Jack The Giant Killer.

    Bad Boy's Version.

    Tell you a story - an' it's a fac': -
    Wunst wuz a little boy, name wuz Jack,
    An' he had sword an' buckle an' strap
    Maked of gold, an' a "'visibul cap;"
    An' he killed Gi'nts 'at et whole cows -
    Th' horns an' all - an' pigs an' sows!
    But Jack, his golding sword wuz, oh!
    So awful sharp 'at he could go
    An' cut th' ole Gi'nts clean in two
    Fore 'ey knowed what he wuz goin' to do!
    An' one ole Gi'nt, he had four
    Heads, and name wuz "Bumblebore" -
    An' he wuz feered o' Jack - 'cause he,
    Jack, he killed six - five - ten - three,
    An' all o' th' uther ole Gi'nts but him:
    An' thay wuz a place Jack haf to swim
    'Fore he could git t' ole "Bumblebore" -
    Nen thay was "griffuns" at the door:
    But Jack, he thist plunged in an' swum
    Clean acrost; an' when he come
    To th' uther side, he thist put on
    His "'visibul cap," an' nen, dog-gone!
    You could n't see him at all! - An' so
    He slewed the "griffuns" - boff, you know!
    Nen wuz a horn hunged over his head
    High on th' wall, an' words 'at read, -
    "Whoever kin this trumput blow
    Shall cause the Gi'nt's overth'ow!"
    An' Jack, he thist reached up an' blowed
    The stuffin' out of it! an' th'owed
    Th' castul-gates wide open, an'
    Nen tuck his gold sword in his han',
    An' thist marched in t' ole "Bumblebore,"
    An', 'fore he knowed, he put 'bout four
    Heads on him - an' chopped 'em off, too! -
    Wisht 'at I'd been Jack! - don't you?

James Whitcomb Riley

James Whitcomb Riley was an American writer, poet, and best-selling author. He was known as the "Hoosier Poet" and the "Children's Poet" for his dialect works and children's poetry respectively. Over his career, Riley authored approximately 1,000 poems, including "Little Orphant Annie" and "The Raggedy Man". His influence extended into the 20th century, and his works continued to be celebrated for their nostalgic and rural themes.

James Whitcomb Riley

America's Thanksgiving

James Whitcomb Riley, Simple Poetry

A Prospective Visit

James Whitcomb Riley, Simple Poetry

Cousin Rufus' Story

James Whitcomb Riley, Simple Poetry

A New Year's Time at Willards's

James Whitcomb Riley, Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

Explore a curated selection of verses that share themes, styles, and emotional resonance with the poem you've just read.

Jack And The Bean-Stalk.

Versified by Mrs. Clara Doty Bates.


A lazy and careless boy was Jack,--
He would not work, and he would not play;
And so poor, that the jacket on his back
Hung in a ragged fringe alway;
But 'twas shilly-shally, dilly-dally,
From day to day.

At last his mother was almost wild,
And to get them food she knew not how;
And she told her good-for-nothing child
To drive to market the brindle cow.
So he strolled along, with whistle and song,
And drove the cow.

A man was under the wayside trees,
Who carried some beans in his hand--all white.
He said, "My boy, I'll give you these
For the brindle cow." Jack said, "All right."
And, without any gold for the cow he had sold,
Went home at night.

Bitter tears did the mother weep;

Clara Doty Bates

How Jack Made The Giants Uncommonly Sore

Of all the ill-fated
Boys ever created
Young Jack was the wretchedest lad:
An emphatic, erratic,
Dogmatic fanatic
Was foisted upon him as dad!
From the time he could walk,
And before he could talk,
His wearisome training began,
On a highly barbarian,
Disciplinarian,
Nearly Tartarean
Plan!

He taught him some Raleigh,
And some of Macaulay,
Till all of "Horatius" he knew,
And the drastic, sarcastic,
Fantastic, scholastic
Philippics of "Junius," too.
He made him learn lots
Of the poems of Watts,
And frequently said he ignored,
On principle, any son's
Title to benisons
Till he'd learned Tennyson's
"Maud."

"For these are the giants
Of thought and of science,"
He said in his positive way:
"S...

Guy Wetmore Carryl

The Bear-Story

THAT ALEX "IST MAKED UP HIS-OWN-SE'F"

W'y, wunst they wuz a Little Boy went out
In the woods to shoot a Bear. So, he went out
'Way in the grea'-big woods - he did. - An' he
Wuz goin'along - an'goin'along, you know,
An' purty soon he heerd somepin' go "Wooh!" -
Ist thataway - "Woo-ooh!" An' he wuz skeered,
He wuz. An' so he runned an' clumbed a tree -
A grea'-big tree, he did, - a sicka-more tree.
An' nen he heerd it agin: an' he looked round,
An' 't'uz a Bear! - a grea'-big, shore-nuff Bear! -
No: 't'uz two Bears, it wuz - two grea'-big Bears -
One of 'em wuz - ist one's a grea'-big Bear. -
But they ist boff went "Wooh! " - An' here they come
To climb the tree an' git the Little Boy
...

James Whitcomb Riley

The Sleeping Beauty

Call that a yarn! said old Tom Pugh,
What rot! Ill lay my hat
Ill sling you a yarn worth more nor two
Such pumped-up yarns as that.
And thereupon old Tommy slew
A yarn of Lambing Flat.

When Lambing Flat broke out, he said,
Mongst others there I knew
A lanky, orkard, Lunnon-bred
Young chap named Johnny Drew,
And nicknamed for his love of bed,
The Sleeping Beauty too.

He sunk a duffer on the Flat,
In compny with three more,
And makin room for this and that
They was a tidy four,
Save when the eldest, Dublin Pat,
Got drunk and raved for gore.

This Jack at yarnin licked a book,
And half the night hed spout.
But when he once turned in, it took
Old Nick to get him out.
And that is how they came to co...

Henry Lawson

Little Jack Janitor

And there, in that ripe Summer-night, once more
A wintry coolness through the open door
And window seemed to touch each glowing face
Refreshingly; and, for a fleeting space,
The quickened fancy, through the fragrant air,
Saw snowflakes whirling where the roseleaves were,
And sounds of veriest jingling bells again
Were heard in tinkling spoons and glasses then.

Thus Uncle Mart's old poem sounded young
And crisp and fresh and clear as when first sung,
Away back in the wakening of Spring
When his rhyme and the robin, chorusing,
Rumored, in duo-fanfare, of the soon
Invading johnny-jump-ups, with platoon
On platoon of sweet-williams, marshaled fine
To blooméd blarings of the trumpet-vine.

The poet turned to whisperingly confer
A moment with "The No...

James Whitcomb Riley

Jack And Jill.

Little boys, sit still--
Girls, too, if you will--
And let me tell you of Jack and Jill;
For I think another
Such sister and brother
Were never the children of one mother!

For an idle lad,
As he was, Jack had
No traits, after all, that were very bad.
He, was simply Jack,
With the coat on his back
Patched up in all colors from gray to black.

Both feet were bare;
And I do declare
That he never washed his face; and his hair
Was the color of straw--
You never saw
Such a crop--as long as the moral law!

When he went to school,
It was the rule
(Though 'twas hard to say he was really a fool)
To send him at once,
So thick was his sconce,
To the block that was kept for the greatest dunce.

And Jill! no lass<...

Clara Doty Bates