There was a young lady named Flow
Who’s morals where rather low.
We sat down together
In the scented heather
And the rest you shall not know …
Category Archives: creative writing
The Game Of Fame
Far and near
Oft I hear
The echo chamber resound
With the sweet sound
Of those who play,
Day after day
The game
Of fame.
Sometimes I join in
With the happy din,
Or with a cynical grin
Stay away.
But o how tempting it is to play
The game
Of fame.
There Was A Young Journalist Named Lou
There was a young journalist named Lou
Who wrote a story that wasn’t true.
A lawyer called Moat
Composed a strong note
In which he threatened to sue!
Cryogenics
A recent article in “The Daily Mail, entitled “Humans Frozen by Cryogenics Could Be Revived Using Stem Cells” http://www.dailymail.co.uk/sciencetech/article-5462963/Humans-frozen-cryogenics-revived-using-stem-cells.html, reminded me of my poem, “Cryonics which is reproduced below:
“It is a will-o’-the-wisp, followed by the frightened or blind,
Who themselves bind
To the delusion, that the mist does not forever close
Over mouth and nose.
There are few posies for the departed,
Just an idea started
In the mind
Of those who would salvation find
In a deep freeze,
Designed to please
The ego
Of people who fear to go
Down that dark track
From whence none come back”.
“Cryonics” can be found in my collection of poetry, “My Old Clock I Wind” http://moyhill.com/clock/.
There Was A Young Lady Named Bell
There was a young lady named Bell
Who quite spectacularly fell.
I was elsewhere at the time
Composing an intricate rhyme,
In a place called Dingley Dell.
—
There was a young lady named Bell
Who quite spectacularly fell.
I was elsewhere at the time
Engrossed in rhyme
As I did her mother tell …
There Was A Young Lady Named Flair
There was a young lady named Flair
Who entered the wolf’s lair.
The wolf heaved a sigh
Then, with a tear in his eye
He devoured that young lady Flair …
—
There was a young lady named Flair
Who entered the wolf’s lair.
The wolf being a bit of a lad
Said “I am really most glad
To have you here in my lair …
Poetry: Making Music With Words
Why Do Certain Sounds Bring Sadness To Mind?
Why do certain sounds bring
Sadness to mind?
I find
That when birds sing
And engine’s notes are in distance
Lost, that my resistance
To melancholy
Is low
And I go
In search of Keat’s Nightingale.
Yet tis folly
I think
To drink
Too much of Keat’s brimming cup.
But o how sweet it is to sup
At melancholy’s table
Provided we are able
To partake of her store
For a while,
Then, with a wisthful smile
Withdraw.
There Was A Young Student From Stroud
There was a young student from Stroud
Who wrote “death be not proud”.
His teacher Matt
Said “Donne penned that!
You plagiarising young man from Stroud!”.
Waking Early
On the cabinet, next to my bed, is a talking alarm clock with a big yellow button which, when pressed announces the time.