Arthur Guiterman

(1871-1943 / United States)

Arthur Guiterman Poems

1. Our Suburb 4/13/2010
2. Radiolatry 4/13/2010
3. The Traveler 4/13/2010
4. Homeward Bound 3/19/2015
5. Truth and Falsehood 5/8/2015
6. A Valentine 5/9/2015
7. Youth and Age 5/15/2015
8. The First Cat 5/23/2015
9. The Ambiguous Dog 5/27/2015
10. A Boy and a Pup 5/27/2015
11. The Mother 6/2/2015
12. The Superstitious Ghost 6/4/2015
13. How the Birds Came 7/2/2015
14. The Bee -new- 7/22/2015
15. The Wings of the Mountains -new- 7/27/2015
16. Rags And Robes 4/13/2010
17. My Hills Of Dreams 4/13/2010
18. The Phlebotomous Flea 4/13/2010
19. Going To Dover 4/13/2010
20. The Passionate Suburbanite To His Love 4/13/2010
21. Ragnarok {the Twilight Of The Gods} 4/13/2010
22. Sea Sickness 4/13/2010
23. Kindness To Insects 4/13/2010
24. Nocturne 4/13/2010
25. Pithecanthropus Erectus 4/13/2010
26. What One Approves, Another Scorns 4/13/2010
27. The Dream Of Chuang Tzu 12/13/2014
28. Pershing At The Front 4/13/2010
29. The Great Tyrannosaurus 4/13/2010
30. Heritage 4/13/2010
31. The Legend Of The First Cam-U-El: An Arabian Apologue 4/13/2010
32. The Idol-Maker Prays 1/4/2003
33. Hills 4/13/2010
34. Safety First 4/13/2010
35. On The Vanity Of Earthly Greatness 4/13/2010
36. Fate, The Jester 3/2/2015
37. Habits Of The Hippopotamus 4/13/2010
38. In The Hospital 1/4/2003
39. Sex 4/13/2010
40. The Chip On The Shoulder 4/13/2010
Best Poem of Arthur Guiterman

Strictly Germ-Proof

The Antiseptic Baby and the Prophylactic Pup
Were playing in the garden when the Bunny gamboled up;
They looked upon the Creature with a loathing undisguised;—
It wasn't Disinfected and it wasn't Sterilized.

They said it was a Microbe and a Hotbed of Disease;
They steamed it in a vapor of a thousand-odd degrees;
They froze it in a freezer that was cold as Banished Hope
And washed it in permanganate with carbolated soap.

In sulphurated hydrogen they steeped its wiggly ears;
They trimmed its frisky whiskers with a pair of hard-boiled shears;
They ...

Read the full of Strictly Germ-Proof

In The Hospital

Because on the branch that is tapping my pane
   A sun-wakened leaf-bud, uncurled,
Is bursting its rusty brown sheathing in twain,
   I know there is Spring in the world.

Because through the sky-patch whose azure and white
   My window frames all the day long,
A yellow-bird dips for an instant of flight,
   I know there is Song.

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