When a wicked young man named Ted
Said, “I shall chop off your head!”,
And his friend Max
Passed him an axe,
I found I was dreaming in bed!
When a wicked young man named Ted
Said, “I shall chop off your head!”,
And his friend Max
Passed him an axe,
I found I was dreaming in bed!
Some men take their pleasure
Amidst the sweet heather
With a pretty young lass.
But all grass
Turns to hay
And the poor poet’s lay
Must end in dust.
Sometimes I find my mind
Dwelling on love and sleep.
My lover’s kiss
Is passing bliss.
But the Reaper keeps
His special kiss
For my inevitable sleep.
I heard a solitary bird
Sing over tombs
On a sunny February day.
I know gloom
And beauty
While he
Knows not mortality.
When I accidentally entered a striptease bar
And got accosted by Pretty Miss Marr,
I said to Miss Coral,
“Are you girls quite moral?”,
As I returned that young lady’s bra …
When I met a philosopher of this nation
Who said, “we’re all living in a simulation”.
I gave him a big kick
And whacked him with a stick,
Which was fine as we’re in a simulation!
I can not buy the sky
Or the restless sea.
I have bought sweet scented flowers
But they and I
Are not the sea and sky.
The brevity of hours
Are unknown to flowers.
They fear not
The graveyard plot.
You took your shoes
And left me alone in my flat.
Your right to choose,
I can’t argue against that.
Fantasies oft run riot
In a man’s fevered head.
Better to stay quiet,
For such things can not be unsaid.
Poets compose rhyme
In perfect time
To love and art
While the newsreaders tell
How We’re going to hell
In a battered old handcart.
In the early morn
The carpet is warm
Under my feet
As I recall
How leaves fall
In the wood nearby.
The seasons repeat.
But I will die.