The Train Misser

At Union Station

'Ll where in the world my eyes has bin -
Ef I hain't missed that train ag'in!
Chuff! And whistle! And toot! And ring!
But blast and blister the dasted train!
How it does it I can't explain!
Git here thirty-five minutes before
The durn things due! And, drat the thing
It'll manage to git past-shore!

The more I travel around, the more
I got no sense! To stand right here
And let it beat me! 'Ll ding my melts!
I got no gumption, ner nothin' else!
Ticket Agent's a dad-burned bore!
Sell you a tickets all they keer!
Ticket Agents ort to all be

Prosecuted - and that's jes what!
How'd I know which train's fer me?
And how'd I know which train was not?
Goern and comin' and gone astray,
And backin' and switchin' ever'-which-way!

Ef I could jes sneak round behind
Myse'f, where I could git full swing,
I'd lift my coat, and kick, by jing!
Till I jes got jerked up and fined!
Fer here I stood, as a durn fool's apt
To, and let that train jes chuff and choo
Right apast me - and mouth jes gapped
Like a blamed old sandwitch warped in two!

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

An Autumnal Extravaganza

James Whitcomb Riley, Simple Poetry

Suspense.

James Whitcomb Riley, Simple Poetry

Tom Van Arden.

James Whitcomb Riley, Simple Poetry

Plain Sermons

James Whitcomb Riley, Simple Poetry

English

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The Station-Master of Lone Prairie

An empty bench, a sky of grayest etching,
A bare, bleak shed in blackest silhouette,
Twelve years of platform, and before them stretching
Twelve miles of prairie glimmering through the wet.

North, south, east, west, the same dull gray persistence,
The tattered vapors of a vanished train,
The narrowing rails that meet to pierce the distance,
Or break the columns of the far-off rain.

Naught but myself; nor form nor figure breaking
The long hushed level and stark shining waste;
Nothing that moves to fill the vision aching,
When the last shadow fled in sullen haste.

Nothing beyond. Ah yes! From out the station
A stiff, gaunt figure thrown against the sky,
Beckoning me with some wooden salutation
Caught from his signals as the train flashed by;

Bret Harte

Stealing A Ride

Yumping over crossings,
Bumping over svitches,
Till ay tenk dis enyine
Going to fall in ditches;
Hiding vith some cattle,
Ay tenk 'bout saxty-eight;
Yiminy! Dis ban yolly, -
Stealing ride on freight

Ay ban yust tru treshing
Op in Nort Dakota;
Now ay guess ay'm going
Back to old Mansota.
Now dis train ban stopping,
'Bout sax hours to vait;
Yiminy! Dis ban yolly, -
Stealing ride on freight.

Ay skol stretch a little
Yust to tak a sleep;
Den my head bump into
Gude big fader sheep.
Yee! His head ban harder
Sum a china plate;
Dis ban yolly doings, -
Stealing ride on freight.

Yumping over crossings,
Bumping over svitches,
Till my side ban getting
Saxty-seven stitches.
Ay hear brakeman falle...

William F. Kirk

Up And Down Old Brandywine

Up and down old Brandywine,
    In the days 'at's past and gone -
With a dad-burn hook-and line
    And a saplin' pole - swawn!
        I've had more fun, to the square
        Inch, than ever ANYwhere!
        Heaven to come can't discount MINE
        Up and down old Brandywine!

Hain't no sense in WISHIN' - yit
    Wisht to goodness I COULD jes
"Gee" the blame' world round and git
    Back to that old happiness! -
        Kindo' drive back in the shade
        "The old Covered Bridge" there laid
        'Crosst the crick, and sorto' soak
        My soul over, hub and spoke!

Honest, now! - it hain't no DREAM
    'At I'm wantin', - but THE FAC'S
As they wuz; the same old stream,
    And the same old times, i jacks! -
        Gim...

James Whitcomb Riley

Romancin'

I' b'en a-kindo' "musin'," as the feller says, and I'm
About o' the conclusion that they hain't no better time,
When you come to cipher on it, than the times we ust to know
When we swore our first "dog-gone-it" sorto' solum-like and low!

You git my idy, do you? - LITTLE tads, you understand -
Jest a-wishin' thue and thue you that you on'y wuz a MAN. -
Yit here I am, this minit, even sixty, to a day,
And fergittin' all that's in it, wishm' jest the other way!

I hain't no hand to lectur' on the times, er dimonstrate
Whare the trouble is, er hector and domineer with Fate, -
But when I git so flurried, and so pestered-like and blue,
And so rail owdacious worried, let me tell you what I do! -

I jest gee-haw the hosses, and onhook the swingle-tree,
Whare the haze...

James Whitcomb Riley

Kingry's Mill

On old Brandywine - about
Where White's Lots is now laid out,
And the old crick narries down
To the ditch that splits the town,
Kingry's Mill stood. Hardly see
Where the old dam ust to be;
Shallor, long, dry trought o' grass
Where the old race ust to pass!

That's be'n forty years ago -
Forty years o' frost and snow -
Forty years o' shade and shine
Sence them boyhood-days o' mine!
All the old landmarks o' town.
Changed about, er rotted down!
Where's the Tanyard? Where's the Still?
Tell me where's old Kingry's Mill?

Don't seem furder back, to me,
I'll be dogg'd! Than yisterd'y,
Since us fellers, in bare feet
And straw hats, went through the wheat,
Cuttin' 'crost the shortest shoot
Fer that-air old ellum root
Jest above t...

James Whitcomb Riley

The Way It Wuz.

Las' July - an', I persume
    'Bout as hot
As the ole Gran'-Jury room
    Where they sot! -
Fight 'twixt Mike an' Dock McGriff -
'Pears to me jes' like as if
    I'd a dremp' the whole blame thing -
    Allus ha'nts me roun' the gizzard
    When they're nightmares on the wing,
        An' a feller's blood's jes' friz!
    Seed the row from a to izzard -
    'Cause I wuz a-standin' as clost to 'em
        As me an' you is!

Tell you the way it wuz -
    An' I do n't want to see,
Like some fellers does,
    When they 're goern to be
Any kind o' fuss -
On'y makes a rumpus wuss
    Far to interfere
    When their dander's riz -
But I wuz a-standin' as clost to 'em
As me an' you is!

I wuz kind o' strayin'
 ...

James Whitcomb Riley