H. P. Lovecraft

THE COMPLETE POETRY of H. P. Lovecraft
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Waste Paper

Written: late 1922? early 1923?

First Published in A Winter Wish. By H. P. Lovecraft, Edited by Tom Collins. Chapel Hill, NC: Whispers Press, (1977), Pages 138–141

A Poem of Profound Insignificance

 Πάντα γέλως καί πάντα κόνις καί πάντα τό μηδέν
 Out of the reaches of illimitable light
 The blazing planet grew, and forc’d to life
 Unending cycles of progressive strife
 And strange mutations of undying light
 And boresome books, than hell’s own self more trite
 And thoughts repeated and become a blight,
 And cheap rum-hounds with moonshine hootch made tight,
 And quite contrite to see the flight of fright so bright
 I used to ride my bicycle in the night
 With a dandy acetylene lantern that cost $3.00
 In the evening, by the moonlight, you can hear those darkies singing
 Meet me tonight in dreamland… BAH
 I used to sit on the stairs of the house where I was born
 After we left it but before it was sold
 And play on a zobo with two other boys.
 We called ourselves the Blackstone Military Band
 Won’t you come home, Bill Bailey, won’t you come home?
 In the spring of the year, in the silver rain
 When petal by petal the blossoms fall
 And the mocking birds call
 And the whippoorwill sings, Marguerite.
 The first cinema show in our town opened in 1906
 At the old Olympic, which was then call’d Park,
 And moving beams shot weirdly thro’ the dark
 And spit tobacco seldom hit the mark.
 Have you read Dickens’ American Notes?
 My great-great-grandfather was born in a white house
 Under green trees in the country
 And he used to believe in religion and the weather.
 “Shantih, shantih, shantih”… Shanty House
 Was the name of a novel by I forget whom
 Published serially in the All-Story Weekly
 Before it was a weekly. Advt.
 Disillusion is wonderful, I’ve been told,
 And I take quinine to stop a cold
 But it makes my ears ring… always ring…
 Always ringing in my ears…
 It is the ghost of the Jew I murdered that Christmas day
 Because he played “Three O’Clock in the Morning” in the flat above me.
 Three O’Clock in the morning, I’ve danc’d the whole night through,
 Dancing on the graves in the graveyard
 Where life is buried; life and beauty
 Life and art and love and duty
 Ah, there, sweet cutie.
 Stung!
 Out of the night that covers me
 Black as the pit from pole to pole
 I never quote things straight except by accident.
 Sophistication! Sophistication!
 You are the idol of our nation
 Each fellow has
 Fallen for jazz
 And we’ll give the past a merry razz
 Thro’ the ghoul-guarded gateways of slumber
 And fellow-guestship with the glutless worm.
 Next stop is 57th St.—57th St. the next stop.
 Achilles’ wrath, to Greece the direful spring,
 And the Governor-General of Canada is Lord Byng
 Whose ancestor was shot or hung,
 I forget which, the good die young.
 Here’s to your ripe old age,
 Copyright, 1847, by Joseph Miller,
 Entered according to act of (...)
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