James Whitcomb Riley

(7 October 1849 - 22 July 1916 / Greenfield, Indiana)

James Whitcomb Riley Poems

441. A Poet's Wooing 1/3/2003
442. Granny 12/31/2002
443. A Cup Of Tea 4/9/2010
444. A Noon Interval 1/3/2003
445. Knee-Deep In June 1/3/2003
446. A Summer Afternoon 1/3/2003
447. A Barefoot Boy 12/31/2002
448. When The Frost Is On The Punkin 12/31/2002
449. Little Orphant Annie 12/31/2002
450. A Life-Lesson 1/3/2003

Comments about James Whitcomb Riley

  • Catharine Dee (3/10/2012 2:21:00 PM)

    Date of birth listed above is wrong. It's October 7th not the 9th.

    25 person liked.
    26 person did not like.
  • Stella Mary (1/3/2012 5:00:00 AM)

    I read your poems and it was good.

    33 person liked.
    20 person did not like.
  • Tony Judson (9/15/2006 8:21:00 AM)

    James I read your 'poem of the day' and I think it is brilliant! your sense of rythmn & rhyme is beautiful and your poetic license with spelling and alliteration is superb.
    It makes wish I could have been the fly on the wall in a meeting between you and the late Ogden Nash- Keep it up Cheers Tony Judson

    32 person liked.
    14 person did not like.
  • Carolyn Binkley (10/6/2005 6:47:00 PM)

    James Whitcomb Riley is by far one of my favorite poets of all time. I love his imagery, his imagination, his rhyme and rhythm. And most of all I love his sense of 'simple' and his connection to the nature in all of us. He cleverly plays with that which is real, unlike Lewis Carroll who cleverly plays with that which is not.

    24 person liked.
    12 person did not like.
Best Poem of James Whitcomb Riley

When The Frost Is On The Punkin

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's the times 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...

Read the full of When The Frost Is On The Punkin

The Ripest Peach

The ripest peach is highest on the tree --
And so her love, beyond the reach of me,
Is dearest in my sight. Sweet breezes, bow
Her heart down to me where I worship now!

She looms aloft where every eye may see
The ripest peach is highest on the tree.
Such fruitage as her love I know, alas!
I may not reach here from the orchard grass.

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