John Keats
John Keats
John
Please put your scarf on.

My grades are slipping
But it’s not that bad
I just can’t keep up
Mom and Dad
Send me money
And send me prayers
I’m not going anywhere
Anywhere, anywhere

I’ve tried my best
It’s just not good enough
I’m not as smart
As I think I am
I’m not going anywhere.

The transition outside;
It was cold
and damp.
But still it was better
Than the stuffy room, the cluttered room.


And now we wait;
for the summer air.
It will surprise us
and keep us warm.
Until Autumn finds us again;
and chills our bones.
Until Winter comes again;
and numbs our bodies.
Until the ground thaws;
and we make our transition
Again.

I will never love you as before
There’s nothing you can say
It’s not my heart’s choice.

My biggest regret is wasting all my love on you (but not my time).
Now I have none to give anymore.
I feel nothing when I see other people.
I’m ruined
And there’s nothing you can do.

I would love you again
If I could.
But never again will I say ‘I Love You’
Not even in my dreams.
Which is how I know you miss me
And I wake up missing you too
But I know I don’t love you
Anymore.

I always knew it would be this way
Because we were always in love
With the idea of it ending.

Now I must carry on
Knowing I will never know a purer love
Ever again.

By A Foreigner

I like Americans.
They are so unlike Canadians.
They do not take their policemen seriously.
They come to Montreal to drink.
Not to criticize.
They claim they won the war.
But they know at heart that they didn't.
They have such respect for Englishmen.
They like to live abroad.
They do not brag about how they take baths.
But they take them.
Their teeth are so good.
And they wear B.V.D.'s all the year round.
I wish they didn't brag about it.
They have the second best navy in the world.
But they never mention it.
They would like to have Henry Ford for president.
But they will not elect him.
They saw through Bill Bryan.
They have gotten tired of Billy Sunday.
Their men have such funny hair cuts.
They are hard to **** in on Europe.
They have been there once.
They produced Barney Google, Mutt and Jeff.
And Jiggs.
They do not hang lady murderers.
They put them in vaudeville.
They read the Saturday Evening Post
And believe in Santa Claus.
When they make money
They make a lot of money.
They are fine people.

By A Foreigner

I like Canadians.
They are so unlike Americans.
They go home at night.
Their cigarettes don't smell bad.
Their hats fit.
They really believe that they won the war.
They don't believe in Literature.
They think Art has been exaggerated.
But they are wonderful on ice skates.
A few of them are very rich.
But when they are rich they buy more horses
Than motor cars.
Chicago calls Toronto a puritan town.
But both boxing and horse-racing are illegal
In Chicago.
Nobody works on Sunday.
Nobody.
That doesn't make me mad.
There is only one Woodbine.
But were you ever at Blue Bonnets?
If you **** somebody with a motor car in Ontario
You are liable to go to jail.
So it isn't done.
There have been over 500 people killed by motor cars
In Chicago
So far this year.
It is hard to get rich in Canada.
But it is easy to make money.
There are too many tea rooms.
But, then, there are no cabarets.
If you tip a waiter a quarter
He says "Thank you."
Instead of calling the bouncer.
They let women stand up in the street cars.
Even if they are good-looking.
They are all in a hurry to get home to supper
And their radio sets.
They are a fine people.
I like them.

I wish I was a rich kid
So I could date girls
And pick them up in fancy cars
Or diesel trucks
Trucks that I just drive in
And don't carry heavy loads with

I wish I was a rich kid
So I could impress girls with my beach house
On the vineyard
That I only use twice a year
On the Fourth of July
And once in August

I wish I was a rich kid
So I could buy myself some friends
And drink ciroc
Cause money isn't an issue
And we could take videos of us shotgunning beers
On my dads fancy yacht