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Treat 'Em Rough

Treat 'Em Rough

First time I dared propose,
A callow lad was I;
I donned my Sunday clothes,
I wore my Old School Tie.
Awaiting me Louise
Was dolled to beat the band,
So going on my knees
I begged her hand.

Oh yes, she gave me her hand,-A
box upon the ear;
I could not understand,
I blinked away a tear.
Then scornfully she said:
'Next time you kneel before
A maid, young man don't spread
Your hankey on the floor.'

So next time I proposed,
Thinks I, I'll treat 'em rough.
Her name was Lily Rose,
I gave her he-man stuff.
I yanked her on my knee,
And as her ear I bit,
To my amazement she
Seemed to like it.

The old cave-men knew best;
Grab girlies by the hair,
And though they may protest
Drag them into your lair.
So young men seeking mates,
Take my tip, if rejected:
A modern maid just hates
To be respected.
👁️ 166

Tranquilism

Tranquilism


I call myself a Tranquilist;
With deep detachment I exist,

From friction free;
While others court the gilded throng
And worship Women, Wine and Song,

I scorn the three.
For I have reached the sober age
When I prefer to turn a page

Beside the fire,
And from the busy mart of men
To meditative book and pen

With grace retire.

If you are craving peace of mind,
In Tranquilism you will find

Philosophy;
Serenely fold your hands and wait
Be cloistered calm whatever fate

The Gods decree.
And though the world with rage be rent,
Hold it remote and claim content

With quiet heart;
You can't do much to better it,
But your good-will may help a bit,

Ere you depart.

So let us who are old and sere
To din of battle shut the ear,

And trumpet vain;
And though in no monastic mood
Accept the balm of solitude

And grace regain.
Let us be Tranquilists and try
In placid places to apply

Life's wisdom won;
In Nature's bounty we may bless
The Gods and wait with thankfulness

Our setting sun.
👁️ 168

Tourist

Tourist


'Twas in a village in Lorraine
Whose name I quite forget,
I found I needfully was fain
To buy a serviette.
I sought a shop wherein they sell
Such articles as these,
And told a smiling mademoiselle;
'I want a towel, please.'

'Of kinds,' said she, 'I've only two,'
And took the bundles down;
And one was coloured azure blue,
And one was khaki brown.
With doubt I scratched my hoary head;
The quality was right;
The size too, yet I gravely said:
'Too bad you haven't white.'

That pretty maid had sunny hair,
Her gaze was free from guile,
And while I hesitated there
She watched me with a smile.
Then as I went to take the blue
She said 'Non' meaning no.
'Ze khaki ones are best, M'sieu:
Ze dirts zey do not show.'
👁️ 219

Tom

Tom


That Tom was poor was sure a pity,
Such guts for learning had the lad;
He took to Greek like babe to titty,
And he was mathematic mad.
I loved to prime him up with knowledge,
A brighter lad I never knew;
I dreamed that he would go to college
And there be honoured too.

But no! His Dad said, "Son, I need you
To keep the kettle on the boil;
No longer can I clothe and feed you,
Buy study books and midnight oil.
I carry on as best I'm able,
A humble tailor, as you know;
And you must squat cross-legged a table
And learn to snip and sew."

And that is what poor Tom is doing.
He bravely makes the best of it;

But as he "fits" you he is knowing
That he himself is a misfit;
And thinks as he fulfils his calling,


With patient heart yet deep distaste,
Like clippings from his shears down-falling,
--He, too, is Waste.
👁️ 192

Toilet Seats

Toilet Seats

While I am emulating Keats
My brother fabrics toilet seats,
The which, they say, are works of art,
Aesthetic features of the mart;
So exquisitely are they made
With plastic of a pastel shade,
Of topaz, ivory or rose,
Inviting to serene repose.


Rajahs I'm told have seats of gold,-(
They must, I fear, be very cold).
But Tom's have thermostatic heat,
With sympathy your grace to greet.
Like silver they are neon lit,
Making a halo as you sit:
Then lo! they play with dulset tone
A melody by Mendelssohn.


