he fished one out from under Kath
committing an erratum.
Drawn from a magnet to the patch
where moss grows wild and freely
his hand got drawn into a snatch
and all was touchy-feely.
Who thought that grapes would disappear
inside a tub of bubbles
he let her have a sip of beer
which added to his troubles.
She lectured him, my dear old man
you may not know the reason
I share the bath with Maryanne
and grapes are out of season.
your son the poet!So when you lookat the five hundred,they have been fixed,so says Poo-hound.So if they havegiven the hatredI would be downby many notches.Judge for yourselvesand read my poemsI’ll try to write themin better style,and in the endwe will sing praisesfor those whose poemsdied with them.
just one by one,down to the village,off the top ofWeller’s Mountain.There was an accident,when one, with clumsy feetslipped in the mudand, instantly, the log,now free and full of glee,rolled down to join the others.It stunned them all, andwith the wisdom of the agesthey heaved them once againonto sore shoulders,to carry all up to the top.With…
a thousand books strewn all aroundnew phrases of old masters found.Of course, he chose some quite obscureno soul would be exactly sureof déjà- vu, and thus assumethat in that little cranial rooma wordsmith’s shop was residentwhere bold and truly competentcreations could be made from scratch,each day another brilliant batch.One day the Vicar stopped to readhe…
chuckling loudly about the great deal300 horses oh what a sweet blast.Coppers are hanging on to my tail,ought to be chasin’ the crooks in town,planting my foot, stay out of jailwhat’s going up surely comes down.God gave me this Daimler Benzain’t my corned beef if laws of the landdo not conform, I have great friends,up…
as, after all, He knows me stillas one who would ignore His will.Yet, here on earth, I make my rulesfor butchers, bakers and for fools.Thus, hear me boy, as I explainlest you end up another Cain,just climbing Promise Mountain isin my view (and perhaps in His)no license to stake out a claimin Carnal Valley’s hidden…
a true harquebusierwearing jacket and tie.And all women could belike the old battle-axin their own fantasymade of honeybee’s wax.Hence the harquebusiertakes his weapon to bedas a true musketeerwith his bullets of lead.
