Category Archives: Self compositions

You might find these words quite funny

I’m going to talk about the humble bunny

quite famous for its power to replicate

they are very difficult to eradicate

they’ve been attacked with gas and gun

but the latter was really just for fun

but the method that everyone seemed to notice

was the man-made disease, they call myxomatosis

This stark, six-sided monstrosity

is used as a bird observatory

but the rooftop cupola gives a clue

as to the job it was built to do

for every night and on foggy days

a bright light would shine out through the haze

this nightly shining man-made moon

whose bright beams pierce the the dark and gloom

warning sailors on vessels out at sea

you had better not come too close to me

for beneath the cliffs on which I stand

lie unseen rocks and shifting sands

so my advice is to turn away

and you will live to sail on another day

The lone survivor

leaves the last exploding star

tears won’t fill the void

Jean Claude was different to the other boys

this you could tell by the cut of his clothes

as he tilted his head with cool elegance and poise

it was so easy to strike a classical pose

he was the star of the dramatic society

as he performed with a great deal of aplomb

but when asked from where came his ability

he was loathe to say it was probably from

a forgotten great uncle who had once been on trial

and was reputed to have been a close friend of Wilde

Walking through the woods on a nice Spring day

I was just whiling my time away

but one of the sights left me quite forlorn

a nasty tree pointing the finger of scorn

so I went back home just because

that nasty tree had left me in a fuzz

The river of life

will roll on relentlessly

ripples form and fade

If I had become a parish priest

the job that I would have liked the least

would be to sit without change of expression

when listening to a particularly nasty confession

Take a look and what do you see

probably just an old dead tree

but long ago when I was young

I gave relief from the scorching sun

each Spring covered in fresh green leaf

for living things to hide beneath

some would nibble on my soft shoots

others snuffle between my roots

now my energy is depleted

I rest, my work on Earth completed

but no you say, your work’s not done

for in your bones you store my carbon.

We were sitting in the pub the other evening. A nice pub, called, “The Corner House,” it boasts a mixed clientele ranging from the young crowd popping in before the clubs, the council worker still in his overalls, the besuited solicitor and the shop assistant. No music or television screen, just conversation. Anyway my friend mentioned he’d watched a programme about Henry the Eighth being disillusioned with the monasteries. Had to laugh, I think he meant Wolf Hall and the dissolution.

From out the reeds the bleached white egret flies

whilst next the mooring post a cruiser lies

on the far shore the morning mist hangs low

while the sailor up on deck prepares to tow

in a story of the sea that’s often told

as from my perch I watch the scene unfold