I love the sunlight
That comes and goes.
It is easy to write
Of eternal night,
And to compose
Flowery verses
About one’s mortality.
But many a poet curses
The reality
Behind his poetry.
I love the sunlight
That comes and goes.
It is easy to write
Of eternal night,
And to compose
Flowery verses
About one’s mortality.
But many a poet curses
The reality
Behind his poetry.
An elderly poet named Coker
Wields a mean old poker.
When I said, “your verse is bad!”,
He called me a “rude young lad!”.
It’s painful being chastised with a poker!
A young lady who worked in a bar
Would, for the customers, take off her bra.
But, now the pubs are all closed
She keeps on all of her clothes.
Well, at least she keeps on her bra!
Oh creature of night,
Who flits, in dark
And by moonlight,
Why did you cry,
In the park
On a sunlit afternoon in Spring?
‘Twas a strange thing
To hear.
Yet I
felt no fear,
But pondered on your incongruous cry,
And a virus, invisible to the eye.
A young lady of Moldova
Stole my brand new pullover.
‘Twas in the woods at night
As I flew my old kite.
Please, has anyone seen my pullover?
A young lady named Bess
Has lost her dress,
While naughty Ms Lou
Has kept my shoe.
And me, I should confess …
A young lady by the name of Helen
Spent all of her short life in yellen.
She yelled so loud
It burst a cloud,
Which drowned that poor young lady named Helen!
Corona may be king,
For a time,
But the birds still sing,
And I have my rhyme.
When a young lady named Kate
Said, “you should self isolate”,
My good friend miss Iris
Said, “you don’t have the virus.
But Kate doesn’t like you mate!”.
Untried
Inside.
She kneels
In short skirt
And heels,
Looking for something on the shop floor.
Her dress rides up.
She will flirt,
Let them look.
But nothing more.
Yet, there can be no denial
That one day
Bess
Will say,
With a shy smile,
“Yes”.