{"id":504,"date":"2010-05-29T01:34:04","date_gmt":"2010-05-29T01:34:04","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.everywritersresource.com\/poemeveryday\/?p=504"},"modified":"2010-05-29T01:34:04","modified_gmt":"2010-05-29T01:34:04","slug":"old-poets-by-joyce-kilmer","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.everywritersresource.com\/poemeveryday\/old-poets-by-joyce-kilmer\/","title":{"rendered":"Old Poets by Joyce Kilmer"},"content":{"rendered":"
\"\"<\/a>
Joyce Kilmer (1886-1918)<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n

\n

Old Poets<\/h2>\n

If I should live in a forest
\nAnd sleep underneath a tree,
\nNo grove of impudent saplings
\nWould make a home for me.<\/p>\n

I’d go where the old oaks gather,
\nSerene and good and strong,
\nAnd they would not sigh and tremble
\nAnd vex me with a song.<\/p>\n

The pleasantest sort of poet
\nIs the poet who’s old and wise,
\nWith an old white beard and wrinkles
\nAbout his kind old eyes.<\/p>\n

For these young flippertigibbets
\nA-rhyming their hours away
\nThey won’t be still like honest men
\nAnd listen to what you say.<\/p>\n

The young poet screams forever
\nAbout his sex and his soul;
\nBut the old man listens, and smokes his pipe,
\nAnd polishes its bowl.<\/p>\n

There should be a club for poets
\nWho have come to seventy year.
\nThey should sit in a great hall drinking
\nRed wine and golden beer.<\/p>\n

They would shuffle in of an evening,
\nEach one to his cushioned seat,
\nAnd there would be mellow talking
\nAnd silence rich and sweet.<\/p>\n

There is no peace to be taken
\nWith poets who are young,
\nFor they worry about the wars to be fought
\nAnd the songs that must be sung.<\/p>\n

But the old man knows that he’s in his chair
\nAnd that God’s on His throne in the sky.
\nSo he sits by the fire in comfort
\nAnd he lets the world spin by.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Old Poets If I should live in a forest And sleep underneath a tree, No grove of impudent saplings Would make a home for me. I’d go where the old oaks gather, Serene and good and strong, And they would not sigh and tremble And vex me with a song. The pleasantest sort of poet…<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"_uf_show_specific_survey":0,"_uf_disable_surveys":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[84,48],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-504","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-1900s","category-kilmer"],"aioseo_notices":[],"aioseo_head":"\n\t\t\n\t\n\t\n\t\n\t\n\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t