That’s it, I cried in anger.

My fist slammed on the desk.

Intolerable is what it is,

Offensively grotesque.

Why seek to scale the giddy heights?

Why work to lift mankind?

Why be ignored, my spirit gored,

My nobleness declined?

A slight upon the artistry

Of a witty ditty wonder.

Pushed aside with dented pride.

A shameful Royal blunder. 

But next year may be different,

This setback, just a smidge.

A Knighthood’s surely coming,

So I mustn’t burn a bridge.

 

©  Copyright Philip Barton, July 5th, 2025, All rights reserved

When a husband says he’ll fix it,

The job is nearly done.

There’s no need to nag him every year.

The work is as good as begun.

 

 

© Copyright Philip Barton, January 24th, 2026. All rights reserved

I’ve come to the end of my tether.

My energy levels are low.

I’m flat as a tack

Lying here on my back.

Long gone is my get up and go.

My vigour is all played out.

Both arms were drained as I typed.

I’m knackered, depleted,

My spirit defeated.

Even my bottom is wiped.

 

© Copyright Philip Barton, January 27th, 2026 All rights reserved

I tuck my ears inside my cap

Whenever I’m outside.

If a wind comes up they start to flap

Which causes me to glide.

And if I pick up too much speed

I start to lose control.

So I always tuck my ears in well

When I go out for a stroll.

 

© Copyright Philip Barton 21 May 2019. All rights reserved.

Three harmony dogs and a platypus

Sang in an apple tree.

They stayed in tune, till one dog fell,

As he strained to reach the key.

 

They formed a simply brilliant band,

And sang in ancient Greek.

They dazzled with their intellect

And forced their fans to seek

 

For the real meaning of the words,

So that all could understand.

They almost won a Grammy

But then nothing goes as planned

 

Now the dogs are grey and barking,

Back up in the apple tree.

Boring all the birds to death

And singing out of key.

 

But the platypus invested

And now wears a three-piece suit.

He’s rather big in pilchards

And assorted English fruit.

 

© Copyright Philip Barton, 8 September 2019. All rights reserved

The horizon is quite far away,

Most things a long way are.

Small children know, try as they may,

They’d never reach that far.

You’d have to have arms really long,

Or be quite short of sight.

Lots of ways would all be wrong,

But one way could be right.

If you stuck your backside out

And reached the whole way round

You could tickle then, without a doubt,

Your bottom when it’s found.

 

© Copyright Philip Barton 13 November 2015. All rights reserved.

The quintessential gentleman

Has never once passed wind.

His standard is impeccable.

He’s never, ever, sinned.

He has no need for ‘please excuse’,

He stands with casual poise,

With dignity he quite eschews

That common, bottomly noise.

Languid, aloof and saintly,

Cool and imposingly tall,

He’s a noble and sterling example

That he sets for you, one and all.

 

© Copyright Philip Barton 13 March 2018. All rights reserved.

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

A German chap was quite distraught

When trampled by his wife

He couldn’t understand her mind

Or what had caused the strife

Then by chance he came across

Her typo’d fitness plan

Instructing her each and every day

To stand upon her hans

 

© Copyright Jack Barton 27 January 2026. All rights reserved.