Author name: Philip Barton

It all began with chewing gum,

Stuck behind his ears.

The implications grew profound

Before too many years.

He had one ear lobe pierced,

To be used for toothpick storing.

It appealed to intellectuals,

Not the dull and frankly boring.

Next the other ear lobe

Saw hangers on display.

Spare shirts and jackets hung there.

In a smart yet casual way.

And soon it all went viral,

Beyond his friends and peers.

A new trend swirled around the world

For Botox enhanced ears.

© Copyright Philip Barton, June 22nd, 2025. All Rights Reserved

Lonely on the page it sat,

A ditty lacking peal.

No one laughed

Till ditty read,

Trump’s ‘Art of the Deal’.

Now he is a winner,

Not a ditty ignoramus.

He moves and grooves

As it behooves

One mingling with the famous.

Invites come from everywhere,

A PA works the phone.

He puts his feet up

On the desk,

A ditty in the zone.

© Copyright Philip Barton, July 3rd, 2025. All rights reserved

There’s too much nonsense written,

About nothing much at all.

Just jibber-jabber,

Constant blabber,

Waiting for the call.

It’s never going to come of course,

For scribble that’s not smart.

Like non-essential,

Low potential

Rhymes that end in fart.

© Copyright Philip Barton, July 19th, 2025.  All rights reserved

Left Right, Right Left,

They marched off to the war.

It took three years to get there,

For the combat Waltzing Corps.

They moved with grace and style

As they pranced along the route.

They were hard to beat

As a dance elite,

And difficult to shoot.

© Copyright Philip Barton, August 12th, 2025. All rights reserved

Those intrepid ditty writers,

That trio known as I,

Sought succour at the ditty well,

But it was emptied out and dry.

Can it ever fill again,

Will flowers always bloom?

Will birdsong peal at dawn each day,

Is life just womb to tomb?

For now the ditty canvas,

On which I scribe my whimsy,

Has wildlife there.

It’s gristly bare.

Art’s pinnacle is flimsy.

© Copyright Philip Barton, August 4th, 2025. All rights reserved

Sleeping feet should be above,

The level of your head.

The blood, that way,

In brain will stay,

And you won’t wake up dead.

Raise your hands up high

For even better circulation.

Though hard to sleep,

In blood knee deep,

It’s worth a small ovation.

© Copyright Philip Barton, August 16th, 2025. All rights reserved

Enough of spending all my days

In nonsense contemplations.

I need some depth, like Plato’s

Philosophical foundations.

Not a lame inconsequential,

Good for just a snigger,

But a name in all the history books

Like Shakespeare – only bigger.

I’ll put all silly far behind,

And make a new beginning.

It’s the end of times

For nonsense rhymes.

And the start of Nobel winning.

© Copyright Philip Barton, August 10th, 2025.  All rights reserved

When people ask me what I do,

I try to avoid saying what is true,

Because it’s just not easy to casually say,

Oh, I write nonsense every day,

It’s hard to be taken seriously,

There’s a certain lack of glamour.

There’re no corporate boards,

And no seat in the Lords.

Just constant complaints about grammar.

 

© Copyright, Philip Barton, July 10th, 2019. All rights reserved.

I placed the Doona on the bed

And the cover in one hand.

I began to push the Doona up,

But it didn’t go as planned.

 

So I got inside and began to pull,

That plan came into doubt,

As the inside soon became quite full,

And left me no way out.

 

I kicked in panic,

My screams were manic,

That monster had me trapped.

In its bowels, dark satanic,

Something in me snapped.

 

I fought a brave and savage fight

And gained the upper hand.

I saw a distant glimpse of light,

And hoped that soon I’d stand.

 

Outside at last, I raised one arm,

Triumphant in my glory.

Make sure you never come to harm,

By heeding well my story.

 

When slumber comes so warm and deep,

That foul beast lurks in wait.

It can swallow you when you’re asleep.

Don’t let that be your fate.

 

© Copyright, Philip Barton, August 15th, 2019. All rights reserved.