The world has a shortage of ditties.
Supply chains have all been curtailed.
The shipping containers
Of rhyme entertainers
Have ceased; the editor paled.
So now the secret is out.
The ditties were written in China.
That scribe with pretensions,
Who no one now mentions,
His nonsense was all rather minor.
© Copyright Philip Barton February 9th, 2026. All rights reserved
I always felt a little lost,
But my nose sure knew the way.
With courage high and light of heart
We set off every day.
One eye staring straight ahead,
The other looking round,
I kept a half eye on the ear
I had close to the ground.
But never was there any doubt
Who led this twisted form,
My nose was always out in front,
Come sunny day or storm.
And all my life I’ve walked that track
With all its highs and lows.
My questing spirit soaring
In the wind that blows my nose.
© Copyright Philip Barton 18 November 2018. All rights reserved.
I gave the children nothing,
They really tucked right in.
They didn’t chew it properly
That’s why they’re getting thin.
© Copyright Philip Barton 8th September 2019. All rights reserved.
With not one leg dispensable,
It sits secure and stable.
Four legs is very sensible,
The standard for a table.
Now six would do, and may I say
That eight or ten is fine.
And even more would be okay,
But four’s a good baseline.
And lest this seem like so much tripe,
Just useless information.
It’s far from existential hype,
It’s dinnertime’s foundation.
© Copyright Philip Barton 8th May 2019. All rights reserved.
I miss the days when elephants
In giant herds would roam,
Up and down the hallway,
And in and out the home.
They’d dance around outside my door
While I was trying to sleep.
They’d bellow and they’d trumpet,
As I tried counting sheep.
But now the giant herd has gone
And the house is quiet and still.
And I miss them every single day,
And I think I always will.
© Copyright Philip Barton 23rd November 2021 All rights reserved.
He poked his ear
And scratched his head
And pondered on the state,
Of everything
And everywhere,
And ditty’s dreadful fate.
His editor was ruthless,
Razor tongued and vile.
A foul and ghastly ogre,
Who bathed in bitter bile.
Dear ditty died of innocence,
Verse slashed by analytics.
He couldn’t cope within a world
Of harsh and horrid critics.
And now each day is darker,
One ditty’s light extinguished.
He’ll twinkle on in memory,
Posthumerously distinguished.
© Copyright Philip Barton, June 28th, 2025 All rights reserved
If all men stopped pretending
That they’re busy every day.
To their business they’ve been tending
From their youth until they’re grey.
How much time would be on show
And would the future move away?
Or would the speed of time just slow
So yesterday’s today?
© Copyright Philip Barton 2nd May 2017. All rights reserved.
I had a rather nasty fall,
Which took me by surprise.
My nose got stuck within one ear.
I couldn’t believe my eyes.
© Copyright Philip Barton, February 13th, 2026. All rights reserved
I set out to write something sensible,
Something meaningful,
Clever
And smart.
But it all fell away in a childish display
When I realised that line rhymed with ‘fart’.
© Copyright Philip Barton 28th May 2009. All rights reserved