Author name: Philip Barton

They were tender soles,

But opposite poles,

Close, but both seemed lost.

Two birds of a feather,

On a road together,

But their paths just never quite crossed.

© Copyright Philip Barton December 18, 2005 – All rights reserved

Tomorrow comes at break of day

It’s yesterday moved on.

The present’s future in the past

The past’s tomorrow gone.

© Copyright Philip Barton October 22, 2003 – All rights reserved

My ukulele writes the songs

And sing-alongs

That rights the wrongs

And makes me think my uke belongs

Before the Queen with gilded gongs.

 

© Copyright Philip Barton January 24, 2003 – All rights reserved

The walls and doors watch closely,

As the chair legs stretch and walk.

There’s quite a bit of motion,

And the fridge is prone to talk.

But it’s silly and repetitive,

And causes lights to dim.

Whatever does the orange think

Is happening to him?

Sitting in a dusty bowl,

A mixed up, mouldy bunch.

Of mandarins and apples

And bananas with a hunch.

And still the fridge is droning on

As I sit sensibly.

Chatting to the table

As I drink a cup of tea.

© Copyright Philip Barton April 4, 2005 – All rights reserved

 

I sniff and smell foul play,

And as my mother’s saying goes.

When you’re not sure what to say,

Always listen to your nose.

 

© Copyright Philip Barton January 11, 2004 – All rights reserved

Now he’s grey, he understands

The saying: long of tooth,

The distance from his gums to hands,

Is stretched more than the truth.

His ears are growing longer

And his mind has suspect thinking,

He’s the opposite of stronger

And I think his nose is shrinking.

 

© Copyright Philip Barton November 6, 2007 – All rights reserved

Children who are prone to eating worms,

Should boil them first, to kill the germs.

And a hearty meal of congealed mud pies,

Is far more wise than flies with fries.

But the biggest mistake, that a child can make,

Is to try to bake a spider cake.

To be placed in an oven erodes its rights,

And can often produce a cake that bites.

 

© Copyright Philip Barton April 12th, 2005 – All rights reserved

I have to admit

That I’ll be quite annoyed,

When my heart takes a hit

And I’m off to the void.

With my body encased

In a tatty pine box,

Will I find myself based

In the land of lost socks?

And of what virtue is that

The logic full begs,

When I’m as still as a doormat

And no longer have legs?

 

© Copyright Philip Barton March 13, 2005 – All rights reserved

Gardening is a wonderful hobby,

That speaks to a more natural life.

The hands sift the soil

The back bends with toil,

I love just watching my wife.

© Copyright Philip Barton January 21, 2008 – All rights reserved