Ogden Nash Poems (124 Poems)
What’s Sauce Pour L’oie Is Sauce Pour L’ (Ogden Nash Poems)
I know, mon G (Ogden Nash)
(Ogden Nash Poems)
My fellow man I do not care for.I often ask me, What’s he there for?The only answer I can findIs, Reproduction of his kind.If I’m supposed to swallow that,Winnetka is my habitat.Isn’t it time to carve Hic JacetAbove that Reproduction … Continue reading
À Bas Ben Adhem (Ogden Nash Poems)
My fellow man I do not care for.I often ask me, What’s he there for?The only answer I can findIs, Reproduction of his kind.If I’m supposed to swallow that,Winnetka is my habitat.Isn’t it time to carve Hic JacetAbove that Reproduction … Continue reading
Listen… (Ogden Nash Poems)
There is a knocking in the skull,An endless silent shoutOf something beating on a wall,And crying, “Let me out!” That solitary prisonerWill never hear reply.No comrade in eternityCan hear the frantic cry. No heart can share the terrorThat haunts his … Continue reading
Summer Serenade (Ogden Nash Poems)
When the thunder stalks the sky,When tickle-footed walks the fly,When shirt is wet and throat is dry,Look, my darling, thats July. Through the grassy lawn be leather,And prickly temper tug the tether,Shall we postpone our love for weather?If we must … Continue reading
A crusader’s wife slipped from the garrison (Ogden Nash Poems)
A crusader’s wife slipped from the garrison,And had an affair with a Saracen;She was not over-sexed,Or jealous or vexed,She just wanted to make a comparison. (Ogden Nash)
The Swan (Ogden Nash Poems)
Scholars call the masculine swan a cob;I call him a narcissistic snob.He looks in the mirror over and over,And claims to have never heard of Pavlova. (Ogden Nash)
The Pizza (Ogden Nash Poems)
Look at itsy-bitsy Mitzi!See her figure slim and ritzy!She eats aPizza!Greedy Mitzi!She no longer itsy-bitsy! (Ogden Nash)
Introspectiv (Ogden Nash Poems)
I would live all my life in nonchalance and insoucianceWere it not for making a living, which is rather a nouciance. (Ogden Nash)
The Cow (Ogden Nash Poems)
The cow is of the bovine ilk;One end is moo, the other, milk. (Ogden Nash)
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