  Harry Lee Marriner, newspaper poet, was born at Louisville, Kentucky, March 24, 1871, the son of a schoolman. He was educated by his father and in the public schools of his native city. He engaged in a dozen different businesses before he suddenly discovered that he could write, which discovery caused him to accept a position on the now defunct Chicago Dispatch, from which he went to The Evening Post, of Louisville, remaining with that paper for several years. In 1902 Mr. Marriner went to Texas and became assistant city editor of the Dallas News; and he has since filled practically all the editorial positions, being at the present time Sunday editor of both the Dallas News and the Galveston News, which are under the same management. In 1907 Mr. Marriner originated a feature consisting of a daily human interest poem, printed on the front page of his two papers. For some time he concealed his identity under the title of "The News Staff Poet," but in 1909 he discarded his cloak and came out into the sunlight of reality in order that his hundreds of admirers throughout the
WHEN MOTHER CUTS HIS HAIR [From When You and I Were Kids (New York, 1909)] How doth the mind of man go back to when he was a boy; When feet were full of tan and dust, and life was full of joy; But many a man looks back in fear, for in a time-worn chair, He sees himself draped in a sheet, while Mother cuts his hair. The scissors drag, and sniffles rise when ears lop in the way, And on the porch rain locks of hair like tufts of prairie hay, 'Til in the glass a little boy, his anguish scarcely hid, Looks on himself and views with pain the job that Mother did. The mule may shed in summertime the felt that Nature grew, The rabbit may lose bits of fur, and look like blazes, too; But neither bears that patchwork look, that war map of despair, That zigzags on the small boy's head when Mother cuts his hair. SIR GUMSHOO [From Mirthful Knights in Modern Days (Dallas, 1911)] Sir Gumshoo, known as Wot d'Ell, a noble Knight from Spain, Was one who was so strong a Pro he'd water on the brain. He would not drink a dram at all, or even sniff at it, And just the sight of lager beer would throw him in a fit. It chanced one day Sir Gumshoo rode upon a noble quest— His lady had acquired a cold that settled on her chest, And to the rural districts he repaired, for it was plain He must secure some goosegrease that she might get well again. He found a rude, bucolic rube who had goosegrease to sell; Sir Gumshoo bought about a quart, and all was going well When he who rendered geese to grease made him a stealthy sign And led him to a bottle filled with elderberry wine. The Knight declined; he was a Pro, which fact he did explain; The farmer, sore disgusted, took his goosegrease back again, Whereat the Knight in anguish sore gave up himself for lost And took a fierce and fiery drink with all his fingers crossed. That night he rode as rides a pig upon a circus steed; He clutched his charger 'round the neck, for he was stewed indeed, And, bowing to his lady fair, as bows the wind-tossed pine, He handed her part of a quart of elderberry wine. |
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