Ogden Nash Poems

There is a knocking in the skull,
An endless silent shout
Of something beating on a wall,
And crying, “Let me out!”
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My fellow man I do not care for.
I often ask me, What's he there for?
The only answer I can find
Is, Reproduction of his kind.
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Behold the hippopotamus!
We laugh at how he looks to us,
And yet in moments dank and grim,
I wonder how we look to him.
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The people upstairs all practise ballet
Their living room is a bowling alley
Their bedroom is full of conducted tours.
Their radio is louder than yours,
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This is my dream,
It is my own dream,
I dreamt it.
I dreamt that my hair was kempt.
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How wise I am to have instructed the butler
to instruct the first footman to instruct the second
footman to instruct the doorman to order my carriage;
I am about to volunteer a definition of marriage.
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The turtle lives 'twixt plated decks
Which practically conceal its sex.
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Bring down the moon for genteel Janet;
She's too refined for this gross planet.
She wears garments and you wear clothes,
You buy stockings, she purchases hose.
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Now when I have a cold
I am careful with my cold,
I consult a physician
And I do as I am told.
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Parsley
Is gharsley.
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