Eugene Field (2 September 1850 - 4 November 1895 / St Louis / Missouri / United States)
On afternoons, when baby boy has had a splendid nap,
And sits, like any monarch on his throne, in nurse's lap,
In some such wise my handkerchief I hold before my face,
And cautiously and quietly I move about the place;
Then, with a cry, I suddenly expose my face to view,
And you should hear him laugh and crow when I say "Booh"!
Sometimes the rascal tries to make believe that he is scared,
And really, when I first began, he stared, and stared, and stared;
And then his under lip came out and farther out it came,
Till mamma and the nurse agreed it was a "cruel shame" -
But now what does that same wee, toddling, lisping baby do
But laugh and kick his little heels when I say "Booh!"
He laughs and kicks his little heels in rapturous glee, and then
In shrill, despotic treble bids me "do it all aden!"
And I - of course I do it; for, as his progenitor,
It is such pretty, pleasant play as this that I am for!
And it is, oh, such fun I and sure that we shall rue
The time when we are both too old to play the game "Booh!"
Comments about this poem ("booh!" by Eugene Field )
Beautiful Paintings On Books
by Ekaterina Panikanova
You Too Can Learn to Write Surrealist Poetry
Spudnik Press is offering a workshop in surrealist poetry
Distasteful Fashion Shoot Featuring Author Suicides is Pulled
The spread is called 'Last Words.'
Autistic Pride Day
Top 500 Poems
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Still I Rise
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
William Ernest Henley
I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings