Poor Ol’ Tom Lincoln

Another Mouth To Feed

Long Beach Independent (Long Beach, California) Feb 11, 1956

To Be Quite Fair

Tis Customary at Christmas Time — For Each to Hang a Sock —
But Don’t You Think — to Be Quite Fair —
Since Yours is Whole — n’ Mine’s Just Half —
That I Should Hang —– — A Pair?

Appleton Post Crescent (Appleton, Wisconsin) Dec 24, 1928

Old-Time Christmas Tree

The Old-Time Christmas Tree.

I oft recall the Christmas tree
That bloomed when we were boys;
It seems a mystery to me
How it could hold the toys
That clung in clusters on each limb
Like grapes upon a vine,
While many a colored candle’s glim
On baubles bright would shine.

All through the reeking branches’ rifts
The wayward, wandering wax
Would gurgle over gaudy gifts,
And leave long tallow tracks;
Soft pills of purple paraffine
Would punctuate the hair
Of dolls and make their tresses’ sheen
A polka-dot affair.

The limp wax-drippings, light and dark,
Seeped down without surcease,
Bedecking beasts in Noah’s ark
With rainbow stripes of grease;
And lo a miracle was wrought
When falling candle clots
The litheless little leopard caught
And changed the creature’s spots.

The tainted touch of tinted grease,
Made a kaleidoscope
Of many a toy; the lamb’s white fleece
Was flecked like mottled soap;
The dark-bay horse was dappled blue,
The elephant turned green,
And other beasts assumed a hue
That ne’er before was seen.

Now distance lends enchantment to
Those lights of long ago,
And oft we fancy that they won
Our hearts with radiant glow;
The Yuletide tree when we were young
Seems fairer far than all
The boyhood pictures that are hung
On memory’s wide wall.

— T.B. Chrystal in N.Y. World.

New Castle News (New Castle, Pennsylvania) Dec 23, 1912

Shallow Water

A HINT TO GIRLS.

An exchange paper says: “We have always considered it an unerring sign of innate vulgarity, when we hear ladies take particular pains to impress us with an idea of their ignorance of all domestic matters, save sewing lace, or weaving a net to enclose their delicate hands. — Ladies by some curious kind of hocus pocus, have got it into their heads that the best way to catch a husband is to show him how profoundly capable they are of doing nothing for his comfort. Frightening a piano into fits, or murdering the King’s French, may be good bait for some kinds of fish, but they must be of that kind usually found in shallow water. The surest way to secure a good husband, is to cultivate those accomplishments which make a good wife.

Wiskonsan Enquirer (Madison, Wisconsin) Oct 20, 1842

Gaiter Boots

Image from Laura Elizabeth on Pinterest

GAITER BOOTS.

O dainty foot!
O gaiter boot!
To piety you’re shocking;
I only know —
Of one thing worse,
And that a snow white stocking.

So neat and clean,
Together seen,
E’en stoics must agree
To you to vote
What Gray once wrote,
A handsome L – E – G.

The [lasting] theme
Of midnight dream,
The very [soul] of song,
Man wants you little
Here below,
And never wants you long.

By Plato ne’er
Sent tripping here;
By Pluto rather given,
To lead poor man
(An easy plan)
To any place but heaven.

Yet still I vow
There’s magic now
About a woman’s foot,
And cunning was
The wizard hand
That made a gaiter boot.

For while the knave
The gaiter gave
To mortals to ensnare them,
Mankind he hoaxed,
And even coaxed
The angels down to wear them.

The Hillsdale Standard (Hillsdale, Michigan) May 1, 1866

Rain, Rain, Go Away!

San Antonio Express (San Antonio, Texas) Dec 11, 1963

The Chronicle Telegram (Elyria, Ohio) Nov 18, 1931

Troy Record (Troy, New York) Dec 17, 1962

The Chronicle Telegram (Elyria, Ohio) Dec 5, 1928

Lima News (Lima, Ohio) Sep 15, 1950

Letter to Santa

Appleton Post Crescent (Appleton, Wisconsin) Dec 23, 1921

Letter to Santa.

Dear Santa Claus: My coal bill
Is ninety twenty-four,
If you will take it off my hands,
I shall not ask for more.
I don’t care how you fix it,
Just so you let me out —
O, that would be a Christmas gift
Beyond a doubt.

Dear Santa Claus, my grocer
Wants money very badly,
If you will see him when you come,
I’ll leave it to you gladly.
I don’t care what you give him,
Just so the trade is fair —
O, that would be a Christmas gift
Beyond compare.

Dear Santa Claus, my butcher —
But do I grow prolix?
What say I send them all to you,
With leave for you to fix?
I don’t care how you fix them,
So long as they are paid —
But I expect too much of you,
I am afraid.

— St. Louis Post-Dispatch.

New Castle News (New Castle, Pennsylvania) Dec 21, 1912

Kitchen Police

KITCHEN POLICE.
(K.P.)

(This poem presumably written by a soldier is valuable as indicating the saving sense of humor possessed by our men and which carries them through the difficult days of the training period and sustains them in the sterner and more trying days that follow.)

