The May Queen
Is in her finery seen,
And many a staid
Maid
Will today
Discover another way
Through the dance, as Baccus and Cupid combine
In love and wine.
Is it rude
To call Cupid
Stupid?
How many girls brood
On such things
As they lose themselves in rings?
The morning after the night before
Alice closed a door.
“Drink me” the potion said.
She drank without emotion
And now a possibility is dead.
There was a young man called Locke
Who wished to stop the clock.
He broke the machine,
But I did glean
That time outlasted Locke.
This rhyme
May, for a time
Survive. While I
Shall surely die.
On dark nights the fawn
does the wolf engulf
In such exquisite delights
But come the dawn
Both wolf and fawn
Are left,
Bereft
Listening to silence’s interminable yawn
There was a young lady called Ellie
Who was overly fond of jelly.
She ate it for breakfast, lunch and tea
And it was plain to see,
That Ellie had a very large belly!
“Say,
Come the 1st of May,
Will you stay?
Shall we make romance
Our goal
As we dance around the Maypole?
And demonstrate to God above
Our abiding love?”
“My darling I will stay,
Come the 1st of May.
But you must pay
For my new dress
So as to impress.
Each girl
As I around the Maypole twirl.
Why dearest one, your face shows such distress …”.
Desire broaches,
While sense reproaches.
To go down that well worn path
And laugh
With Kath
Or Lou
Would, its true
Be easy as the wine that flows,
And the hole-in-the wall
From whence, man knows
All
Passing pleasures fall
There was a young lady called Claire
Who married an elderly billionaire.
She spent his money on shoes
And many a world cruise.
He tripped, and died on the stair …!
The Romans threw
Christians to the lions.
True
This we no longer do,
For modern man is civilised.
Yet, it is no surprise
That there is now reality TV
Where we
Watch with glee
As the inadequate, Sad
Or quite frankly bad
Are flayed alive.
We viewers pretend not to derive
Any satisfaction
From the interaction
Of a host who weeps crocodile tears
As the audience in turn sneers
And jeers.
So we self righteously shake our head
At the living dead.
Today society is humane
For the gladiators now remain
To be pointed at in the street,
For they are no lions to eat
Them whole.
Merely their soul
Is by the entertainment industry taken,
Leaving them forsaken.
But some do tell,
There is no soul to sell
