Ere I wrote a word
I heard the morning bird
Who knows not of plot,
Yet he
Inspires poetry.
Keats had his Nightingale.
But All hearts fail.
Though poetry lives on
When poets are gone
Ere I wrote a word
I heard the morning bird
Who knows not of plot,
Yet he
Inspires poetry.
Keats had his Nightingale.
But All hearts fail.
Though poetry lives on
When poets are gone
i have been experimenting with TikTok. If you would like to check out me reading a number of my poems on TikTok please follow this link.
As I walked in a beautiful hollow
A young lady asked me to follow.
She was pretty and witty
And came from the city.
But alas, she was so very hollow!
The lighted department store.
The welcoming pub door
All attract and distract
Us from the fact
That lights go out
And the merry shout
Of the drinker passes
As the final glasses
Of our day
Are cleared away.
I must confess
That I obsess
On autumn leaves.
The trees
Are bare.
My hair
Has turned grey.
I could dye.
But each man’s day
Must end. my friend
There was a young lady named Karen
Who married an old man called Darren.
But he had an affair
With her best friend Claire,
So she left that rat for Sharon!
A young lady whose name is Maddie
Being in search of a sweet sugar daddy
Met a man called Ken
(Who, being fond of men),
Sold Maddie a fine old tea caddy!
There once was a young lady named Whiting
Who, being fond of the new and exciting
Dated a vampire called George,
Who on her did gorge.
Which soon put an end to Miss Whiting!
If my clock antique
Could, somehow speak
What would it say?
Yet, it’s chime
Speaks of time
And my brief day.
Last night as I homeward went
I met a girl from Kent.
When I wrote a rhyme
About the concept of time
She wept and returned to Kent!