Christopher Smart

 

Christopher Smart

Was lucky that

He wrote a fine poem

About a fine cat

If you read the poem

I think you will agree

That the poem's damn fine

And so is Jeoffry

Good old Kit Smart

Wasn't particularly sad

That just about everyone

Thought he was mad

When he would fall on his knees

To pray in the street

They would all creep away

On their little feet.

But poor old Kit Smart

He had one big fan

"I'd as lief pray with Kit Smart

As with any man."

Said Doctor Johnson

And then he went out

To drink lots of coffee

And complain of his gout

Yes, Doctor Johnson

Had much common sense

Though he knew not the wherefore,

the why or the whence

"Thus I refute, I refute

Bishop Berkeley."

He pounded the table

And did it right smartly

Things seemed to him

Just how they appear

A miniature sleigh

And eight tiny reindeer

Hardly, if ever,

Appeared to his vision

And if they once did

He'd made a decision.

"Thus I refute, I refute

Bishop Berkeley."

He pounded the table

And felt rather sparkly.

While Christopher Smart

Who had cats in his belfry

Wrote "Jubilate"

With his fine cat,  Jeoffry.

 

 

Tiny Tim Blues

 

Went up to Minnesota.

Took my little uke.

Went up to Minnesota.

Took my little uke.

They called me Tiny Tim.

But I felt just like a fine young Duke.

 

Went on Johnny Carson.

Married a fine young gal.

Said "Hi" to Johnny.

Johnny was my pal.

All over.  All over.

Knew it would be anyhow.

 

When you think about it,

You know they all knew my name.

When you think about it,

You know they all knew my name.

Who knows you my friend, my friend?

But at the end we're all the same.

All the same.

 

Lying in my grave.

Minnesota snow blow wild.

Lying underground.

I feel just like a little child.

Come the end times, the end times, the end times

Eternity feel so mild.

 

You Are a Star

The Buddha is a baby
in the baby Buddha palace.
You are a star.
You never heard of him.

The baby Buddha
smiles at the peacocks.
You are a wisp of cloud.
Just then you are snoozing.

Little Buddha points at the moon
pale crescent shining.
You are a coin
buried in deep grass.

Spring rain.
Buddha iris in the golden chapel.
You are born.
You love your little life.

The Buddha is a baby
in the baby Buddha palace.
You are a star.
You never heard of him.