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Best Famous Oh My God Poems

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Written by Amy Lowell | Create an image from this poem

Number 3 on the Docket

 The lawyer, are you?
Well! I ain't got nothin' to say.
Nothin'! I told the perlice I hadn't nothin'.
They know'd real well 'twas me.
Ther warn't no supposin', Ketchin' me in the woods as they did, An' me in my house dress.
Folks don't walk miles an' miles In the drifted snow, With no hat nor wrap on 'em Ef everythin's all right, I guess.
All right? Ha! Ha! Ha! Nothin' warn't right with me.
Never was.
Oh, Lord! Why did I do it? Why ain't it yesterday, and Ed here agin? Many's the time I've set up with him nights When he had cramps, or rheumatizm, or somethin'.
I used ter nurse him same's ef he was a baby.
I wouldn't hurt him, I love him! Don't you dare to say I killed him.
'Twarn't me! Somethin' got aholt o' me.
I couldn't help it.
Oh, what shall I do! What shall I do! Yes, Sir.
No, Sir.
I beg your pardon, I -- I -- Oh, I'm a wicked woman! An' I'm desolate, desolate! Why warn't I struck dead or paralyzed Afore my hands done it.
Oh, my God, what shall I do! No, Sir, ther ain't no extenuatin' circumstances, An' I don't want none.
I want a bolt o' lightnin' To strike me dead right now! Oh, I'll tell yer.
But it won't make no diff'rence.
Nothin' will.
Yes, I killed him.
Why do yer make me say it? It's cruel! Cruel! I killed him because o' th' silence.
The long, long silence, That watched all around me, And he wouldn't break it.
I tried to make him, Time an' agin, But he was terrible taciturn, Ed was.
He never spoke 'cept when he had to, An' then he'd only say "yes" and "no".
You can't even guess what that silence was.
I'd hear it whisperin' in my ears, An' I got frightened, 'twas so thick, An' al'ays comin' back.
Ef Ed would ha' talked sometimes It would ha' driven it away; But he never would.
He didn't hear it same as I did.
You see, Sir, Our farm was off'n the main road, And set away back under the mountain; And the village was seven mile off, Measurin' after you'd got out o' our lane.
We didn't have no hired man, 'Cept in hayin' time; An' Dane's place, That was the nearest, Was clear way 'tother side the mountain.
They used Marley post-office An' ours was Benton.
Ther was a cart-track took yer to Dane's in Summer, An' it warn't above two mile that way, But it warn't never broke out Winters.
I used to dread the Winters.
Seem's ef I couldn't abear to see the golden-rod bloomin'; Winter'd come so quick after that.
You don't know what snow's like when yer with it Day in an' day out.
Ed would be out all day loggin', An' I set at home and look at the snow Layin' over everythin'; It 'ud dazzle me blind, Till it warn't white any more, but black as ink.
Then the quiet 'ud commence rushin' past my ears Till I most went mad listenin' to it.
Many's the time I've dropped a pan on the floor Jest to hear it clatter.
I was most frantic when dinner-time come An' Ed was back from the woods.
I'd ha' give my soul to hear him speak.
But he'd never say a word till I asked him Did he like the raised biscuits or whatever, An' then sometimes he'd jest nod his answer.
Then he'd go out agin, An' I'd watch him from the kitchin winder.
It seemed the woods come marchin' out to meet him An' the trees 'ud press round him an' hustle him.
I got so I was scared o' th' trees.
I thought they come nearer, Every day a little nearer, Closin' up round the house.
I never went in t' th' woods Winters, Though in Summer I liked 'em well enough.
It warn't so bad when my little boy was with us.
He used to go sleddin' and skatin', An' every day his father fetched him to school in the pung An' brought him back agin.
We scraped an' scraped fer Neddy, We wanted him to have a education.
We sent him to High School, An' then he went up to Boston to Technology.
He was a minin' engineer, An' doin' real well, A credit to his bringin' up.
But his very first position ther was an explosion in the mine.
And I'm glad! I'm glad! He ain't here to see me now.
Neddy! Neddy! I'm your mother still, Neddy.
Don't turn from me like that.
I can't abear it.
I can't! I can't! What did you say? Oh, yes, Sir.
I'm here.
I'm very sorry, I don't know what I'm sayin'.
No, Sir, Not till after Neddy died.
'Twas the next Winter the silence come, I don't remember noticin' it afore.
That was five year ago, An' it's been gittin' worse an' worse.
I asked Ed to put in a telephone.
I thought ef I felt the whisperin' comin' on I could ring up some o' th' folks.
But Ed wouldn't hear of it.
He said we'd paid so much for Neddy We couldn't hardly git along as 'twas.
An' he never understood me wantin' to talk.
Well, this year was worse'n all the others; We had a terrible spell o' stormy weather, An' the snow lay so thick You couldn't see the fences even.
Out o' doors was as flat as the palm o' my hand, Ther warn't a hump or a holler Fer as you could see.
It was so quiet The snappin' o' the branches back in the wood-lot Sounded like pistol shots.
Ed was out all day Same as usual.
An' it seemed he talked less'n ever.
He didn't even say `Good-mornin'', once or twice, An' jest nodded or shook his head when I asked him things.
On Monday he said he'd got to go over to Benton Fer some oats.
I'd oughter ha' gone with him, But 'twas washin' day An' I was afeared the fine weather'd break, An' I couldn't do my dryin'.
All my life I'd done my work punctual, An' I couldn't fix my conscience To go junketin' on a washin'-day.
I can't tell you what that day was to me.
It dragged an' dragged, Fer ther warn't no Ed ter break it in the middle Fer dinner.
Every time I stopped stirrin' the water I heerd the whisperin' all about me.
I stopped oftener'n I should To see ef 'twas still ther, An' it al'ays was.
An' gittin' louder It seemed ter me.
Once I threw up the winder to feel the wind.
That seemed most alive somehow.
But the woods looked so kind of menacin' I closed it quick An' started to mangle's hard's I could, The squeakin' was comfortin'.
Well, Ed come home 'bout four.
I seen him down the road, An' I run out through the shed inter th' barn To meet him quicker.
I hollered out, `Hullo!' But he didn't say nothin', He jest drove right in An' climbed out o' th' sleigh An' commenced unharnessin'.
I asked him a heap o' questions; Who he'd seed An' what he'd done.
Once in a while he'd nod or shake, But most o' th' time he didn't do nothin'.
'Twas gittin' dark then, An' I was in a state, With the loneliness An' Ed payin' no attention Like somethin' warn't livin'.
All of a sudden it come, I don't know what, But I jest couldn't stand no more.
It didn't seem 's though that was Ed, An' it didn't seem as though I was me.
I had to break a way out somehow, Somethin' was closin' in An' I was stiflin'.
Ed's loggin' axe was ther, An' I took it.
Oh, my God! I can't see nothin' else afore me all the time.
I run out inter th' woods, Seemed as ef they was pullin' me; An' all the time I was wadin' through the snow I seed Ed in front of me Where I'd laid him.
An' I see him now.
There! There! What you holdin' me fer? I want ter go to Ed, He's bleedin'.
Stop holdin' me.
I got to go.
I'm comin', Ed.
I'll be ther in a minit.
Oh, I'm so tired! (Faints)

