There was a young man named Nile
Who fell in love with a crocodile.
The creature said “come close my dear
And let me whisper in your ear”.
And she smiled a beautiful smile …
There was a young man named Nile
Leave a reply
Category Archives: poetry
This rhyme is out of time
This rhyme
Is out of time
And I have not the will
To set it right
Tonight.
I am no sage
Yet dream of a golden age
Where clocks kept slow time
And to rhyme
Was thought the proper thing to do.
Perhaps this view
Is at least half true.
No Rainbow
‘Tis said that the fool
Can not his passions overrule.
I know
‘Tis so.
But do those who have never known
The empty hours spent alone
Have the right to wag a finger of blame
And proclaim
“Shame on he
Who bribes the unwilling she
With a pot of gold
And does not care
That no rainbow leads her there …”.
What is the point of poetry?
A good article in “Spiked”, by Joe Nutt, entitled “What is the point of poetry?” I agree with the thrust of this piece and, in particular with the concluding sentences,
“In the great and even not so great outdoors, I notice much more. Poetry has been, and is, a way for me to understand my life better, and because of that, I believe those closest to me benefit, too. Because I share the world with flesh and blood living beings, not with cables, screens and keyboards”.
For the article please visit http://www.spiked-online.com/newsite/article/what-is-the-point-of-poetry/20778#.WmMqfIinzIV.
There Was A Young Lady Named Sally
There was a young lady named Sally
Who said “I shall your sins tally”.
I made reply “and I yours,
But behind firmly closed doors
Who knows how we dilly and dally! …
There Was A Young Labrador Named Muff
There was a young Labrador named Muff
Who’s knowledge of grammar was extremely rough.
He thought correct spelling a pain
And said “I will always maintain
That all one needs is a woof!”.
With A Click Of Heel
With a click of heel
And a flick
Of her hair.
She passes, light as air.
As she wriggles her hips
He trips
Over each word.
He may be absurd
But an eel
Is not immortal
An Anoying Young Man Named Guy
An annoying young man named Guy
Said “this music makes me want to die!”.
So they turned it up real loud
And someone brought him a shroud,
But Guy he refused to die!
Visitation
I dreamed of poetry yesternight
And awoke to the delight
Of your clear, cold cry.
And I
Was left wondering why
Each visitation you make
Does my complacency shake.
I was not long awake
Yet your cold, clear cry
Will with me stay
Until my dying day.
The Wind Is Blowing
The wind is blowing
And soon I will be going
Outside.
Or perhaps I should hide
In here
As the weather is drear
And the prospect of writing
Is somewhat inviting.
