted to fifteen and fourpence Which 'e found by a few simple sums Were ninety two tuppenny ices Or twice that in penn'orths of gums.
The sound of the chinkin' of money Soon brought father's 'ead round the door He said, "Whats that there, on the table?" Albert said it were, "Fifteen and four.
" "You're not going to spend all that money.
.
.
" Said Pa, in an admonitory tone "On toffee an' things for your stomach.
" Said Mother, "Why not?.
.
.
it's his own.
" Said Pa, "Nay, with that fifteen shillings, We'll buy National Savings and then.
.
.
In five years we'll have seventeen and six And one pound and sixpence, in ten!" Young Albert weren't what you'd call eager He saw his sweet dreams fade away, Ma said, "Let 'im 'ave the odd fourpence.
" Pa lovingly answered, "Nay.
.
.
nay!" "It's our duty in crisis.
.
.
what's 'appened For every child, woman and man To strain every muscle and sinew To raise every penny we can!" He said, "Even this little fourpence.
.
.
Might help us, the Germans to drub!" Then 'e dropped the four coins in 'is pocket And made for the neighbouring pub.
These words stirred the 'eart of young Albert He made up 'is mind then and there To take up 'is part in the straining And sell everything 'e could spare.
So off 'e went down to the junk shop With some toys and a flashlamp, he'd got.
And the stick with the 'orses 'ead 'andle He received half a crown for the lot.
He went off to the Post Office counter Where National Savings was bought But found that they cost fifteen shillings Which meant he were twelve and six short.
The little lad wasn't down 'earted He went off without wastin' words And sold 'is dad's smoking companion And 'is Mother's glass case of stuffed birds.
At the Post Office counter they gave 'im A certificate all crisp and clean Then back 'e went 'ome, to his parents To say what a good boy he'd been.
They didn't 'alf shout, when he told 'em By Gumm.
.
.
but 'e were in the wars But at finish, they 'ad to forgive 'im It were all done in such a grand cause.
There's a moral, of course.
to this story That's pointing to you and to me.
.
.
Let's all be young Alberts and tend To defend the right to be free.

Book: Reflection on the Important Things