A surgeon of vision

Was quick to decision,

The nurses were not quite so sure.

The resulting incision

Was lacking precision

And the patient was cut to the core.

 

© Copyright Philip Barton, 2010. All rights reserved

If your hope is for social advancement,

Then you’ll need to fit in with the herd.

You must laugh at things that aren’t funny,

And be serious with matters absurd.

 

© Copyright Philip Barton, 2010. All rights reserved

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

Father, Daddy, my best friend.
Taught me chess & let me win,
Helped me fix my bike again,
Back when I was only ten.

Now I’m nearly forty-nine,
But nothing’s changed that Dad of mine,
After all this long long time,
Since he read me nursery rhymes.

How do I describe this man?
Whose footsteps I followed in the sand.
Who helped me make it from the land
of childhood ’til I was a man.

Always steady, always there.
Always let me know he cares,
One in a million, a man so rare,

Always there, always steady,
When help I needed he was ready.
From this world he did depart,
But lives FOREVER, in my heart.

@Copyright Kenneth Guard 2025. 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