If I write a sad
Poem today
People will say
He is sad.
If I compose a glad
Poem today
They will, likewise
Say,
He is feeling glad.
But they
Can not see my eyes.
If I write a sad
Poem today
People will say
He is sad.
If I compose a glad
Poem today
They will, likewise
Say,
He is feeling glad.
But they
Can not see my eyes.
His passion grows.
She exposes.
The poet composes.
But, in his heart
He knows
That art
Is not a rose.
Pan plays on his pipe
To the delight
Of woodland nymphs.
Who have, long since
Ceased to see,
In his ageing pipe,
Beyond the delight
Of his poetry.
A young man named Hogg
Has a prolific poetry blog.
His verse is first rate,
But a well known critic called Kate,
Says that its written by Hogg’s dog!
I know a young lady named Lina,
And many fine gentlemen have seen her.
I wont go into all the detail,
As it would make you turn pale.
But she’s not as bad as Justina!
Whilst out shopping
I see girl’s shoes
And can not help but lose
Myself in a shocking
Thought,
Of stiletto shoes,
Bought,
By young women who,
At night,
Bring delight
With the loss of shoe
And stocking.
But I have shopping,
still to do …
When I said to a girl called Lou,
“Have you seen my shoe?”,
She said, “after a night of great passion
It is the new fashion,
For a girl to retain a gentleman’s shoe!”.
Great waves
Turn to graves.
Although one may find
A ripple is left behind.
But I should not say
That waves go away
Lest I offend
Those who would pretend
That they, forever, stay.
Some girls say
“No way”,
(And mean what they say).
But others may,
(For pay)
Remain, for a time,
And forever be,
That anonymous she,
Immortalised in rhyme.
I fantasise
Over fantasies
That will never be.
A girl’s eyes
May tease.
Or, just possibly, she
Desires to please,
But I,
Can not see.