Franklin P. Adams

(15 November 1881 – 23 March 1960 / Chicago, Illinois)

Franklin P. Adams Poems

1. How 3/30/2012
2. 'Carpe Diem,' Or Cop The Day 3/30/2012
3. Bedbooks 3/30/2012
4. To A Light Houskeeper 3/30/2012
5. Office Mottoes 3/30/2012
6. The Ballade Of The Average Reader 3/30/2012
7. Help 3/30/2012
8. Ballade Of The Hardy Annual 3/30/2012
9. Those Two Boys 3/30/2012
10. A Plea 3/30/2012
11. An Election Night Pantoum 3/30/2012
12. Ballade Of The Breakfast Table 3/30/2012
13. An Ultimatum To Myrtilla 3/30/2012
14. And Yet It Is A Gentle Art 3/30/2012
15. A Summer Summary 3/30/2012
16. A Quatrain 3/30/2012
17. Advice 3/30/2012
18. Lines On And From 1/3/2003
19. To W. Hohenzollern, On Discontinuing The Conning Tower 1/3/2003
20. Old Environment 1/3/2003
21. Vain Words 1/3/2003
22. The Ballad Of Justifiable Homicide 1/3/2003
23. No Good Deed Goes Unpunished 3/30/2012
24. Rich Man 3/30/2012
25. On Profiteering 1/3/2003
26. Variation On A Theme 1/3/2003
27. To W. Hohenzollern, On Resuming The Conning Tower 1/3/2003
28. Thoughts In A Far Country 1/3/2003
29. Maud Muller Mutatur 1/3/2003
30. A Wish 3/30/2012
31. A Soft Susurrus 3/30/2012
32. A Word For It 3/30/2012
33. I'M Out Of The Army Now 1/3/2003
34. Regarding (1) The U.S. And (2) New York 1/3/2003
35. Song Of Synthetic Virility 1/3/2003
36. The Last Laugh 1/3/2003
37. A Poor Excuse, But Our Own 3/30/2012
38. Oh Man! 1/3/2003
39. Unshackled Thoughts On Chivalry, Romance, Adventure, Etc. 1/3/2003
40. It Was A Famous Victory 1/3/2003
Best Poem of Franklin P. Adams

A Ballad Of Baseball Burdens

The burden of hard hitting. Slug away
Like Honus Wagner or like Tyrus Cobb.
Else fandom shouteth: "Who said you could play?
Back to the jasper league, you minor slob!"
Swat, hit, connect, line out, goet on the job.
Else you shall feel the brunt of fandom's ire
Biff, bang it, clout it, hit it on the knob -
This is the end of every fan's desire.

The burden of good pitching. Curved or straight.
Or in or out, or haply up or down,
To puzzle him that standeth by the plate,
To lessen, so to speak, his bat-renown:
Like Christy Mathewson or Miner ...

Read the full of A Ballad Of Baseball Burdens


We were very tired, we were very merry--
We had gone back and forth all night on the ferry.
It was bare and bright, and smelled like a stable--
But we looked into a fire, we leaned across a table,
We lay on a hilltop underneath the moon;
And the whistles kept blowing, and the dawn came soon.

We were very tired, we were very merry--
We had gone back and forth all night on the ferry,

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