Written by Rudyard Kipling | Create an image from this poem


 We're foot--slog--slog--slog--sloggin' over Africa --
Foot--foot--foot--foot--sloggin' over Africa --
(Boots--boots--boots--boots--movin' up an' down again!)
  There's no discharge in the war!

Seven--six--eleven--five--nine-an'-twenty mile to-day --
Four--eleven--seventeen--thirty-two the day before --
(Boots--boots--boots--boots--movin' up an' down again!)
  There's no discharge in the war!

Don't--don't--don't--don't--look at what's in front of you.
(Boots--boots--boots--boots--movin' up an' down again); Men--men--men--men--men go mad with watchin' em, An' there's no discharge in the war! Try--try--try--try--to think o' something different -- Oh--my--God--keep--me from goin' lunatic! (Boots--boots--boots--boots--movin' up an' down again!) There's no discharge in the war! Count--count--count--count--the bullets in the bandoliers.
If--your--eyes--drop--they will get atop o' you! (Boots--boots--boots--boots--movin' up an' down again) -- There's no discharge in the war! We--can--stick--out--'unger, thirst, an' weariness, But--not--not--not--not the chronic sight of 'em -- Boot--boots--boots--boots--movin' up an' down again, An' there's no discharge in the war! 'Taint--so--bad--by--day because o' company, But night--brings--long--strings--o' forty thousand million Boots--boots--boots--boots--movin' up an' down again.
There's no discharge in the war! I--'ave--marched--six--weeks in 'Ell an' certify It--is--not--fire--devils, dark, or anything, But boots--boots--boots--boots--movin' up an' down again, An' there's no discharge in the war!
Written by Henry Lawson | Create an image from this poem

