Street Poetry

The Joy of Playing with Words

When I grew up we “went out to play” on the lawns, sidewalks and streets. In addition to the customary games of that time, it was a world of rhymes: nursery rhymes, war rhymes about Hitler and Tojo, skipping and jump-rope rhymes, silly rhymes and moral rhymes. To be in was to know the latest circulating rhymes.

The play of hearing and repeating the rhymes over and over taught us the beauty and rhythm of the English language.

Where have all those rhymes gone?

Ladies and Gentlemen, Hobos and Tramps

Ladies and Gentlemen, Hobos and Tramps.
Cross-eyed mosquitos and bowlegged ants,
I come before you to stand behind you
To tell you of something I know nothing about.
Next Thursday on good old Friday
There will be a meeting of women strictly for men.
Admission is free, pay at the door,
Pull up a chair, and sit on the fl oor.
It was a summer's day in winter,
And the snow was raining fast,
As a barefoot boy with shoes on,
Stood sitting in the grass.
Oh, that bright day in the dead of night,
Two dead men got up to fi ght.
Three blind men to see fair play,
Forty mutes to yell "Hooray"!
Back to back, they faced each other,
Drew their swords and shot each other.
A deaf policeman heard the noise,
Came and arrested those two dead boys.
- Anonymous

A picture of me, summertime 1945, on the street at, 333 East 3rd North, Logan, Utah where I heard and repeated street poetry. The shirt pants and hat that I’m wearing were all made by my mother.

From My Tub to Yours

Carpe Diem,

Carl