When the snow is over two feet
and the temp is minus four
you can smash your frozen pumpkin
on the face of Albert Gore.
Posted on 01/24/2014 5:48:45 PM PST by not2be4gotten.com
WHEN the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock,
And you hear the kyouck and gobble of the struttin' turkey-cock,
And the clackin' of the guineys, and the cluckin' of the hens,
And the rooster's hallylooyer as he tiptoes on the fence;
O, it's then the time a feller is a-feelin' at his best,
With the risin' sun to greet him from a night of peaceful rest,
As he leaves the house, bareheaded, and goes out to feed the stock,
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock.
They's something kindo' harty-like about the atmusfere
When the heat of summer's over and the coolin' fall is here—
Of course we miss the flowers, and the blossoms on the trees,
And the mumble of the hummin'-birds and buzzin' of the bees;
But the air's so appetizin'; and the landscape through the haze
Of a crisp and sunny morning of the airly autumn days
Is a pictur' that no painter has the colorin' to mock—
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock.
The husky, rusty russel of the tossels of the corn,
And the raspin' of the tangled leaves as golden as the morn;
The stubble in the furries—kindo' lonesome-like, but still
A-preachin' sermuns to us of the barns they growed to fill;
The strawstack in the medder, and the reaper in the shed;
The hosses in theyr stalls below—the clover overhead!—
O, it sets my hart a-clickin' like the tickin' of a clock,
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock.
Then your apples all is gethered, and the ones a feller keeps
Is poured around the cellar-floor in red and yaller heaps;
And your cider-makin's over, and your wimmern-folks is through
With theyr mince and apple-butter, and theyr souse and sausage too!...
I don't know how to tell it—but ef such a thing could be
As the angels wantin' boardin', and they'd call around on me—
I'd want to 'commodate 'em—all the whole-indurin' flock—
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock.
We would all have to read a poem, of our own choosing, from her numerous poetry books.
As kids we were all terrified of this, we would do anything to escape this this terrible fate.
Looking back on this, it was a wonderful gift that she gave me.
For your consideration.
There’s WAY more than “frost” on the Pumpkin in my garden.
How I feel about our country —
Not Waving but Drowning
Nobody heard him, the dead man,
But still he lay moaning:
I was much further out than you thought
And not waving but drowning.
Poor chap, he always loved larking
And now he’s dead
It must have been too cold for him his heart gave way,
They said.
Oh, no no no, it was too cold always
(Still the dead one lay moaning)
I was much too far out all my life
And not waving but drowning.
Stevie Smith
Learned from a New Hampshire friend:
When the weather’s hot and sticky,
it ain’t no time for dunkin’ dicky.
When the frost is on the punkin’,
THAT’s the time for dicky dunkin’!
My goodness I haven’t read that since my son was little. We used to read together each night. .books from my childhood, my mother’s and even grandmother’s. Wonderful memories. I always enjoyed reading Riley. Later years we read Robert Service quite a bit too ..
That’s from the days before air conditioning.
The furnace is red
My lips are blue
Global warming experts
To Hell with you
Ha!!! Good one!
I like it.
EVERY season has its joy!
Spring has sprung and grass has rizz,
Where last year’s reckless driver is.
Willie, in his brand-new sash
Got near the fire... and burned to ash.
Now, even though the room grows chilly —
I haven’t the heart to poke poor Billy.
Willie took his sister Nell,
And threw her screaming down the well.
Said his mother drawing water,
“It’s mighty tough to raise a daughter.”
“raise a daughter”. ROFL!
Willie saw some dynamite —
Couldn’t understand it, quite.
Curiosity seldom pays:
it rained Willie seven days.
Maybe we shouldn’t get into the “Willie and the baby” poems. Or should we?
Let’s not......
;^)
>> Let’s not......
Cool by me.
When the snow is over two feet
and the temp is minus four
you can smash your frozen pumpkin
on the face of Albert Gore.
This is a "love" poem I recall - don't know the author, but could probably do a search if I actually cared...
When you're away, I'm restless...lonely,
Bored, dejected, wretched....only;
Here's the rub, my darling dear,
I feel the same when you are near.
Add thus a crispy meat pie
or a plate of bangers and mash
but if you put on me plate a burger and fries
I'll throw you both in the trash
Don't give me something without a name
or something way to cheap
time and patience are far too scarce
for a glass of what the bleap
Methings I'd like a little bit of alcohol tonight
Methinks I'd like a little bit of alcohol tonight
The dog and the cat are fast asleep
and the missus out of sight
Methinks I'd like a little bit of alcohol tonight
"Alcohol tonight" 01-25-14 StarfireIV
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