There was a young materialist named Ted
Who remarked “when we are dead, we are dead”.
He went to Hell
Where the Devil does dwell,
That unfortunate young materialist named Ted!
There Was A Young Materialist Named Ted
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Category Archives: poetry
Whispering Girls
Whispering girls, I know
not what you are saying.
Perhaps
‘Tis a kind of praying,
For your first lapse
Happened not long ago.
One cold,
Rigid as an ironing board.
The other bold.
Their desire for gold,
And his aching lust,
All must
End in dust.
There Was A Young Man Named Ken
There was a young man named Ken
Who entered the lion’s den.
The creature rubbed it’s eyes
And remarked with surprise,
“I nearly didn’t recognise you, Ken”!
Final Straw
An arm thick as the final straw.
The lure
Of the not quite forbidden.
Many have ridden
Down the hidden
track:
Lush
With fragrant bush
And unable or unwilling to turn back
Have themselves been caught
In a mire of desire,
(A secret fire
They aught
Not to have ignited
Or in it’s flames delighted.
‘Ere they found
Their desire was with sorrow crowned
Crying
A girl crying
On a train.
Me trying
To restrain
The human inclination to say
“Are you okay?”
But what right have I
To intrude on a girl who does cry?
My dog noses
Her.
I swear
His compassion exposes
The British reserve
In me.
As I swerve
Aside, and let her be.
Seeking Poetic Inspiration
My guide dog, Trigger seeking poetic inspiration on his back (his best work comes to him in such moments).
“My Old Clock I Wind” will soon be available as an audio download
Following on from my post of 8 August, in which I said that I was exploring the possibility of having “My Old Clock I Wind and Other Poems” recorded, using Audiobook Creation Exchange, I am pleased to announce that my work is now in the process of being recorded. I will, of course post here once the audio version of “My Old Clock” is available.
In the meantime, anyone who is interested in reading “My Old Clock” can find it in paperback and ebook formats on the publisher’s website http://moyhill.com/clock/
The book is also available in braille, for sale or loan from the Royal National Institute of Blind People
The Abyss of Bliss
Who, while gazing into the abyss,
Has not seen
The devil grin,
And been
Tempted by the bliss
Of an undiscovered sin?
There Was A Young Man From My Local
There was a young man from my local
Who maintained that he was wholly teetotal.
Each day he would sup,
From his tea cup
And he wabbled as he left my local …
(the term “local” signifies a public house or pub in the UK.
A person who is teetotal never drinks alcohol.
The character in the above limerick is, of course wholly ficticious in nature).
A Sober Satyr Reflects
So many angels with broken wings.
Do fortune’s slings
Bring them low?
Some things
I know
And wish it where not so.
Heaven is here
When angels are near,
But as the years advance
The dance
Is ever more staid.
I have with angels played
And for the pleasure paid.
