Posts Tagged ‘Douglas Malloch’

The Voice That Carries

November 30, 2012



He says to me, “You seldom see
A speaker such as he was;
He had a voice that seemed to be
As big as two or three was.
He pulled his hair and waved his arms
And gave the rich Old Harry,
You talk about your fire alarms —
Gosh, how his voice could carry!

“Election Day, hip,hip, hooray,
Our hero was elected —
But matters didn’t end the way,
The way that we expected.
In Washington our native son
Got just one day to blather,
And that is all he ever done,
As far as we can gather.

“He got the floor just once, no more,
And then they sat upon him,
Just once he got a chance to roar,
And that was all, doggone him.
His voice, I know, would yell and crow
And give the rich Old Harry,
But that ain’t what’s important, though —
It’s what it’s got to carry.”

Sheboygan Press (Sheboygan, Wisconsin) Nov 8, 1938

Hoarded Gold

November 23, 2012

Image from Simple Pastimes


How great a store of gold we own,
To men and governments unknown! —
No matter what may overcome us,
Gold nothing ever can take from us,
Gold hidden in a place apart,
Gold boarded in the human heart,
A larger store, a fairer treasure,
Than ever gave a miser pleasure.

What golden memories are yours
I know not, but I know endures
In er’ry heart some thought of someone
Not matter what may overcome one.
I know what memories are mine
Of nights of peace, of days divine,
The only treasure ever given
To man to take with him to heaven.

And then there is the gold we share,
The riches scattered ev’rywhere,
The yellow gold the morning brings us,
The redder gold the sunset flings us,
The golden feathers of a bird,
And many a gracious, golden word
Of lips of love, or friendship tender,
The gold we never need surrender.

(Copyright, 1934, by Douglas Malloch)

Sheboygan Press (Sheboygan, Wisconsin) Mar 2, 1934

Professor or Fool

September 9, 2012


Good Father O’Toole as a general rule
Had little regard for professor or fool,
The fool knew but few things, and little of such
The professor a few things a little too much,
The one made the error of knowledge too small,
The other of thinking that learning was all.

Good Father O’Toole, always quiet and cool,
Thought little of dunces who sat on a stool,
And less of professors who sat on a chair
And thought that the center of learning was there,
Whenever he asked their opinion or view,
Then one was mistaken and one never knew.

Good Father O’Toole, of the town of Dromgoole,
Was a fisher of men in humanity’s pool,
And always came home with a generous pail,
But never a minnow and never a whale.
The man who was common, the woman as kind,
He said were the ones that he wanted to find.

Good Father O’Toole as a general rule
Had more at his masses and more in his school,
Who thought that religion was something to do,
Not something to laugh at, or prove wasn’t true
For life is to live, not to dally or doubt,
No fool or professor can figure it out.

Copyright, 1936, by Douglas Malloch

Sheboygan Press (Sheboygan, Wisconsin) Sep 14, 1936

The New Vernacular

August 10, 2012

Oakland Tribune (Oakland, California) Oct 26, 1936



People often say to me,
Members of the laity,
They suppose a poet knows
A life of little gaiety,
But it’s not laborious,
Really rather glorious,
For the times are full of rimes,
Many meritorious.

We have inebriety,
And the planned society,
Processing, and ev’rything
In a wide variety,
Such a multiplicity,
Ev’ry eccentricity,
Brand new words in droves and herds
To jingle with felicity.

Yes, we live in wordy days
In these hurdy-gurdy days,
Richer rimes than in the times
We wrote of spring and birdie days.
Radicals oracular,
Senators spectacular,
Took our dough, and more we owe —
But, gosh, what a vernacular!

Sheboygan Press (Sheboygan, Wisconsin) Feb 18, 1936

Which Was Served?

August 9, 2012

Image from theguardianSecret lives: The Artist’s Studio at Compton Verney
Interesting exhibit charts, “how the artist’s studio has changed in function and depiction over the last three centuries.”


