Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, ARTIE BUCK'S MACHINE, by P. C. KIBBE


Poetry Explorer

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

ARTIE BUCK'S MACHINE, by                    
First Line: By intense toil a rig I wrought
Last Line: And crush cold logic's steady light.
Subject(s): Automobiles; Love - Materialism; Cars


By intense toil a rig I wrought
By which I read my neighbor's thought.
I made it so that I could set
A dial that would always let
Me pick a neighbor that I knew,
And it would tell his thoughts so true.
I'm sure you'd laugh to see the way
His likes and loves and hates would stray.

I turned it onto Bill McPheer,
Who lives in a small cottage near.
He fussed because the crops were bad,
And many things he wished he had,
And then of money's urgent need,
And of the garden he should weed.
He'd like to get a better job,
Tonight he'd stop and talk with Bob.
A world of other petty things
Flashed out to me on tireless wings.

I turned it onto Mary Brash,
On whom I spend my love,—and cash.
She'd promised me she'd love for aye,
And marry me some other day:
'I like him some, but I can see
He's not the kind for girls like me,
For modern girls must have some fun,
And pretty autos that will run
With smoother purr and greater power
In tune to eighty miles per hour.
Poor Artie Buck, he and his car
Are slow and clumsy and by far
Behind the times for girls like me,
Who have a world of things to see.
Now Teddy Jones has got a car
That's new and bright and faster far,
And he'll whizz past Arlena Moe,
Who thinks she's smart with her new beau—
But Artie gives me lots of things,
I sure would miss all that he brings;
I can't keep him and Teddy too,—
I wonder what I ought to do."

I turned it onto Mother Wright,
A woman old and poor of sight:
Her thoughts beneath the surface lay,
I could not tell you what they say.
She worded thoughts of common ill
And daily cares, as people will.
That's on the top,—beneath it lies
A soul that God would not despise.
A flood of love for man and God,
And all that live above the sod.
I wondered then if logic ought
To be the rule of human thought.
Might it not be that force and might
That crush beneath it human right,
Are based on logic's subtle claim,
And selfish strife and wrongful aim;
While truth and love and right are all
A wordless impulse that will call
The truest springs of human right,
And crush cold logic's steady light.





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