A quiet room for contemplation,
Of affairs of state.
Whoever else can save this nation,
From its dreadful fate?
And so I ponder, furrowed brow,
While sitting on the throne.
The strain is written on my face,
But I’m not one to moan.
And then I start to huff and puff,
Ears steaming, lips apart.
And finally, it eases out,
A wise, prophetic fart.
© Copyright Philip Barton, June 27th, 2025 All Rights Reserved
She rang to find out where I was,
As we were due to meet.
I roll one eye and sigh,
Because I’m just above my feet.
I’ve been here since the day we met.
Her memory’s not good.
She really does tend to forget
I’m always where I’m stood.
I send a photo of my feet
To try to jog her mind.
They’re almost size eleven,
So I’m not that hard to find.
© Copyright Philip Barton, January 25th, 2026 All rights reserved
A sock stood on the laundry floor,
It gave me quite a fright.
I forced it in the wash again,
And slammed the lid down tight.
These gangs of outlaw socks,
On who’s habits I’ll not dwell,
Make the world a scary place,
And leave a dreadful smell.
© Copyright Philip Barton, January 30th, 2026 All rights reserved
Once long ago
I won a heart.
In a world that was young and enchanted.
Now I’ve done it again
But it’s different from then
Cause this time it’s been transplanted.
© Copyright Philip Barton 7th April 2019. All rights reserved.
The tiger bit into the boy,
Then in the air he sprung.
The boy ran off with joy
That day the tiger bit his tongue.
© Copyright Philip Barton. 18 May 2014 All rights reserved
That’s it, I cried in anger.
My fist slammed on the desk.
Intolerable is what it is,
Offensively grotesque.
Why seek to scale the giddy heights?
Why work to lift mankind?
Why be ignored, my spirit gored,
My nobleness declined?
A slight upon the artistry
Of a witty ditty wonder.
Pushed aside with dented pride.
A shameful Royal blunder.
But next year may be different,
This setback, just a smidge.
A Knighthood’s surely coming,
So I mustn’t burn a bridge.
© Copyright Philip Barton, July 5th, 2025, All rights reserved
When a husband says he’ll fix it,
The job is nearly done.
There’s no need to nag him every year.
The work is as good as begun.
© Copyright Philip Barton, January 24th, 2026. All rights reserved
I’ve come to the end of my tether.
My energy levels are low.
I’m flat as a tack
Lying here on my back.
Long gone is my get up and go.
My vigour is all played out.
Both arms were drained as I typed.
I’m knackered, depleted,
My spirit defeated.
Even my bottom is wiped.
© Copyright Philip Barton, January 27th, 2026 All rights reserved
I tuck my ears inside my cap
Whenever I’m outside.
If a wind comes up they start to flap
Which causes me to glide.
And if I pick up too much speed
I start to lose control.
So I always tuck my ears in well
When I go out for a stroll.
© Copyright Philip Barton 21 May 2019. All rights reserved.
