A lone banana rode the trail,

Then galloped into town.

Once lean and mean,

Though somewhat green.

Now past his prime and brown.

 

Like Icarus, he’d touched the Sun.

Turned yellow, hit the wall.

Once in a bunch,

Now Luca’s lunch,

Oh how the mighty fall.

 

© Copyright Philip Barton, November 25th, 2024 All rights reserved

He muttered and chattered,

He just wouldn’t stop.

He waffled and blathered,

Quite over the top.

 

He drivelled and babbled,

Tomfoolery talked.

In twaddle he dabbled,

And that’s when I baulked.

 

I looked all around,

For the source of this drone,

And that’s when I found

I was all on my own.

 

 

© Copyright Philip Barton, June 4th, 2025  All rights reserved

 

It’s important to coordinate

When going for a stroll.

Your legs and arms must synchronise

And that must be the goal.

 

Legs are twice as long as arms,

So must move half as fast.

So count the swing of both your arms

Removing first and last.

 

Then average out the sum of that.

Add one leg to the total.

There’s science to relaxing walks,

But that’s just anecdotal.

 

 

©  Copyright Philip Barton, June 10th, 2025 All rights reserved

 

I’ve ‘come out’ as an Englishman

Of almost 80 years.

I’m in remission now

Receiving help from volunteers.

At Englishmen Anonymous,

Our weekly get-together,

We admit we’re boring irritants

Who drone about the weather.

It’s with me every day.

There is no resolution.

My wife declares that what I say

Is best thought noise pollution.

I can never let my guard down.

To Englishness I’m prone.

I can tell it’s coming on again

When I start to whine and moan. 

 

© Copyright Philip Barton, July 11th, 2025 All rights reserved

I bask in the light

Of a popular glow.

If I had any friends

They would tell you so.

 

© Copyright Philip Barton. 9th October 2019. All rights reserved.

I gaze upon my pen,

And watch it as it wanders.

It vacillates from silence

To pontificating ponders.

There are days it lacks ignition

And meanders off in mumbles.

Its logic breaks or gets the shakes

With intellectual fumbles.

Yet some days hit a peak.

A lucid cogent shine.

Such wisdom, couth

And timeless truth,

These ones I claim as mine.

 

©  Copyright Philip Barton, February 22nd, 2026,All rights reserved

Mr Pigeon is sick, I can tell.

He’s unkempt, with a rather bad smell.

He’s got a bit of a niggle.

Will the maggots soon wiggle?

Mr Pigeon is not very well.

 

Mr Pigeon has a bit of a chill,

From lying on concrete quite still.

In repose he lies,

Making friends with the flies,

Mr Pigeon is going downhill.

 

Mr Pigeon has gained new respect,

The faithful know he’ll resurrect.

A worshipful choir,

Sings psalms to things higher.

Mr Pigeon’s devotional sect.

 

Mr Pigeon takes pains to explain,

That the faithful from logic abstain.

Belief in the pigeon

Is the world’s new religion

Mr Pigeon did not die in vain.

 

© Copyright Philip Barton 5th January 2014. All rights reserved.

I like to drink a cup of tea,

It makes me feel quite whole.

It gives a tingle to my pee

And a tickle to my soul.

© Copyright Philip Barton. 6th September 2012. All rights reserved.

Two feet were close for many years,

But always passing by.

They glanced upon each other’s rears,

And each would softly sigh.

 

Ballroom dancing changed their fates,

Soft touches caused a tremblance.

More than being just two mates,

Was a rather strong resemblance.

 

They’d met when they were very young,

Just below the jock.

They both were rather highly-strung,

Their hearts upon their sock

 

On polished floor they’d soar serene,

Silent, throbbing, flushed,

What have you two, up to, been?

Their little toes both blushed.

 

They tripped the light fandango,

Stared in each other’s toes.

Within, a warm and fuzzy glow

Meaningfully arose.

 

Their minds entwined, their love was blind,

Two soles as one, enchanted.

Their futures were at once aligned.

The seeds of love were planted.

 

Like bread and butter, hearts aflutter,

The one an athlete’s foot.

The other more a nail cutter,

Oh beating heart, stay put.

 

Between the toes, a scent arose,

Compellingly attractive.

It lingered like the dusk’s spring rose,

Their thoughts were rather active.

 

As the night unfurled, their toes grew curled,

Together in embrace.

Two feet as one, no deed undone,

A delightful night’s disgrace.

 

The following day was not ideal,

They passed just like before.

You cannot feel, you’re just a heel,

My love you would ignore.

 

And thus two feet became quite flat,

A romance done and dusted.

Both thought the other rather fat,

And never to be trusted.

 

            © Copyright Philip Barton September 26th, 2018 All rights reserved