What gave this picture such divine
Perfection or each curve and ling?
Why does this song about a rose
Bring back forgotten long agoes?
Why is it that the spoken word
Stirs depths that seldom have been stirred?
A heart-throb in a ‘cello’s string —
What is the secret of the thing?

Why do we sing or play at all,
Or paint a mural on a wall?
Why do we speak upon the stage,
With words like these despoil a page?
What is the secret of success,
And something good, yet something less?
What mark denotes, so hard to see,
Genius and mediocrity?

What is it that all art divides,
The great, the commonplace, decides?
Is not the answer this, that they
Who failed were thinking of the pay?
That those who greatly play or sing
Or paint, are thinking of the thing?
I ask you this, whate’er your part,
Did art serve you, or you serve art?

Copyright, 1936, by Douglas Malloch

Sheboygan Press (Sheboygan, Wisconsin) Feb 4, 1936

Other People’s Money

August 6, 2012


A little boy climbed up a tree, an apple tree, a neighbor’s tree,
A place no little boy should be
Without an invitation,
And then the boy came falling down, came rolling down, came tumbling down,
Creating in that certain town
Considerable sensation.
Of course, it was a sudden fall, a mighty fall, a nasty fall,
But what he hurt the most of all
Was just his reputation.

The moral of this foolish tale, this simple tale, this silly tale,
Is that the best of us may fail
On any expedition,
And this I wish to postulate to those of late who speculate,
It’s quiet all right if yours the fate
Befalling your ambition.
But if it is an apple tree, a neighbor’s tree, another’s tree,
Then most embarrassing will be
Your subsequent position.

(Copyright, 1936, by Douglas Malloch)

Sheboygan Press (Sheboygan, Wisconsin) Aug 21, 1936

Walker Victory is Something to Crow About

June 5, 2012

Alton Democrat – Nov 9, 1912

Appleton Post Crescent – Jan 10, 1922


We live in ages, ours a time
Too close to us to seem sublime,
For only when our time is past,
The pattern made, the metal cast,
We know, whatever world it brings,
We then were doing larger things
Than we supposed, not changing these
Brief days, but moulding centuries.

Think not our time a passing phase,
That we experiment with days,
For we are building longer years
Than in the building now appears.
We speak of laws, we talk of change,
As if our time we re-arrange,
and yet our children’s children’s fate
Is settled as we legislate.

A world is in the making; all
We do is great, and nothing small —
If good, yet hard to follow through,
If evil, harder to undo
We talk of time, call this our own,
While casting metal, shaping stone,
And yet are making, well or how,
The world a hundred years from now.

(Copyright, 1933, by Douglas Malloch.)

Sheboygan Press (Sheboygan, Wisconsin) Nov 15, 1933

The Chronicle Telegram (Ohio) Dec 8, 1933

Appleton Post Crescent – Nov 5, 1925


It’s twice as hard to make things pay
Today as it was yesterday
To make a profit with a store
Is twice the job it was before,
OR if a service you would sell,
You have to work just twice as well,
Once almost anything would do,
But twice they now expect of you.

The easy days are done and gone,
Yet some keep right on climbing on,
Need twice the time to climb as far,
And yet, in time, up there they are.
Whatever man may sell or make
Takes twice the work it used to take,
Takes twice the thought, as all men know,
IT did a few short years ago.

The road of life is twice as hard,
Yet twice the pleasure afterward,
Yes, twice as hard, yet one, somehow,
Feels twice the satisfaction now,
Though twice the study it requires,
Though often twice as much it tires,
IF hard the task, when you start in,
It’s then just twice the fun to win!

(Copyright, 1933, by Douglas Malloch.)

Sheboygan Press (Sheboygan, Wisconsin) Nov 16, 1933

San Antonio Light (Texas) Nov 3, 1908

Wisconsin Rapids Daily Tribune –  Aug 28, 1928


Men like to play at making laws,
Yet not a paragraph or clause
If new is good, if good is new.
Upon experience they drew,
The only good the common good,
Not clan nor class, nor neighborhood,
The laws that God Himself made plain,
Or all their laws are made in vain.

