Jack Pelham

Such great zeal she has
To get the one thing just right
But not the other.

That God makes himself vulnerable—
That he puts himself out there, available to be abused—
Is surely a stumbling block to those
Who find exposure a disagreeable policy
For their own lives.

The one who has to shovel the snow
Learns not to walk upon it first
As it turns to ice and makes
The shoveling harder.

Sometimes the dementors descend upon you from the skies—
Sucking from your face the last of your joy and will to live.

And sometimes they do it from the lectern.

Some cannot hear that it is out of tune
Or out of tone or time or spirit, even—
Because they were never taught
To hear such things.

And I wonder at what fires
Might be lit in their souls
If someone were to teach them now!

There is the thrill of hearing a note
Played with spirit and keenly in tune!
And as surely, the opposite makes
Its impression upon the soul, too.

Funny how a grown man
Can be pouting on the inside
So deep down that he will never
Realize it in a hundred grouchy years—
And if you asked him he’d probably
Deny it—clueless soul that he is—
Unless he goes down there
On purpose to find out
For himself what’s
The problem.
And then
After he has
Seen it he can
Cut it out and get
On with the growing
He had grinched himself
Out of —all the time thinking
Himself more mature than that.

Stand back, friends!

The human is loading to think
And has little idea where
He’s pointing that thing
Or what makes it go off.

He’s still a little shaky
On the details—
On whether it is
The ready
The aim
Or the fire
That should come first.

The American love of freedom is a curious affair
Since we are not nearly as free from tyranny
As we like to think we are—
And as we have so much more freedom to think
Than we ever seem to use.