He sat in a wheeled chair, waiting for dark,
And shivered in his ghastly suit of grey,
Legless, sewn short at elbow. Through the park
Voices of boys rang saddening like a hymn,
Voices of play and pleasure after day,
Till gathering sleep had mothered them from him.
About this time Town used to swing so gay
When glow-lamps budded in the light blue trees,
And girls glanced lovelier as the air grew dim,-
Our teacher's a football fanatic.
It's all that he has on his mind.
He listens to games on his headphones,
and frets when his team is behind.
He jumps up and down with they're winning.
He screams when they fumble a pass.
We know we're supposed to be reading,
but watching him's simply a gas.
'Twere getting dusk, one winter's night,
When up the clough there came in sight,
A lad who carried through the snow,
A banner with this 'ere motto...
His face was glum as he did pass,
His eyes were shiny... just like glass,
And as he went upon his way,
He nobbut this 'ere word did say...
Mirror mirror on the wall
Could you please return our ball
Our football went through your crack
You have two now
Give one back.
After hearing the noise of a loud explosion, which caused senseless destruction and death:
I want to hear birds sing.
I want to hear my grandchildren's laughter.
I want to hear my husband's snoring.
I want to hear the cicadas and crickets chirping on a warm Oklahoma night.
I want to hear the noise of a crowd whooping and hollering at a rodeo.
I want to hear the bands playing in a parade.
I want to hear loud cheering at O. U. football games.
I want to hear the noise of my co-workers typing on their word processors.
I want to hear the organ and piano playing at my church.
Awake, of Muse, the echoes of a day
Long past, the ghosts of mem'ries manifold --
Youth's memories that once were green and gold
But now, alas, are grim and ashen grey.
The drowsy schoolboy wakened up from sleep,
First stays his system with substantial food,
Then off for school with tasks half understood,
Alas, alas, that cribs should be so cheap!
The journey down to town -- 'twere long to tell
When the wars of the world seemed ended, and silent the distant drum,
Ten years ago in Australia, I wrote of a war to come:
And I pictured Australians fighting as their fathers fought of old
For the old things, pride or country, for God or the Devil or gold.
And they lounged on the rim of Australia in the peace that had come to last,
And they laughed at my "cavalry charges" for such things belonged to the past;
Then our wise men smiled with indulgence – ere the swift years proved me right –
Saying: "What shall Australia fight for? And whom shall Australia fight?"
You ask me to be gay and glad
While lurid clouds of danger loom,
And vain and bad and gambling mad,
Australia races to her doom.
You bid me sing the light and fair,
The dance, the glance on pleasure's wings –
While you have wives who will not bear,
And beer to drown the fear of things.
A war with reason you would wage
Just like a football I am and have
been bounced around a bit,
But only by chance of fate, no man
would get away with it.
The football suffers silently
the grabs, the throws, the kicks.
I'm not one to take that from
the country boobs or the city slicks.
They're playing in the bowl tomorrow
and we are so very proud.
We Seahawk fans are loyal
and also very loud.
We'll be settled by our TV sets
before the game begins.
We'll stay for the fifth quarter
no matter which side wins.
I'm thinking of my men folks
who had cheered them through the years.