Oh were I lyrical as Yeats
I would not sing of toilet seats,
But rather serenade a star,--
Yet I must take things as they are.
For even kings must coyly own
Them as essential as a throne:
So as I tug the Muse's teats
I envy Tom his toilet seats.
👁️ 183

To Sunnydale

To Sunnydale

There lies the trail to Sunnydale,
Amid the lure of laughter.
Oh, how can we unhappy be
Beneath its leafy rafter!
Each perfect hour is like a flower,
Each day is like a posy.
How can you say the skies are grey?
You're wrong, my friend, they're rosy.


With right good will let's climb the hill,
And leave behind all sorrow.
Oh, we'll be gay! a bright to-day
Will make a bright to-morrow.
Oh, we'll be strong! the way is long
That never has a turning;
The hill is high, but there's the sky,
And how the West is burning!


And if through chance of circumstance
We have to go bare-foot, sir,
We'll not repine -- a friend of mine
Has got no feet to boot, sir.
This Happiness a habit is,
And Life is what we make it:
See! there's the trail to Sunnydale!
Up, friend! and let us take it.
👁️ 227

To A Tycoon

To A Tycoon

Since much has been your mirth
And fair your fate,
Friend, leave your lot of earth
Less desolate.
With frailing overdue,
Why don't you try
The bit of God in you
To justify?

Try to discern the grace
All greed above,
That may uplift the race
To realm of love.
For in you is a spark,
A heaven-glow,
That will illume the dark
Before you go.

Aye, though it be that you
To Faith are blind,
There's one thing you can do,
It's--just be kind.
The anguish understand,
Of hearts that bleed:
Friends, lend a helping hand
To those in need.
👁️ 183

Titine

Titine


Although I have a car of class,
A limousine,
I also have a jenny ass
I call Titine.
And if I had in sober sense
To choose between,
I know I'd give the preference
To sleek Titine.

My chauffeur drives my Cadillac
In uniform.
I wear a worn coat on my back
That he would scorn.
He speeds with umpty equine power,
Like an express;
I amble at eight miles an hour,
Or even less.

My wife can use our fancy bus
To cut a dash;
She very definitely does,
And blows my cash.
But this old codger seeks the sane
And simple scene;
Content to jog along a lane
With old Titine.

So as in country ways I go
Wife loves the town;
But though I'm slow, serene I know
I won't break down.
With brawn and bone I reckon mine
The best machine:
Old folks and donkeys best combine,
--"Giddup, Titine!"
👁️ 182

Tim

Tim


My brother Tim has children ten,
While I have none.

Maybe that's why he's toiling when
To ease I've won.

But though I would some of his brood
Give hearth and care,

I know that not a one he would
Have heart to spare.

'Tis children that have kept him poor;
He's clad them neat.

They've never wanted, I am sure,
For bite to eat.

And though their future may be dim,
They laugh a lot.

Am I tearful for Brother Tim?
Oh no, I'm not.

I know he goes to work each day
With flagging feet.

'Tis hard, even with decent pay,
To make ends meet.

But when my sterile home I see,
So smugly prim,

Although my banker bows to me,
I envy Tim.
👁️ 156

Three Wives

Three Wives

Said Jones: "I'm glad my wife's not clever;
Her intellect is second-rate.
If she was witty she would never
Give me a chance to scintillate;
But cap my humorous endeavour
And make me seem as addle-pate."


Said Smith: "I'm glad my wife's no beauty,
For if a siren's charm she had,
And stinted her domestic duty,
I fear that she would drive me mad:
For I am one of those sad fellows
Who are unreasonably jealous."


Said Brown: ""I know my wife's not witty,
Nor is she very long on looks;
She's neither humorous nor pretty,
But oh how she divinely cooks!
You guys must come some night to dinner You'll
see my little girl's a winner."


So it's important in our lives,
(Exaggerating more or less),
To be content with our wives,
And prize the virtues they possess;
And with dispraise to turn one's back
On all the qualities they lack.
👁️ 200

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