I know a young lady from the city
Who is extremely slim and pretty.
Though I’ve heard a rumour
That she has a sense of humour,
I’ve never found her witty!
—
There once was a young lady of Bath
Who made a most terrible gaffe
When she mistook a crowded pub
For her very own tub,
And went in there to bath!
When a young man named Mike
Said, “there’s this girl I like”,
I made reply
With a deep sigh,
“She doesn’t like you Mike!”.
When my friend whose name is Amy
Feeling that life was a little samey,
Eloped with me
To a place by the sea,
Her mother she really blamed me!
I once had a very good friend
Who said, “our friendship will one day end”.
His words gave me much sorrow
So some money I did borrow,
From that man who was once my friend …
There was a young lady named Samantha
Who ran away with a Panther.
But the panther got bored
And said, “good lord,
I must lose this young lady Samantha!”.
You left me alone
At the top of the street,
And I went home
While your feet,
Encased in shoes
You did not choose
To lose
Took you back
Down your own track.
Or perhaps I lack
The ability to understand
Your hug and hand.
Now I wait
And ponder on sense
And the present,
Or the past tense.
Is it too late?
A pointless question to state
Perhaps.
To collapse
Into meloncholy
Is folly.
I have a choice
To be morose
Or falsely jolly.
‘Tis better to use my voice
And ask than to drown
My frown
In a glass
Over a lass
Who may
Not think of me that way.
Lover or friend?
‘Tis better to know, than to pretend.
(Photo courtesy of Pixabay)
I am again honored and humbled to announce that my poem, She Sits By The Window, was published this morning on Vita Brevis Poetry Magazine! My thanks and gratitude once again to Brian Geiger, Editor of Vita Brevis, for finding my work worthy of inclusion.
Via She Sits By The Window – Poetry By Walt Page
She sits by the window
Hour after hour
Waiting and watching
Her loneliness chills her
And she shivers
But she still sits
Hoping and praying
It’s 1965
He was drafted
Sent to a far off jungle
To fight for the red, white and blue
Two sad faced soldiers
Had come yesterday
But she knows
They must have been wrong
So she sits by the window
Waiting and watching
Hoping and praying
~The Tennessee Poet~
©Walt Page 2019 All Rights Reserved
The temperature has dropped.
The pendulum chops
Second upon second away.
As I write.
I think
On how we did drink
And at lovers play
That night
In the warm pub.
Oh how I would,,
That ’twere yesterday.
There was a young lady named Nell
Who composed a villanelle.
But it wasn’t quite right
So she stayed up all night
Perfecting her villanelle.
Most things can be bought.
Peas and rice
Are nice,
And vice
That too can be bought.
I know
That one can buy
A semblance ,
A resemblance
Of love, though
Cupid’s arrow
Is never shot.
A hot
Date will thrill
The man of pleasure
But, at his leisure
A thought
May, perchance
Come, “’tis fun
To dance
With the escort.
To hold her tight
Throughout the night.
But, come the morning light …
Love can not be bought”.
Or perhaps he doesn’t care
And, with his graying hair
He continues down pleasure’s primrose path,
Where the devil does silently laugh
And whispers low
“You know
I will have you in the end
My friend.
Paid for charms
Can not save thee from the arms
Of the devil of lonliness
When her party dress comes off
You may hear me cough
And say
One day
You will die alone
Or by the side
Of a girl who can not decide
Her name
Which she does change
Like the weather.
It comes to the same
Thing in the end,
Though you may pretend
Otherwise, and avert your eyes
From the truth
Of the descending roof”.
K Morris - Poet 