Author name: Philip Barton

My right arm was a chimney sweep,

His hand was black with soot.

He dallied with a trembling leg

And swept her off her foot.

 

© Copyright Philip Barton, 2010. All rights reserved

God pondered as he darned a sock

Then finally answered Moses,

I put one ear on either side

To keep the hats off noses.

 

© Copyright Philip Barton, 2010. All rights reserved

 

A petticoat sprawls listlessly,

She longs to have a ring.

Revealing, full of feeling,

A Freudian slip of a thing.

 

© Copyright Philip Barton, 2010. All rights reserved

Each word that forms and thrusts to light,

Each line that buds and flowers.

A symphony of eloquence

Attesting to strange powers.

Each orchestrated utterance

Of whispered views most odd,

Unbidden, they undoubtedly

Must be the voice of God.

And me, a humble vessel,

A blank receptive slate?

But then again it could be simply

Something that I ate.

 

© Copyright Philip Barton, 2010. All rights reserved

I was quite relaxed

About the lines on my face

And losing the hair on my head.

But I fell apart when told

That by getting old

There’s a chance I’ll end up dead.

 

© Copyright Philip Barton, 2010. All rights reserved

I tentatively part my lips

Then stretch my mouth out wide

My dentist climbs up on my hips

Then calmly steps inside.

 

She jabs and hacks and saws and drills

And bangs and burns my teeth.

She biffs and cuts, no ifs or buts

From he who’s underneath.

 

I twist and sweat from deep injections.

Tears come from my eyes.

Blood spraying out in all directions.

“You’ll be fine”, she lies.

 

© Copyright Philip Barton, 2010. All rights reserved

A silly sausage sat serene,

Yet ignorant and loud.

His feet were so far off the ground,

His head was in a cloud.

 

Blank of face and lost in space,

A fervent tv fan.

He stumbled on reality,

And hit life’s frying pan.

 

Singed, he jumped out quickly,

But rather black and smelly.

So be warned you silly sausages,

It’s dangerous watching telly.

 

© Copyright Philip Barton, 2010. All rights reserved

Here I stand and bark instructions,

Noble, grand and proud.

It’s not important what I say,

But crucial that it’s loud.

 

© Copyright Philip Barton, 2010. All rights reserved

I’m rather partial to a coffee

In a china cup.

One little finger in the air

I slowly sip it up.

Delicate and sensitive

Each bean I do adore.

And when the last drop’s finished,

I rage and scream for more.

 

© Copyright Philip Barton, 2010. All rights reserved