Good or Bad for the Jews

"Good or Bad for the Jews"

Many years ago, and for many years, I would travel to Morocco to visit uncles, cousins, and my paternal grandmother. Some lived in Tangiers;...

Wednesday, October 30, 2013

Dedicated to President Obama

This little children's poem was written in 1899, by American educator William Hughes Mearns (1875 - 1965).

When I was a kid, it creeped me out, but I couldn't help thinking about it now after hearing President Obama say, once again, that he didn't know anything about the scandal of the day until he read about it in the papers. 

"Antigonish" (AKA "The Man Who Wasn't There ")

Yesterday upon the stair
I met a man who wasn’t there
He wasn’t there again today 
Oh, how I wish he’d go away.

When I came home last night at three
The man was waiting there for me
But when I looked around the hall
I couldn’t see him there at all!
Go away, go away, don’t you come back any more!
Go away, go away, and please don’t slam the door.

Last night I saw upon the stair
A little man who wasn’t there
He wasn’t there again today
Oh, how I wish he’d go away.


  1. Ah, it brings to mind another childhood poem that I always liked (the poet Anonymous is not me and, AFAIK, we are not related):

    Mr. Nobody
    By Anonymous

    I know a funny little man,
    As quiet as a mouse,
    Who does the mischief that is done
    In everybody’s house!
    There’s no one ever sees his face,
    And yet we all agree
    That every plate we break was cracked
    By Mr. Nobody.

    ’Tis he who always tears out books,
    Who leaves the door ajar,
    He pulls the buttons from our shirts,
    And scatters pins afar;
    That squeaking door will always squeak,
    For prithee, don’t you see,
    We leave the oiling to be done
    By Mr. Nobody.

    The finger marks upon the door
    By none of us are made;
    We never leave the blinds unclosed,
    To let the curtains fade.
    The ink we never spill; the boots
    That lying round you see
    Are not our boots,—they all belong
    To Mr. Nobody.

    The Golden Book of Poetry (1947)

  2. With acknowledgment and respect to A.A. Milne:
    Halfway down the stairs
    is a stair
    where i sit.
    there isn't any
    other stair
    quite like
    i'm not at the bottom,
    i'm not at the top;
    so this is the stair
    I always

    Halfway up the stairs
    Isn't up
    And it isn't down.
    It isn't in the nursery,
    It isn't in town.
    And all sorts of funny thoughts
    Run round my head.
    It isn't really
    It's somewhere else

  3. We had two of them here. One was Kevin Rudd the socialist prime-monster [no that is not a spelling mistake] and the other Bob Carr [a failed socialist State Premier foisted on us by our unlamented late government as a Senator and the Foreign Minister].

    Now they have both gone away - oh frabjous day.

    Good luck with getting rid of yours.

    1. As I have written before, I see Australia as the land of tomorrow. I hope your recent success in restoring sanity to government is repeated on these shores.

    2. Tomorrow can't get here fast enough.

    3. Oz is fortunate in having a parliamentary system, but I'm not sure mandatory voting is a good idea for all of us.

      Y'all corrected for that socialist carbon tax by kicking out that woman. Given that impeachment no longer exists for a Democrat, we will have to wait until Obama decides to go. And have we EVER gotten rid of an entitlement program in our history? OCare will certainly take care of the very misguided fears of over-population, along with driving out competent medical care providers.

  4. All of which brings to mind Clint Eastwood's "empty chair" speech.

    1. Indeed it does, and yet even that simple concept seemed too complex to be understood by the majority of US citizens, and the RINO establishment.

    2. I've wondered since Clint's speech how many hours passed before the IRS started their audit of his tax returns for the last forty years.

  5. hussein obama reminds me more of this poem by Jennifer Huynh:

    The Shark
    My sweet, let me tell you about the shark.
    Though his eyes are bright, his thought is dark.
    He's quiet, that speaks well of him.
    So does the fact that he can swim.
    But though he swims without a sound,
    Wherever he swims he looks around
    With those two bright eyes and that one dark thought,
    He has only one, but he thinks a lot.
    And the thought he thinks but can never complete,
    Is his long dark thought of something to eat.
    Most anything does, and I have to add
    That when he eats his manners are bad.
    He's a gulper, a ripper, a snatcher, a grabber.
    Yes, his manners are drab, but his thought is drabber.
    That one dark thought he can never complete
    Of something---anything somehow to eat.

    Be careful where you swim, my sweet.

  6. Wow, love the blog and these comments. Great little poems!

  7. And in this same vein, Dip, have you got any thoughts regarding the recent (and apparent continuing) removal of so many senior officers by this administration?

    1. I echo your interest, emdfl. If it's not a subject our host wishes to address, would he be willing to point us to a reliable source of information?

  8. Primal Termite knocked on wood,
    Tasted it and found it good.
    And that is why your great Aunt May
    Fell through the parlor floor today.

    (Ogden Nash)

    The whole matter make me wonder if the termites that undermined Truman's piano aren't the authors of Obamacare.

    Green Bear

  9. Such great poetry.

    I have something here from the operator's manual:

    Like most manuals, this was originally in Japanese, and translated badly. Here's some of the original text, in Romaji print thank goodness:

    Buririggu datta. Soshite suraivi na to-v ga
    We-bu ni jairu shite jimburu shita
    Baroguro-bu wa totemo mimuji de
    Mo-mu rasu ga autogure-bu shita.

    Hm. Not much help there. Here, this page is supposed to be translated:

    Hora aderat briligi. Nunc et Slythia Tova
    Plurima gyrabant gymbolitare vabo;
    Et Borogovorum mimzebant undique formae,
    Momiferique omnes exgrabure Rathi.

    Um, no. That was for Latin Americans. Let me try this other page.

    Es brillig war. Die schlichten Toven
    Wirrten und wimmelten in Waben;
    Und aller-mümsige Burggoven
    Die mohmen Räth' ausgraben.

    No, no, that's supposed to be for dead white European males. Why would they need to enroll? Is enrollment linked to Democratic voter registration?

    Ah, here it is. (How many of you figured this out already? Be honest.)

    `Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
    Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
    All mimsy were the borogoves,
    And the mome raths outgrabe.

    "Beware the Jabberwock, my son!
    The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
    Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun
    The frumious Bandersnatch!"

    He took his vorpal sword in hand:
    Long time the manxome foe he sought --
    So rested he by the Tumtum tree,
    And stood awhile in thought.

    And, as in uffish thought he stood,
    The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,
    Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,
    And burbled as it came!

    One, two! One, two! And through and through
    The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!
    He left it dead, and with its head
    He went galumphing back.

    "And, has thou slain the Jabberwock?
    Come to my arms, my beamish boy!
    O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!"
    He chortled in his joy.

    `Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
    Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
    All mimsy were the borogoves,
    And the mome raths outgrabe.