Out of the reaches of illimitable night
The blazing planet grew,
and forc'd to life
Unending cycles of progressive strife
strange mutations of undying light
And boresome books, than hell's own
self more trite
And thoughts repeated and become a blight,
cheap rum-hounds with moonshine hootch made tight,
And quite contrite
to see the flight of fright so bright
I used to ride my bicycle in the
With a dandy acetylene lantern that cost $3.00
evening, by the moonlight, you can hear those darkies singing
tonight - in dreamland... BAH!
I used to sit on the stairs of the
house where I was born
After we left it but before it was sold
play on a zobo with two other boys.
We called ourselves the Blackstone
Won't you come home, Bill Bailey, won't you come home?
In the spring of the year, in the silver rain
When petal by petal
the blossoms fall
And the mocking birds call
And the whippoorwill
The first cinema show in our town opened in 1906
At the old Olympic, which was then call'd Park,
And moving beams
shot weirdly thro' the dark
And spit tobacco seldom hit the mark.
Have you read Dickens' American Notes?
was born in a white house
Under green trees in the country
used to believe in religion and the weather.
"Shantih, shantih, shantih"..."Shanty House"
Was the name of a
novel by I forget whom
Published serially in the "All-Story Weekly"
Before it was a weekly. Advt.
Disillusion is wonderful, I've been
And I take quinine to stop a cold
But it makes my ears...
Always ringing in my ears...
It is the ghost of the Jew
I murdered that Christmas day
Because he played "Three O'Clock in the
Morning" in the flat above me...
Three O'Clock in the morning, I've
danc'd the whole night through
Dancing on the graves in the graveyard
Where life is buried; life and beauty
Life and art and love and
Ah, there, sweet cutie.
Out of the night that
Black as the pit from pole to pole
I never quote things
straight except by accident.
are the idol of our nation
Each fellow has
Fallen for jazz
we'll give the past a merry razz
Thro' the ghoul-guarded gateways of
And fellow-guestship with the glutless worm.
Next stop is
57th St. - 57th St. the next stop.
Achilles' wrath, to Greece the
And the governor-general of Canada is Lord Byng
Whose ancestor was shot or hung,
I forget which, the good die
Here's to your ripe old age,
Copyright, 1847, by Joseph
Entered according to act of Congress.
In the office of the librarian of Congress
America was discovered
This way out.
No, lady, you gotta change at Washington St.
to the Everett train.
Out in the rain on the elevated
sated, all mismated.
Twelve seats on this bench,
In a shady nook, beside a brook, two lovers stroll along.
to Park Ave., Car Following.
No, we had it cleaned with the sand
I know it ought to be torn down.
Before the bar of a saloon
there stood a reckless crew,
When one said to another, "Jack, this
message came for you."
"It may be from a sweetheart, boys," said
someone in the crowd,
And here the words are missing... but Jack cried
"It's only a message from home, sweet home,
ones down on the farm
Fond wife and mother, sister and brother..."
Bootleggers all and you're another
In the shade of the old apple
'Neath the old cherry tree sweet Marie
By Edgar Allan Poe
Stubbed his toe
On a broken
brick that didn't show
Or a banana peel
In the fifth reel
It is to laugh
It makes you stout and
And all my days I'll sing the praise
Of Ivory Soap
you a little T. S. Eliot in your house?
The stag at eve had drunk his fill
The thirsty hart look'd up the
And craned his neck just as a feeler
To advertise the
William Congreve was a gentleman
O art what sins
are committed in thy name
For tawdry fame and fleeting flame
everything, ain't dat a shame?
Mah Creole Belle, ah lubs yo' well;
Aroun' mah heart you hab cast a spell
But I can't learn to spell
Because there ain't no such word.
And I says to
Lizzie, if Joe was my feller
I'd teach him to go to dances with that
Rat, bat, cat, hat, flat, plat, fat
Fry the fat, fat the fry
You'll be a drug-store by and by.
Get the hook!
lines of brooding hills
Rose spires that reeked of nameless ills,
And ghastly shone upon the sight
In ev'ry flash of lurid light
To be continued.
Smoking on four rear seats.
Fare win return to 5 cents after August 1st
Except outside the
Cleveland city limits.
In the ghoul-haunted Woodland of Weir
Strangers pause to shed a tear;
Henry Fielding wrote "Tom Jones"
And cursed be he that moves my bones.
I saw the Leonard-Tendler
Farewell, farewell, O go to hell.