Tag Archives: poem

Letter Y

Dear Har-old,

Frank Bettger said, “To become enthusiastic-act enthusiastic. Force yourself to act enthusiastic, and you’ll become enthusiastic.” Fortunately, you don’t have to force the act. Natural. Your enthusiasm is so contagious it affects those around you when you let it be an outward expression. Your enthusiasm works constantly within you. I want to see you get mad and pound your fist with excitement. This poem will help with that. This is another poem I ran across in Frank Bettger’s How I Raised Myself From Failure To Success In Selling. Stanley Gettis repeated this poem almost every morning for twenty years. It helped him generate enthusiasm for the day. This poem was written by Herbert Kauffman and has a good title . . .


You are the man who used to boast

That you’d achieve the uttermost,

Some day.

You merely wished a show,

To demonstrate how much you know

And prove the distance you can go . . . .

Another year we’ve just passed through.

What new ideas came to you?

How many big things did you do?

Time . . . left twelve fresh months in your care

How many of them did you share

With opportunity and dare

Again where you so often missed?

We do not find you on the list of Makers Good.

Explain the fact!

Ah no, ’twas not the chance you lacked!

As usual-you failed to act!



P.S. L stands for loser. The Y is the letter champions resemble when they raise both their arms. Victory baby!



If I Could Just Get Organized!

Dear Har-old,

I ran across this poem by Douglas Malloch while reading Frank Bettger‘s How I Raised Myself From Failure To Success In Selling many years ago. Read it and reread it until you know it by heart. It did something for Frank. It did something for me which means it had to do something for you. So, let it do something for you. You know what that “something” is? That something is self-organization. You have to do a better job at managing Har-old and his time. This letter is continuation of My Butt Itches. Here is Douglas Malloch’s poem:

There may be nothing wrong with you,

The way you live, the work you do,

But I can very plainly see

Exactly what is wrong with me.

It isn’t that I’m indolent

Or dodging duty by intent;

I work as hard as anyone,

And yet I get so little done,

That morning goes, the noon is here,

Before I know, the night is near,

And all around me, I regret

Are things I haven’t finished yet.

If I could just get organized!

I oftentimes have realized

Not all that matters is the man;

The man must also have a plan

With you, there may be nothing wrong,

But here’s my trouble right along;

I do the things that don’t amount

To very much, of no account,

That really seem important though

And let a lot of matters go.

I nibble this, I nibble that,

But never finish what I’m at.

I work as hard as anyone,

And yet, I get so little done,

I’d do so much you’d be surprised,

If I could just get organized!