ContentsLittle bride so sweet and fair
Handle these with loving care,
They are meant for gentle hands
Not for harsh and gruff commands.
When you bathe caress this towel,
Whe you cook fondle this bowl;
When you drink from glasses clear
Give a toast to your love, dear.
If juice squirts into your eye
From this squeezer don't you cry,
It is trying hard to please
Same as all the rest of these.
And remember that we, too
Once were blushing brides like you;
That within our aged frames
Still a little romance flames.
We would have it live a-new
In these things we give to you.
All we ask is pass it on
Into other new-made homes.
- Beulah B. Pearson
The day, with cold and clammy breath,
Crept in on stealthy feet.
To view the havoc that was wrought
All up and down our street.
The trees were weeping tears of grief,
The autumn leaves lay dead;
The chrysanthemum drooped around
and sadly hung its head.
The houses glared from bleary eyes
Upon these sordid things
And ghastly faces stared at me
From out of puddle rings.
A skeleton was strewn about
Its bones a gleaming white,
A ghost had fainted on our lawn
And lain there all the night.
A black cat's mangled body lay
In shreds upon our step
While near by crouched the murderer...
A big, old dog (Our Shep).
Decapitated heads rolled by
Landing in the gutter,
A sleepy cop came down the street
In disgust to mutter.
I looked at all with tired eyes...
I felt a little mean.
Yes...I had had a hand in this
You've guessed it...Halloe'en.
- Beulah B. Pearson
I'm going to have amnesia
No one can tell me, nay.
Not even Dr. Durno
If he tried to today.
I'm going to have amnesia
And start right in from scratch --
With a shining, brand new heart
Without a mend or patch.
I'm going to have amnesia
Not be a robot man
Because a home must have a heart
And someone's loving hand.
I'm going to have amnesia,
And I'm not going to fail.
So here I go old doctor man
Just watch the old smoke trail.
Good-bye
- Beulah B. Pearson
And so 'tis spring. The feeling's grand.
Wee blades of grass march hand in hand
Across the barren face of lawn
To halt there and salute the dawn.
An so 'tis spring. A veil I see
Of lovely, spidery filigree
And delicate shadowy lace
Across an ancient building face.
And so 'tis spring. Along the river
Where pussy willows sway and quiver
And romp around in their delight
From dawn until the curtained night.
And so 'tis spring. As the serenade
In fruit trees which are on parade
As they on petal carpets tread
With Easter bonnets on their heads.
- Beulah B. Pearson
He stood beside the open grave
No tears yet had he shed...
But eyes like shattered window panes
Look from his soul instead...
A broken heart clasped in his hand
He stood as in a trance,
He had no knowledge then of time
Nor knew he condolence...
- Beulah B. Pearson
Don't try to make the roses bloom
Upon my cheeks today.
They bloomed for you on yesterday
And you were out at play.
Don't try to light the fires anew
That once burned in my heart.
There's nothing left but ashes now,
No kindle there to start.
- Beulah B. Pearson
Au auction of dreams to clean up my heart
Some a bit damaged almost from the start,
Some mended up and used through the year
But over them I have shed many tears.
An auction of dreams, will sell them out cheap
For keeping them 'round makes me want to weep;
Having an auction to clean up the lot.
It's starting right now so be on the dot.
An auction of dreams, the finance is low
There is no insurance, This you must know.
Some repossessions, I can't guarantee
Dreams that were broken and came back on me.
An auction of dreams, as long as they last
Making a clearinghouse out of the past;
I've salvaged parts of those that were broken
Every thing goes, each little token.
An auction of dreams, all models and makes
Won in life's game at very high stakes
My heart has gone broke, I'm in bankruptcy
If you're looking for dreams just come and see me.
- Beulah B. Pearson
The hills, what monstrous tabby cats
Are basking in the sun.
The aspen trees, the peacocks gay
Beside the water runs.
A huge half-dormant snake now crawls
Along the river bed
And yonder distant mountain top
Is but an elephant head.
- Beulah B. Pearson
Where miles of ribboned highway
Is looped at mountain's crest,
I found the loveliest bouquet
Pinned high on Nature's breast.
I saw this flaming, huge corsage,
Of leaves which frost had kissed,
Resting on her rainbow dress
And sprayed with silver mist.
On streamers gently reaching out,
Like some kind helping hand,
I climbed up to the mountain top
My vision to command.
- Beulah B. Pearson
I know a man who always tries
To wear the boss' pants
And says he would do this and that
if he but had the chance.
But when Luck finally came his way
And he was given that
He made a fool out of himself
And let his friends down flat.
He knew all of the answers --
At least he thought he did.
But 'twasn't long before he found
Himself upon the skid.
He landed at the bottom
Just fell all in a mass
But, still, he couldn't realize
He'd made himself an ass.
When he'd lost everything he had
And all that he could borrow,
He then expected other folks
To share his loss and sorrow.
So he now labors through the day
To earn his daily bread
But still bemoans the fact that he
Should be boss instead.
Now if there be a man about
Who wears his own small size,
Though humble he may often seem
In other people's eyes,
I'd like to meet that man today
And when I do I'll take
His hand within my own and say,
"COME BROTHER LET US SHAKE!"
- Beulah B. Pearson
He stood beside the open door
And watched the others go,
He'd planned so much this very thing --
Relinquishment came slow.
He turned in disappointed grief,
His eyes like misted glass;
I could not beat to see the hurt --
All hope had gone at last!
Then over him a deluge swept
Swift as torrential rain.
It bathed his aching heart and soothed
But left a lasting stain.
- Beulah B. Pearson
When all the world is white with snow,
And frosty trees stand row on row,
'Tis then I am content,
Forgetting all my earthly woe
To watch the dying embers glow,
Or on a book intent.
I travel in a foreign land
With my prince charming hand in hand,
Or with a Knight of old.
I build the castle of my dreams --
Go floating down the tropic streams --
And find a pot of gold.
When I awaken from these dreams
My life is dull, it sometimes seems,
And I am often sad.
But I have something left, I find --
A mem'ry ling'ring in my mind
That makes me still feel glad.
- Beulah B. Pearson
(Published in the Oregon Journal, 1938 and read over KFJJ in Portland, Oregon.)