Tag Archives: crystal palace poets

After a Night of Delight with Miss White

After a night of delight with Miss White

We got caught by my wife Mrs Right.

She comes from Bristol

And packs a pistol –

We ducked as she shot out the light!

When I Met the Devil in Town

When I met the Devil in town,

I looked at him with a frown,

And said to him, “sir!

You must know Miss Flair!

As you are wearing her see-through nightgown!”.

A Garden in Early Spring

In early spring

A flock of pigeons takes flight.

A blackbird sings.

I could decide to go inside

As the temperature has dropped.

 

 

Yet, the blackbird has not stopped

His song, which brings delight.

So I stay as the day

Moves, imperceptibly, towards the night.

The Play of the Sunlight

I watch with delight

The play of the sunlight

On my wardrobe.

 

I came out of night

Unrobed into sunlight

To smile for a while.

And return to night.

There Once Was an Old Man in a Shroud

There once was an old  man in a shroud

Who said, “this music is far too loud!”.

They said to him, “Ted!

We thought you where dead!”.

He said, “yes! And  this music is too loud!”.

But a Little While

I have known

Hands cold as stone

And the kiss

That brings no bliss.

 

I have lost myself in lust

And forgot the dust

In a young woman’s painted smile

For a little while.

 

On this cold spring day

I know my grey

And all girl’s painted smiles

Will, as this day

Stay but a little while.

 

Magyar

When a young lady wearing no bra

Said, “do you know I’m a Magyar?”,

And I said, “so you are Hungary?”,

She replied, “no, I’ve just had tea!

But I just can’t find my bra!”

My Midnight Stroll

As I strolled home at just after midnight

I met a young lady under a street light.

We spent our time

In discussing fine rhyme,

As I explained to a police constable that night …!

The Hospital Fountain

I recall the fountain’s fall

Reminding me of rain.

Hospital  patients come and go.

Sometimes, the water stops,

Then begins again.

But when sickles chop

Life’s flow stops.

 

The Poetical Young Nurse

I once knew a poetical young nurse

Who was fond of composing fine verse.

She wrote one on Paul

Who said, as I recall,

“Why are you writing on me nurse!”