Poems Against Nuclear War

It is funny the fate of things. You write something one day and it is published the next -- if you have a Blog to post it in.



In the world of publishing elsewhere nothing happens quite so quickly. Oh, occasionally you may scribble out some doggerel and it gets published the same year, but oft times it feels as if eons have rolled by before you see a word in print.



I wrote some poems as a teenager between 1956 and 1958 that finally saw print forty years later in 1998. They were read (not by me, I wasn't even there) in Kansas at the
17th Annual Poetry Reading Against Nuclear Holocaust July 1998: A Poem to Save the World. They were then published in an anthology under my byline Nitewrit.

This group of poems included:

Cycle
Gatherings

Ballad of the War Moon

Optimyth

Pestimist

I am posting them, one by one, in Blossoms & Weeds, so go there and you can read them as they appear. (The mushroom shape of the titles is not coincidental.)

First Poems

In those days I began experimenting with poetry. I did parodies at first. This was my first attempt, written in 1954 and based on Merle Travis's "Sixteen Tons", a song recorded by Tennessee Ernie Ford that seemed destined to remain at number one on Your Hit Parade forever.

This was one of the twenty-six poems I read at my first reading in early 1959. Those poems comprise most of the rhymes in my first collection, Early in the Mourning, put together that same year.

RI¢H MAN$ $IXTEEN TON$

Some people say a man is made out of mud.
A rich man is made out of money he loves;
Money he loves and dollars and cents --
A wallet that’s thick and a safe that’s strong.

He loads sixteen tons of cash every day.
Sixteen tons and that ain’t hay.
Saint Peter don’t you call him,
‘Cause you all know.
You can’t take it with you,
So he won’t go!

He was born one morning when the sun shone bright,
And ev’rything he tries just seems to go right.
His pa was rich, owned many a sou.
So you knew the boy would be loaded too.

He loads sixteen tons of cash every day.
Sixteen tons and that ain’t hay.
Saint Peter don’t you call him,
‘Cause you all know.
You can’t take it with you,
So he won’t go!

Born on a morning when the sun did shine.
Picked up his wallet and walked to the mine.
Bought sixteen tons of fourteen caret gold:
He was a millionaire when ten years old.

He loads sixteen tons of cash every day.
Sixteen tons and that ain’t hay.
Saint Peter don’t you call him,
‘Cause you all know.
You can’t take it with you,
So he won’t go!

If you see him coming, don’t beg for a dime,
Because you would be just wasting your time.
His heart is a cold, coal, coal black
And the voice of conscience his one big lank.

He loads sixteen tons of cash every day.
Sixteen tons and that ain’t hay.
Saint Peter don’t you call him,
‘Cause you all know.
You can’t take it with you, So he won’t go!

In 1956 I wrote a country song called "My Little White Lamb". It was published in 1957 by Crown Publishing in New York. A year or so later a Ben Tate recorded it on Ronnie Records and it quickly disappeared into oblivion.

MY LITTLE WHITE LAMB (copyright 1957 Larry E.)

She came into my life
Like a little white lamb,
But she went out
Like a big roarin’ lion.
Why did she double-cross me
At the crossroads of life?
Why, oh why, did she leave me?

I will just walk along the streets
Alone and weary.
All alone in this world without her.
Or ending it down by the river
Because I feel so lowdown and blue.

Was I ever so down right untrue
Or unfaithful,
To her in our attempt at true love,
To make her sad, my little white lamb,
Or has love just flown like a dove?

When they lay me in that big cold coffin,
And when that black hearse starts on its slow way,
Then will you remember how I loved you
Right until that end, my dying day?

You came into my life
Like a little white lamb,
But you went out like a big roaring lion.
There on the doorstep you left me,
All alone and cryin’.

One day while visiting my friend, Stuart, we discovered an old-time Dictaphone in his father's study. It recorded on cylinders. We use to tug this contraption out and make up songs together. Almost fifty years later, Stuart and I began collaborating on plays as well as song together, only this time over the Internet.

Stuart and Larry, tunesmiths (1954)

One of the early songs we wrote together was based on the cry of Goofy in a series of Cartoons by Walt Disney. Goofy would fall and yell, "ya-ha-whoey". Thus we had a title and came up with this:

YA-HA-WHOEY!

Grandpa was driving down the mountain on an icy day,
When his car hit the curve, it began to sway.
Off of the road it found its way
And as he went over you could hear him say:
“Ya-ha-whoey!
Ya-ha-ya-ha-whoey! Ya-ha-ya-ha-whoey!”
And they lay him away that day.

As up the first hill the scenic started to creep,
A lady stood up to see how steep.
When she saw she began to leap
And as she fell out you could hear her speak:
“Ya-ha-whoey!
Ya-ha-ya-ha-whoey! Ya-ha-ya-ha-whoey!”
And they lay her away that week.


A man went up into a tower that’s tall.
He took a wrong turn and started to fall.
Though he had a voice what’s small,
As he went you could hear his call:
“Ya-ha-whoey!
Ya-ha-ya-ha-whoey! Ya-ha-ya-ha-whoey!”
And they laid him away in a hole.

A man went up to tie a noose.
He did not know the ladder was loose
And as he fell from his roost,
You heard him call like a stricken moose:
“Ya-ha-whoey!
Ya-ha-ya-ha-whoey! Ya-ha-ya-ha-whoey!”
And six men gave him a boost.

A man went up to a scaffold real high,
A way to roofs simplify.
Got too near the edge, sweet old guy,
And as he slipped, you could hear his cry:
“Ya-ha-whoey!
Ya-ha-ya-ha-whoey! Ya-ha-ya-ha-whoey!”
And they laid him away to lie.

This was included in my first volume of songs, also collected in 1959, called Besotted Ballads

Oh, if you notice a similarity on the covers of a number of my books, it is because my wife was the model in the photographs.