The Man Who Raised Charlestown

 They were hanging men in Buckland who would not cheer King George – 
The parson from his pulpit and the blacksmith from his forge; 
They were hanging men and brothers, and the stoutest heart was down, 
When a quiet man from Buckland rode at dusk to raise Charlestown.
Not a young man in his glory filled with patriotic fire, Not an orator or soldier, or a known man in his shire; He was just the Unexpected – one of Danger's Volunteers, At a time for which he'd waited, all unheard of, many years.
And Charlestown met in council, the quiet man to hear – The town was large and wealthy, but the folks were filled with fear, The fear of death and plunder; and none to lead had they, And Self fought Patriotism as will always be the way.
The man turned to the people, and he spoke in anger then.
And crooked his finger here and there to those he marked as men.
And many gathered round him to see what they could do – For men know men in danger, as they know the cowards too.
He chose his men and captains, and sent them here and there, The arms and ammunition were gathered in the square; While peaceful folk were praying or croaking, every one, He was working with his blacksmiths at the carriage of a gun.
While the Council sat on Sunday, and the church bells rang their peal, The quiet man was mending a broken waggon wheel; While they passed their resolutions on his doings (and the likes), From a pile his men brought to him he was choosing poles for pikes.
(They were hanging men in Buckland who would not cheer King George – They were making pikes in Charlestown at every blacksmith's forge: While the Council sat in session and the same old song they sang, They heard the horsemen gallop out, and the blacksmiths' hammers clang.
) And a thrill went through the city ere the drums began to roll, And the coward found his courage, and the drunkard found his soul.
So a thrill went through the city that would go through all the land, For the quiet man from Buckland held men's hearts in his right hand.
And he caught a Charlestown poet (there are many tell the tale), And he took him by the collar when he'd filled him up with ale; "Now, then, write a song for Charlestown that shall lift her on her way, For she's marching out to Buckland and to Death at break o' day.
" And he set the silenced women tearing sheet and shift and shirt To make bandages and roll them for the men that would get hurt.
And he called out his musicians and he told them what to play: "For I want my men excited when they march at break o' day.
" And he set the women cooking – with a wood-and-water crew – "For I want no empty stomachs for the work we have to do.
" Then he said to his new soldiers: "Eat your fill while yet you may; 'Tis a heavy road to Buckland that we'll march at break o' day.
" And a shout went through the city when the drums began to roll (And the coward was a brave man and the beggar had a soul), And the drunken Charlestown poet cared no more if he should hang, For his song of "Charlestown's Coming" was the song the soldiers sang.
And they cursed the King of England, and they shouted in their glee, And they swore to drive the British and their friends into the sea; But when they'd quite finished swearing, said their leader "Let us pray, For we march to Death and Freedom, and it's nearly dawn of day.
" There were marching feet at daybreak, and close upon their heels Came the scuffling tread of horses and the heavy crunch of wheels; So they took the road to Buckland, with their scout out to take heed, And a quiet man of fifty on a grey horse in the lead.
There was silence in the city, there was silence as of night – Women in the ghostly daylight, kneeling, praying, deathly white, As their mothers knelt before them, as their daughters knelt since then, And as ours shall, in the future, kneel and pray for fighting men.
For their men had gone to battle, as our sons and grandsons too Must go out, for Life and Freedom, as all nations have to do.
And the Charlestown women waited for the sounds that came too soon – Though they listened, almost breathless, till the early afternoon.
Then they heard the tones of danger for their husbands, sweethearts, sons, And they stopped their ears in terror, crying, "Oh, my God! The guns!" Then they strained their ears to listen through the church-bells' startled chime – Far along the road to Buckland, Charlestown's guns were marking time.
"They advance!" "They halt!" "Retreating!" "They come back!" The guns are done!" But the calmer spirits, listening, said: "Our guns are going on.
" And the friend and foe in Buckland felt two different kinds of thrills When they heard the Charlestown cannon talking on the Buckland hills.
And the quiet man of Buckland sent a message in that day, And he gave the British soldiers just two hours to march away.
And they hang men there no longer, there is peace on land and wave; On the sunny hills of Buckland there is many a quiet grave.
There is peace upon the land, and there is friendship on the waves – On the sunny hills of Buckland there are rows of quiet graves.
And an ancient man in Buckland may be seen in sunny hours, Pottering round about his garden, and his kitchen stuff and flowers.
Written by Amy Lowell | Create an image from this poem