Men like to play at writing acts
To alter earth’s established facts,
But still the sturdy forests rise
Much as they did in Paradise,
And still the brooks the ocean find
Much as creation first designed,
And still the blossoms bud and bloom
Much as they did by Adam’s tomb.

Men like to play with things sublime,
The better teacher always time,
For little new they need to learn,
But rather to the old return
Good laws are but the writing out
Of things men never need to doubt
With all the theories of youth,
No human law can change the truth.

(Copyright, 1933, by Douglas Malloch.)

Sheboygan Press (Sheboygan, Wisconsin) Nov 21, 1933

Abilene Reporter News (Texas) Jul 13, 1949

The Daily Northwestern – Jul 22, 1931

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Each Man to his Trade

February 23, 2012

Image from Shorpy


Each man to his trade, ev’ry tool to the hand,
For which it was made — for so heaven has planned.
Each man has the bent and each woman the art
For which they were meant, as a player his part.

Yea, driving a team, or contriving a song,
Or bridging a stream, or just plowing along,
Each life has its course — but how often we drift? —
Even riding a horse is a natural gift.

So if it be high, or by chance it be low,
The matter that I and that you need to know,
Is what is our task, and the way to excel —-
Our duty to ask, and then do it as well.

And if it be low, or by chance it be high,
What maketh it so isn’t popular cry.
But whether our best to our labor we bring,
For that is the test of the man and the thing.

Each man to his trade. I am certain, my son,
That a gear that is made as it ought to be done
Is of worthier sort than a law that is wrong,
Or a measure too short or a sermon too long.

(Copyright, 1921, by the McClure Newspaper Syndicate.)

New Castle News (New Castle, Pennsylvania) Apr 25, 1921

The Haunted House

October 30, 2010

Image by Loren Zemlicka Photography


Oo! Do you remember, too,
The haunted house
The wind blew through? —
The house so bare,
The grass so tall,
Where folks don’t dare
To live at all,
The open door,
And when we’d peek,
The way the floor
Would always squeak,
The awful noise
The shutters made,
And how we boys
Were all afraid
Of every sound
We heard around
The haunted house?

Gee, oh, gee! Did jever see
The haunted house
At night, like me?
The night I had
To learn my song
Ma told my Dad
To go along.
“That haunted place
Is on the way,
And just in case –”
I heard her say.
Of course my Pa
Said, “That’s all bosh.”
He said, “Oh, pshaw!”
I said, “My gosh,
Do you think I
Would dare go by
The haunted house?”

“Oh, I know I’ll have to go;
This haunted house
Is funny, though.”
But I and Pa,
When we were right
In front, we saw,
Saw something white!
And then I dropped,
Or did almost.
Pa never stopped,
But yelled, “A ghost!”
When spirits roam,
Home’s where to be.
I beat it home,
But dad beat me.
My, Dad ran fast
That night we passed
The haunted house!

(Copyright, 1930, by Douglas Malloch)

Sheboygan Press (Sheboygan, Wisconsin) Oct 27, 1930

The Pioneers

September 23, 2010

Image posted by Jackie on Picassa


We talk of times, in times like these,
As if we should be born to ease;
They hewed their houses from the trees.

We talk of tasks, as if our toil
Should take an hour and run in oil;
They dug their substance from the soil.

We talk of needs, as though they meant
The cushions of the indolent;
They plowed and sowed, and were content.

We talk of wealth, as if it would
Make all things possible and good;
Wealth was to them a livelihood.

We talk of times, as if alone
By talking fields are cleared and sown;
We talk of times — they made their own.

(Copyright, 1935, Douglas Malloch)

Sheboygan Press (Sheboygan, Wisconsin) Jun 18, 1935