For the blank
Stare
Of the fish tank,
thank
the shark
Who dwelt in the dark
He has had his wish
And eaten all the fish,
But can no longer glare
As consuming his source of food
Perforce
The reaper stark
Did intrude
And made the shark
His food …
There was a young lady called Una
Who went to sea in a schooner
She shared that boat
With a flatulent goat
And wished the journey was over sooner …!
IT IS always a temptation to an armed and agile nation
To call upon a neighbour and to say: –
“We invaded you last night – we are quite prepared to fight,
Unless you pay us cash to go away.”
And that is called asking for Dane-geld,
And the people who ask it explain
That you’ve only to pay ’em the Dane-geld
And then you’ll get rid of the Dane!
It is always a temptation for a rich and lazy nation,
To puff and look important and to say: –
“Though we know we should defeat you,
we have not the time to meet you.
We will therefore pay you cash to go away.”
And that is called paying the Dane-geld;
But we’ve proved it again and again,
That if once you have paid him the Dane-geld
You never get rid of the Dane.
It is wrong to put temptation in the path of any nation,
For fear they should succumb and go astray;
So when you are requested to pay up or be molested,
You will find it better policy to say: —
“We never pay any-one Dane-geld,
No matter how trifling the cost;
For the end of that game is oppression and shame,
And the nation that plays it is lost!”
—
There was a young lady called Jane
Who suffered a terrible pain
When she sat on a drawing pin.
Her friend did grin
And said, “no pain, no gain”!
You can’t kid
A kidder
Kiddo.
I did
Go
A-kidding
Long before you ever did.
So no, I won’t do your bidding
Kid!
Passion
Ashen
As a cold winter’s day.
The hounds bray
And he will go hunting for the sly fox.
They will box
In the dim light of morn.
Fate wont bother to yawn
And there will be a draw
As before.
Acting is your forte.
Your part you did play
(Was it really only yesterday)?
So incredibly well
That it was almost impossible to tell
What in your heart did dwell.
It was a mere sinch
To convince
Me you meant no harm.
But your charm
Should have sounded an alarm.
I know you to well
And the slight smell
Of doubt
Ought to have caused me to throw you out.
I suspect
Someone tells you your lines.
While I ought to have seen the signs
There is a grudging respect
For your acting skill.
I wonder will
You fluff a line
One fine day
And stand, tongue tied with nothing to say?
Surely your charm
Can not forever disarm
The suspicion
Of those who should recognise pedition.
Yes, one day you will trip
Slip
And fall off the stage.
The audience will turn
In rage
And learn
Who feeds you those almost perfect lines.
Outer beauty shows
And throws
Shadows of distraction.
The magnet feels an attraction
To steel
And is drawn to seal
Its destiny in unholy communion,
A union of empty clang
And bang.
The fine façade
Hides a hard
Truth.
The roof
Is rotten
And forgotten
Woodworm Has eaten through
The fine oak beams
Which, at first sight it seems
Should hold true.
The magnet will rue
The day it did settle
On metal
Base.
Yet to the beautiful face
It is drawn, As a fly
To the sty,
Where it will wallow
In hollow
Joys, then die.
The rain pours
As I read poets long past heeding applause.
Their words will continue to speak
For many a week.
While papers display
Pictures of prancing idiots who have nothing to say.
The celebrities are revered for a while.
Their style
Is all the rage
Until the papers engage
In character assassination.
It is the sport of the nation
To throw stones,
Yet bones are brittle
And journalists loyalties fickle.
Beware for people may find
Behind
Your rictus grin
Your own particular sin!
Poets anthologised stand
As beacons in this troubled land.
While half-dressed celebrities are here today.
They strut and threat
Then fade away.
Swimming in sulphurous waters
With the daughters
Of Eve.
Adam doth grieve
But woman does not deceive
For man does freely choose
His innocence to lose.
Man desires
Paradise
While the serpent sires
Vice
Under indifferent skies.
The serpent lies
Apparently slumbering,
While secretly numbering
Every notch
That does blotch
His once perfect bed posts.
Ghosts
Themselves flaunt
And haunt
The dismal caverns of the mind.
No peace can man find
With the vampire
Desire
For she on herself feeds
And seeds
Lust
In we human dust.