 You want to know what's the matter with me, do yer?
My! ain't men blinder'n moles?
It ain't nothin' new, be sure o' that.
Why, ef you'd had eyes you'd ha' seed Me changin' under your very nose, Each day a little diff'rent.
But you never see nothin', you don't.
Don't touch me, Jake, Don't you dars't to touch me, I ain't in no humour.
That's what's come over me; Jest a change clear through.
You lay still, an' I'll tell yer, I've had it on my mind to tell yer Fer some time.
It's a strain livin' a lie from mornin' till night, An' I'm goin' to put an end to it right now.
An' don't make any mistake about one thing, When I married yer I loved yer.
Why, your voice 'ud make Me go hot and cold all over, An' your kisses most stopped my heart from beatin'.
Lord! I was a silly fool.
But that's the way 'twas.
Well, I married yer An' thought Heav'n was comin' To set on the door-step.
Heav'n didn't do no settin', Though the first year warn't so bad.
The baby's fever threw you off some, I guess, An' then I took her death real hard, An' a mopey wife kind o' disgusts a man.
I ain't blamin' yer exactly.
But that's how 'twas.
Do lay quiet, I know I'm slow, but it's harder to say 'n I thought.
There come a time when I got to be More wife agin than mother.
The mother part was sort of a waste When we didn't have no other child.
But you'd got used ter lots o' things, An' you was all took up with the farm.
Many's the time I've laid awake Watchin' the moon go clear through the elm-tree, Out o' sight.
I'd foller yer around like a dog, An' set in the chair you'd be'n settin' in, Jest to feel its arms around me, So long's I didn't have yours.
It preyed on me, I guess, Longin' and longin' While you was busy all day, and snorin' all night.
Yes, I know you're wide awake now, But now ain't then, An' I guess you'll think diff'rent When I'm done.
Do you mind the day you went to Hadrock? I didn't want to stay home for reasons, But you said someone 'd have to be here 'Cause Elmer was comin' to see t' th' telephone.
An' you never see why I was so set on goin' with yer, Our married life hadn't be'n any great shakes, Still marriage is marriage, an' I was raised God-fearin'.
But, Lord, you didn't notice nothin', An' Elmer hangin' around all Winter! 'Twas a lovely mornin'.
The apple-trees was jest elegant With their blossoms all flared out, An' there warn't a cloud in the sky.
You went, you wouldn't pay no 'tention to what I said, An' I heard the Ford chuggin' for most a mile, The air was so still.
Then Elmer come.
It's no use your frettin', Jake, I'll tell you all about it.
I know what I'm doin', An' what's worse, I know what I done.
Elmer fixed th' telephone in about two minits, An' he didn't seem in no hurry to go, An' I don't know as I wanted him to go either, I was awful mad at your not takin' me with yer, An' I was tired o' wishin' and wishin' An' gittin' no comfort.
I guess it ain't necessary to tell yer all the things.
He stayed to dinner, An' he helped me do the dishes, An' he said a home was a fine thing, An' I said dishes warn't a home Nor yet the room they're in.
He said a lot o' things, An' I fended him off at first, But he got talkin' all around me, Clost up to the things I'd be'n thinkin', What's the use o' me goin' on, Jake, You know.
He got all he wanted, An' I give it to him, An' what's more, I'm glad! I ain't dead, anyway, An' somebody thinks I'm somethin'.
Keep away, Jake, You can kill me to-morrer if you want to, But I'm goin' to have my say.
Funny thing! Guess I ain't made to hold a man.
Elmer ain't be'n here for mor'n two months.
I don't want to pretend nothin', Mebbe if he'd be'n lately I shouldn't have told yer.
I'll go away in the mornin', o' course.
What you want the light fer? I don't look no diff'rent.
Ain't the moon bright enough To look at a woman that's deceived yer by? Don't, Jake, don't, you can't love me now! It ain't a question of forgiveness.
Why! I'd be thinkin' o' Elmer ev'ry minute; It ain't decent.
Oh, my God! It ain't decent any more either way!
Written by Robert William Service | Create an image from this poem

Tea On The Lawn

 It was foretold by sybils three
that in an air crash he would die.
"I'll fool their prophesy," said he; "You won't get me to go on high.
Howe're the need for haste and speed, I'll never, never, never fly.
" It's true he traveled everywhere, Afar and near, by land and sea, Yet he would never go by air And chance an evil destiny.
Always by ship or rail he went - For him no sky-plane accident.
Then one day walking on the heath He watched a pilot chap on high, And chuckled as he stood beneath That lad a-looping in the sky.
Feeling so safe and full of glee Serenely he went home to tea.
With buttered toast he told his wife: "My dear, you can't say I've been rash; Three fortune tellers said my life Would end up in an air-plane crash.
But see! I'm here so safe and sound: By gad! I'll never leave the ground.
"For me no baptism of air; It's in my bed I mean to die.
Behold yon crazy fool up there, A-cutting capers in the sky.
His motor makes a devilish din .
Look! Look! He's gone into a spin.
"He's dashing downward - "Oh my God!" .
Alas! he never finished tea.
The motor ploughed the garden sod And in the crash a corpse was he: Proving that no man can frustrate The merciless design of Fate.

Written by Robert Creeley | Create an image from this poem


 for Mark Peters

Not just nothing,
Not there's no answer,
Not it's nowhere or
Nothing to show for it -

It's like There's no past like
the present.
It's all over with us.
There are no doors.
Oh my god! Like I wish I had a dog.
Oh my god! I had a dog but he's gone.
His name was Zero, something for nothing! You like dog biscuits? Fill in the blank.