Old voices speaking in my head
From times in distant past.
Was it something really said
That took so long to last?
Inconsequential mumbling,
Or utterance profound?
Was it tummy rumbling,
Just a long digestive sound?
Could it be old memories
From lives lived long ago?
I’ll check my bowel movement,
Where everything’s on show.
© Copyright Philip Barton, August 16th, 2025. All rights reserved
My lounge chair is a magic carpet,
Flying daily dreams,
To pancake land
With cash in hand
For caramel ice creams.
On my bottom, I repose,
While on my wings I flee,
To another place
With another face
And a grander other me.
© Copyright Philip Barton, 1st December 2018. All rights reserved.
Three ditties were produced
From just a bottle of wine.
Buy me one whole vineyard
And the future will be mine.
© Copyright Philip Barton 11th May, 2022. All rights reserved.
All are touched by genius,
None are purely fool.
The elections are
The selections of
The exceptions to this rule.
© Copyright Philip Barton 18th July 2018. All rights reserved.
I’ve now become invisible,
Assumed a Super Power.
Most can see straight through me
While the rest just sit and cower.
I’m not one for delusions,
Or fantasies and dreams.
My ears are set firm on the ground
And all is as it seems.
© Copyright Philip Barton, July 13th, 2025. All rights reserved
Pumpkin tendrils swayed this way,
Then that way, to and fro.
The leaves moved gently by that breeze
Hid dank dark space below.
The old man in the garden,
Was lost one sunny day.
Those tendrils pounced and pulled him in.
As compost he would stay.
They sucked the goodness out,
But there wasn’t much of that.
So they sucked out all the naughty,
Now they’re healthy green and fat.
© Copyright Philip Barton, March 22nd, 2026, All rights reserved
My faculties are becoming diminished.
I start things that never get finished.
I’m half way through this
And beginning on that
And I think
© Copyright Philip Barton 8th October, 2021. All rights reserved.
A car ran over my shadow,
But it didn’t hurt much at all.
It went over my torso,
And would have hurt more so
If I hadn’t been quite so tall.
© Copyright Philip Barton 11th August 2018. All rights reserved
When your spring winds down,
Like Grandfather clocks.
And your life falls apart like a ship on the rocks.
When you give your last frown,
In your old dressing gown,
Do you go to the land of the missing socks?
© Copyright Philip Barton July 21st, 2012. All rights reserved.
