Beyond the world of men.
The villagers then whisper,
With accents grim and dour:
"This man has met at midnight
The phantom of the moor."
The Mottoes of the Boy Scouts
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If you lie not on the grass
Twins will never come to pass.
When the wind is in the south
Slap your sister in the mouth.
Be polite, you must enthuse
At scout-master’s home-made booze.
Always be quick and alert
Jerking up a lady’s skirt.
Always be polite, the more
If the lady is a whore.
When the man’s a dirty varlet
Be assured his wife’s a harlot.
Three men—a crook, a fool, a brute—
Thre girls—two fools, a prostitute.
Always be polite, you boob,
That’s a sure sign of a rube.
The Mountains of California
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Grass and the rains and snow,
Trumpet and tribal drum;
Across my crests the people go
Over my peaks the people come.
Girt with the pelts of lion and hare.
Plodding with oxen wains,
Climbing the steeps on a Spanish mare,
Soaring in aeroplanes.
Men with their hates and their ires,
Men with their loves and their lust
Still shall I reign when their spires
And their castles tumble to dust.
My Children
Table of Contents
Now God be thanked that gave me flesh and thew
And passed them down to my own brood— my word,
Forgive me if my sinful pride be stirred—
They make a sightly and a buxom crew.
Fair, round-limbed girls and stout broad-shouldered boys,
All firm of flesh and ruddy-cheeked and fine—
My Lord, forgive this vanity of mine—
What man but sight of his own brood enjoys?
I know the blood that courses in their veins,
The flesh that laps their bones so softly round.
And when their voices lift their soft refrains,
My heart with undue rapture leaps and bounds.
As who would not who owns such dainties—Cook!
An onion roast I’ll have today and look,
My four year old yes’t-een was tough as sin!
Look to it when you cook the second twin.
Lord, Lord, forgive my fond and foolish pride!
The youngest girl, methinks, had best be fried!
Mystic
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There is a strange and mystic land
East of the rising sun.
A dim sea breaks on a coral strand,
Stars lie spread on the silver sand
And sapphire rivers run;—
There is a mystic land
East of the sun.
Nancy Hawk – A Legend of Virginity
Table of Contents
Nancy Hawk spread wide her knees—
Red are the drawers below the skirt—
From Brooklyn Bridge to the Caribees—
Down by the slums the wenches flirt.
Her perfume scented the sea port town,
But no man took her bloomers down.
Collegians cursed her, yellow and pink,
For a slug of gin in a skating rink
Was all of the booze they had to drink.
She harried the rum-runners all to Hell,
And took their cargoes to guzzle and sell.
For all she had one word alone,
One hunk of dung in their faces thrown:
“The man that shall jazz me is not known!”
This is the tail of her fall, by heck!
And the long tool and the heavy neck,
And the man that raped her on the deck.
The drunk was over, the looted ship,
Stripped as bare as a flapper’s hip,
With drunken skipper and drunken crew,
Who swore till the ocean all turned blew,
Back to the four mile limit flew.
And Nancy Hawk sat on her deck
And watched the boozing couples neck.
Below, with steins for many beers,
Heeding naught to the sailors jeers,
Hovered flappers with wiggling rears.
One by one with shimmying flank,
They guzzled and guzzled and drank and drank,
And one by one passed out and sank.
Only a girl was left at last,
Holding on to the mizzen mast.
Sir Koocoo Kook was a mighty souse,
He sat in state in the bawdy house.
Little a rubber meant to him.
From one rim to the other rim.
Of his lordly breeches flung out wide
On the whore house bench was a tall man’s stride.
And his only sister stood that day
Drunk as a fool in the flying spray.
And all of the sailors acted gay.
Sir Koocoo lifted a gown of lace
And far away in a boozy place,
Nancy slapped his sister’s face.
Sit Koocoo boozed, the drunken knave,
And far away his sister gave,
A yell that the sea cried out to hear
As Nancy lifted a barrel stave.
She squawked as Nancy Hawk drew nigher;
Her voice was high but her dress was higher,
And Nancy laughed and whipped her rump
Until she thought it had caught on fire.
.2.
Sir Koocoo stood at the manor dance
And his balls were hard rocks in his pants.
And he said, “Go fetch me wenches five,
“That love a man with a goodly drive,
“Where the gonococci never thrive.”
And each pimp shrieks back like a flighty fool,
From the girls they get from the nearest school
And the voodoo work of the master’s tool.
But down by the beds where the girls careen,
The skirts rise and the teds are seen,
Yellow and purple and pink and green.
And the knees knock and the bellies bump
And nothing changes but the rump.
And the men whore and the girls roar
And squeal and scream and beg for more.
But down by the beds where the gonny flies,
Collegians whoop and yell and rise,
Eyeing their tools with wild surprise.
And down the plank of the liquor ship
There skips a girl with a stinging hip.
Drunken and bawdy, go in cheer,
At last there are blisters on your rear.
