There is a young lady named Christine
Who I swear that I’ve never seen.
Her husband Lee
Is looking for me.
But I’ve never seen blonde Christine!
Christine Who I’ve Never Seen
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Category Archives: literature
When A Rather Vicious Looking Bunny
When a rather vicious looking bunny
Said, “give me all your money!”.
And I said, “are you a highwayman?”,
He said, “no, my name is Dan,
But my friends all call me Honey!”.
Do Good Men Count Sheep
Do good men count sheep
As they enter dreamless sleep.
And bad men count heels
(And, losing count of deals
Done for fun
Fall into a troubled sleep)?
Do good men cherish each part
Of a lover’s heart.
Whilst wicked men
Take up their pen
When a girl departs,
And immortalise them in art?
“Ode to a Nightingale” by John Keats, read by Stephen Fry
Yesterday evening, I ran a quiz for friends on Zoom. One of the questions I posed was who wrote these lines:
“My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains
My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk,
Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains
One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk:
‘Tis not through envy of thy happy lot,
But being too happy in thine happiness,—
That thou, light-winged Dryad of the trees
In some melodious plot
Of beechen green, and shadows numberless,
Singest of summer in full-throated ease”.
The answer is, of course John Keats, the poem in question being “Ode to a Nightingale”.
Along with “Autumn”, “Ode to a Nightingale” is one of my favourite poems, written by a poet who died at a tragically young age.
You can find a wonderful reading of “Ode to a Nightingale”, read by Stephen Fry here,
.
Caught Up in Thought
Caught up in thought
Amidst these spring flowers.
How many hours
Have I spent
Denying that our time is lent.
Then, birdsong
Breaks through my useless thought.
And I recognise
That human eyes
Do not see for long.
And that I ought
To fill my mind
With birdsong.
Yet, I find
That my brain
Oft runs like an express train
And will not be still.
But, sometimes, its just the sky
And I
And the poignancy of birdsong,
That will not last long.
Girls Online
There was a young lady truly divine
Who spent much of her time online.
When on the internet
Her name was Yvette.
But she was Ted when not online …
He Digs
He digs.
She
Indifferent is,
But likes what he
Will give
To dig.
He digs
A hole
And, therein, looses his soul.
She
Indifferent is
But likes what he
Will give,
To dig.
He has dug
Many a hole.
Her hug
Is cold.
But she
Likes what he
Will give
To dig.
Lou Who Was Not Political
There was a young lady named Lou
Who said, “I never will politics do.
My nextdoor neighbour
Always votes Labour.
But I’m a Conservative through and through!”.
The Pubs Are All Closed
Girls in short clothes
Still go by.
But, the pubs are all closed
And I
Feel the unreal, steal
Over England.
One should not
Shake a hand.
But the weather is hot
And girls in short clothes
Go by.
But the pubs are closed
And I
Voice the unspoken,
“How many little communities will reopen?
And how many die?”.
The pub is part
(And sometimes the heart)
Of local society.
How much variety
Will we lose?
Its not merely booze
But birds of diverse feather
Coming together,
Through diversity in unity.
I have the park.
But thoughts dark
Come to me.
Girls in short clothes
Still go by
But the pubs are closed
And variety
Can, so easily die.
There Was A Young Lady Named Maude
There was a young lady named Maude
Who, feeling extremely bored
Said, to miss Bess,
Let us both undress”.
And the general unsheathed his great sword.
K Morris - Poet 