_______

Sitting here in the kitchen, peeling a bucket of spuds,
Wearing a dirty apron to cover my blue serge duds,
A hundred thousand in the bank, “Society man” — that’s me;
Just because I was late at roll call, they gave me a week’s K.P.

Sitting here in the kitchen, with slops all over my jeans;
Picking rocks and splinters out of a barrel of beans,
My thoughts have gone a-wandering to what I used to be
Before I missed that last post car and they gave me a week’s K.P.

I think of the nights I squandered, doing the barroom stunt;
Gee! what a sissy I was — what a hopeless, hopeless runt!
Oh, I was there with the girls, boys, and they called me a “lady’s man.”
What would they say if they saw me now, scraping a greasy pan.

The mess sergeant’s a slaver; he gives a man no rest.
The first cook is a villain, but I have the second best.
Oh, sure, boys, I enlisted to march away to war,
But they’ve got me here in the kitchen, doing the company chores.

A week policing the kitchen, watching the biscuits browned —
Me, who used to order two thousand men around.
I wonder what those two thousand would say if they saw me now
Washing a hundred dishes, ready for 6 o’clock chow?

Two months ago, in a greenhouse, I held Anita’s hand,
Told her that I had enlisted to fight for my native land.
She leaned her head on my shoulder, said she’d be proud of me;
She’d be proud, all right, if she saw me now, doing a week’s K.P.

Dumping the slush in the hogpan, scrubbing the kitchen floor,
Swabbing a slimy mush-pan until my hands are sore,
Fixing the hash for supper, putting ice in the tea —
Archibald Percival Knutty, “society man” — that’s me!

The Daily Northwestern (Oshkosh, Wisconsin) Jul 25, 1918

Goat Getters

On the Trail of the Straight Silhouette

On One of Her Detours!

The Frederick Post (Frederick, Maryland) May 24, 1927

When the Coal-Pile Quits

Olean Evening Times (Olean, New York) Oct 27, 1919

WHAT THE MINERS ARE ASKING.

It is well for the public to bear in mind what the bituminous miners are demanding. They want a sixty per cent increase in their hourly rate, a six hour day and a five day week. They are willing to work just thirty hours a week, and no more, if their leaders are to be believed.

Will they mine more coal? No, the output will be much less. More is needed to supply the demand, but that makes no difference to them.

Where is the money to come from to pay this increased cost of mining the coal? Out of the public. If the strikers get what they demand the price of coal will be increased approximately two dollars a ton to the consumer.

Nice prospect the consumer is facing, isn’t it? If the miners don’t get what they want he doesn’t get any coal. If their demands are granted he must fork over $2 more every time he orders a ton of coal.

Poor consumer! He is always getting in the neck. Somebody’s slugging him all the time. Wonder how long he is going to stand for it?

Olean Evening Times (Olean, New York) Oct 28, 1919

Olean Evening Times (Olean, New York) Nov 4, 1919

The Newark Advocate (Newark, Ohio) Dec 20, 1919

Olean Evening Times (Olean, New York) Dec 8, 1919

WHEN THE COAL-PILE QUITS.

Everybody’s grouchy when the coal-pile quits,
Greediness and stubbornness have paralyzed the pits.
“Cabinets are jelly-minded!”
Governors are spavin-spined-ed!”
Hear the chorus all uproar’ous giving Garfield fits!
For everybody’s grouchy when the coal-pile quits.

Everbody’s frosty when the coal pile quits,
When you fell the furnace you must wear your woolen mitts.
Courts and cook-stoves are upbraided;
Reds and redolents are aided;
Hear the Hammer-courus clamor, blowing us to bits,
For everybody’s frosty when the coal-pile quits.

Just one man is smiling as the coal-pile quits;
Only one I think of whom it favorably hits,
As his task grows nearer daily,
I can hear him chuckle daily,
“I, by Jim’ny, in the chimney, won’t be burnt to bits!”
Santy Claus is smiling as the coal-pile quits.

(Copyright, 1919, N.E.A.)

Edmund Vance Cooke

Olean Evening Times (Olean, New York) Dec 11, 1919

Olean Evening Times (Olean, New York) Dec 2, 1919

SWEARING OFF.

It used to be on New Year’s Day
A man forsook his booze,
But now ‘twould be a better play
To swear off wearing shoes.

He used to cease to burn cigars
In succor of his soul,
But now, no doubt, he’d thank his stars
To swear off burning coal.

He swore off drinking (in his pride)
To give the New Year greeting,
But nothing now will save his hide
Unless he swears off eating.

He swore off naughtiness, and used
To think himself a hero,
But cost of living has reduced
His naught-iness to zero.

He used to cease some wicked word
Upon some New Year’s Day,
But now — oh, let it not be heard
The word he’d like to say!

(Copyright, 1919, N.E.A.)

Edmund Vance Cooke

Olean Evening Times (Olean, New York) Dec 24, 1919

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Newark Advocate (Newark, Ohio) Dec 20, 1919

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Olean Evening Times (Olean, New York) Nov 18, 1919

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The Newark Advocate (Newark, Ohio) Dec 15, 1919

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Newark Daily Advocate (Newark, Ohio) Sep 22, 1919