There was a young man called Mark
Who lived with a killer shark.
The creature said,
“My future I dread
But yours is very dark”!
There Was A Young Man Called Mark
2 Replies
Tag Archives: poems
The Disquiet of Quiet
The disquiet
Of quiet.
Turn up the sound
And drown
Out the bird
Whose song
Before long
Will stab you to the heart
Causing tears to start.
I, for my part
Listen
Though the tears glisten.
I become a child, for a while
Without guile,
Smile
And yearn to be free
Of me.
Pneumatic
The pneumatic
Girl’s ecstatic
Sigh
Causes him to wonder Why
No passion lights her azure eye.
Such style
And oh, Her smile.
He will resile
But that smile …
“I will play awhile
Then resile”.
It is a beautiful day.
They will make hay
As the sun does shine.
Women and wine
Are surely divine,
So he will make hay
While the weather stays fine.
“The Life that I Have” by Leo Marx
While strolling around Kew Gardens, with my friend Brian on Saturday 30 July, we came across Leo Marx’s moving poem “The Life that I have”, on a bench which stood in one of the many tranquil spots to be found in the gardens, http://www.telegraph.co.uk/telegraphtv/3460867/Virginia-McKenna-recites-The-Life-That-I-Have.html.
Kevin
There Was A Young Lady Called Michaela
There was a young lady called Michaela
Who met a deep sea whaler.
By the light of the moon
He brandished his harpoon,
That intrepid, handsome sailor
Awaking
You neither sleep nor weep,
While I sleep, the sleep of the just or unjust?
Awaking, lust
Is replaced
By a kind of guilt
Mixed with tenderness?
I can not see your face
And the Quilt
Covers
That
Which
Perhaps
Should
Have
Remained
Undiscovered.
Skeletons
Skeleton
Cupboard
Not
Yet
Discovered.
Brush
Under
Carpet
Swept,
Sweeps
No
More.
There Was A Young Man Called Mark
There was a young man called Mark
Whose view of the world was dark.
Leaning over
The white cliffs of Dover
He said, “To jump would be such a lark”!
Excess Heat
This excess heat
Will defeat
My erratic thought.
Me caught
Between the desire
For fire
And water.
Yet Poseidon’s daughter
Does cavort
Killing all thought.
Desire
Fire
Water
Daughter.
Forgetfulness in arms
‘Ere the alarms
Of morn
Warn
Of another sultry day
Where man must work, not play.
There Was A Poet Called Kevin
There was a poet called Kevin
Who said, “It being well after eleven,
‘Tis time, I think
To take a drink.
Yes that would be very heaven!
His friend made reply
With a sorrowful sigh,
“It has only just turned seven
In the morning, Kevin”!
