Franklin Pierce Adams Poems

Never mind the slippery wet street--
The tire with a thousand claws will hold you.
Stop as quickly as you will--
Those thousand claws grip the road like a vise.
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Horace: Book IV, Ode 11

"Est mihi nonum superantis annum--"
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'Twas on the shores that round our coast
From Deal to Newport lie
That I roused from sleep in a huddled heap
An elderly wealthy guy.
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LINES PROVOKED BY HEARING A YOUNG MAN WHISTLING

No carmine radical in Art,
I worship at the shrine of Form;
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Horace: Book III, Ode 15

"Uxor pauperis Ibyci,
Tandem nequitiæ fige modum tuæ--"
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Horace: Epode 14

"Mollis inertia cur tantam diffuderit imis"
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I

I do not hold with him who thinks
The world is jonahed by a jinx;
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Chloris lay off the flapper stuff;
What's fit for Pholoë, a fluff,
Is not for Ibycus's wife--
A woman at your time of life!
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WITH BOWS TO KEATS AND KEITH'S
["The World's Most Famous Shoulders"]
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As neat as wax, as good as new,
As true as steel, as truth is true,
Good as a sermon, keen as hate,
Full as a tick, and fixed as fate--
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