Old Codger
Of garden truck he made his fare, As his bright eyes bore witness; Health was his habit and his care, His hobby human fitness. He sang the praise of open sky, The gladth of
Insomnia
Heigh ho! to sleep I vainly try; Since twelve I haven’t closed an eye, And now it’s three, and as I lie, From Notre Dame to St. Denis The bells of Paris chime to
Neighbours
My neighbour has a field of wheat And I a rood of vine; And he will give me bread to eat, And I will give him wine. And so we are a jolly pair,
The Lottery
“Young fellow, listen to a friend: Beware of wedlock – ’tis a gamble, It’s MAN who holds the losing end In every matrimonial scramble.” “Young lady, marriage mostly is A cruel cross of hope’s
Tom Paine
An Englishman was Thomas Paine Who bled for liberty; But while his fight was far from vain He died in poverty: Though some are of the sober thinking ‘Twas due to drinking. Yet this
Benjamin Franklin
Franklin fathered bastards fourteen, (So I read in the New Yorker); If it’s true, in terms of courtin’ Benny must have been a corker. To be prudent I’ve aspired, And my passions I have
The Junior God
The Junior God looked from his place In the conning towers of heaven, And he saw the world through the span of space Like a giant golf-ball driven. And because he was bored, as
Birthday
(16th January 1949) I thank whatever gods may be For all the happiness that’s mine; That I am festive, fit and free To savour women, wit and wine; That I may game of golf
Boxer's Wife
She phoned them when the Round was Eight: ‘How is my Joe?’ they heard her say. They answered: ‘Gee! He’s going great, Your guy’s Okay.’ She phoned them when the Round was Nine: ‘How
Remorse
That scathing word I used in scorn (Though half a century ago) Comes back to me this April morn, Like boomerang to work me woe; Comes back to me with bitter blame (Though apple
My Cuckoo Clock
I bought a cuckoo clock And glad was I To hear its tick and tock, Its dulcet cry. But Jones, whose wife is young And pretty too, Winced when that bird gave tongue: Cuckoo!
Mad Maria
Mad Maria in the Square Sits upon a wicker chair. When the keeper asks the price Mad Maria counts her lice. No pesito can she pay, So he shrugs and goes away; Hopes she’ll
The Buyers
Father drank himself to death, Quite enjoyed it. Urged to draw a sober breath He’d avoid it. ‘Save your sympathy,’ said Dad; ‘Never sought it. Hob-nail liver, gay and glad, Sure, I bought it.’
Spats
When young I was a Socialist Despite my tender years; No blessed chance I ever missed To slam the profiteers. Yet though a fanatic I was, And cursed aristocrats, The Party chucked me out
Spanish Peasant
We have no aspiration vain For paradise Utopian, And here in our sun-happy Spain, Though man exploit his fellow man, To high constraint we humbly yield, And turn from politics to toil, Content to