I once met a wicked cat
Who attacked me with a bat.
When I said, “Percy!
Show me some mercy!”,
He laughed and raised that bat!
I once met a wicked cat
Who attacked me with a bat.
When I said, “Percy!
Show me some mercy!”,
He laughed and raised that bat!
Fortunately, I have a full-time job which pays the bills. Poetry does not, I believe pay the bills for the overwhelming majority of those engaged in composing it. Ultimately I write for the love of writing. I am also delighted when readers tell me how my work touched them.
When naughty Miss White and Miss Winning
Came round to mine for some sinning,
We got covered in cake
While a vicar named Lake
Condemned us for all of our sinning!
When the mirror finally breaks
There will be no lakes
Of pointless tears,
Just wasted years,
Reflected straight back
In shards of broken glass.
When a man whose name was Dave
Said, “I’ll sleep in this ’ere grave”,
A ghost called Clair
Said, “that isn’t fair!
I’d like some privacy in my grave!”.
When a young lady smoking some Pot
Said, “do you think that I’m hot?”,
They Said to her, “Moriah!
You’ve just started a fire!
You need to stop dropping that Pot!”.
There was a young man named Dave
Who attended a very large rave,
Where a girl with a beard
Said, “some say that I’m weird,
But I really don’t like to shave!”.
“Would you like to,
Again? before I go …?”
Her kiss!
Her hands!
His momentary bliss.
Time never stands
Still. Goodbyes are spoken
And banks open.
When I die
What will people see
In my poetry?
Will they read me
At all?
I will not know
Whether tis so
For in my pall
My poetry
Must surely go.
Though perhaps it may
Not be so.
A young lady who comes from Britain
Is known as a great sex kitten.
My dear old dog
Is known as Hogg,
And my kitten she comes from Britain …!