A party going

Dragon fly

Flew in and drank the

Flagon dry.

© Copyright Philip Barton 11th June, 2019. All rights reserved.

A gang of biscuits dressed in black

And riding Harley bikes

Rode into town this afternoon,

We’d never seen their likes.

They waggered* round or sat in groups

With cups of steaming tea.

We hid between the curtains

And the family’s old settee.

But in they came and found us

And we shrank against the wall.

They were squat and round,

Close to the ground,

Not very big at all.

But they were many, we were few,

We didn’t stand a chance.

They forced us to the table

And I saw my brother glance

At the cupboard in the corner

Where he kept his gelignite.

He made a dash and threw it as I

Clenched my bottom tight.

And that is what we had to face

And now you know dear Mother.

The reason there are biscuit crumbs

All over me and brother.

* wagger (v): to swagger around in a not entirely successful attempt to look menacing.

© Copyright Philip Barton 21s March 2018. All rights reserved.

He slammed the car door really hard

And then began to shout.

The problem was his body was

Half in yet still half out.

He really made a dreadful fuss

And stirred up quite a scene

And later on he grew up

Half the man he could have been.

© Copyright Philip Barton September 12th, 2002. All rights reserved.

Women are quite delicate

With easily broken dreams.

When you need to make amends,

The solution, so it seems,

Is a warm, romantic gesture,

So buy a bunch of flours.

Plain and rye will guarantee you

Many silent hours.

©  Copyright Philip Barton, July 23rd, 2025, All rights reserved

A humble soul,

With one foot in the hole,

Just gusting along on life’s breeze.

Though his body is spent,

He’s getting it sent,

To cryogenically freeze.

©  Copyright Philip Barton, April 9th 2019. All rights reserved

Elbows were a useful tool

In human evolution.

For drinking beer and thinking

They were quite a revolution.

©  Copyright Philip Barton, January 4th, 2019. All rights reserved

One day I’ll put some trousers on

And be like other men.

My head held high, with steely eye,

And every now and then

I’ll really be quite sensible

And walk with measured tread.

I’ll give up being silly,

And I’ll play my uke instead.

© Copyright Philip Barton, 12th March 2001. All rights reserved.

A high-brow chap of low-down means,

Lived off books and discount beans.

He gazed on life from down his nose,

While spouting prim and flowery prose.

He thought himself quite worldly-wise.

Well-bred, well-read, with piercing eyes.

An outcast, though he never sinned.

Those cheap beans gave him dreadful wind.

© Copyright Philip Barton, January 17th, 2026,  All rights reserved

I sit on my own

In a small mountain house,

In a dignified, elegant repose.

I’m shaping a bone,

It’s the spine of a mouse,

That I’m going to stick through my nose.

© Copyright Philip Barton 1st July 2021. All rights reserved.