Life's Diary, Last Page.

Life's diary,
last page,
old age,
pains rage.
Been there,
wiser; a sage?

“Not your day”,
what they say.
My day?
I had many a day;
worked hard,
played hard,
long time in graveyard.

When young,
handsome.
Got noticed,
flung dung from tongue.

Now old,
loose skin round chin,
and most everything.
NOT! Good looking;
now listening.

Watery red eyes,
seen it all,
blue and dark sky's.

LISTEN!
Compassion,
Observation,
Consultation,
Association.

Any Age,
Any Nation,
One Race,
Human!

Keep pace.

Popular posts from this blog

7 of my comedy rhymes

Image
 Our parrot. Once we had a parrot,  who wasn't very pleasant,  he escaped from our window,  and raped a passing pheasant. Harold's Wayside Drink. Twas a stormy winter night, the back end of the year, Harold came across a wayside Inn, and went in for a beer. The Landlady was a comely wench with overflowing boobs, The Landlord kept his cellar good and always cleaned his tubes. Harold had one drink and then another one; or two, the seat was comfortable, the company good, so he drank another few. The fire blazed in the grate, the welcome was also warm. Whilst outside the cold wind blew, and kicked up a mighty storm. Although Harold was a married man, he liked a pint of beer, he imagined he was a youth again, without family; or a care. He gave the buxom Landlady more attention than he should, the beer was talking for him, he was in a confident mood. The Landlord was a large man, but Harold didn't care, The ale was in, the w...
Read more

4 More of my Comedy Rhymes in 1 post.

  The Mad Poet  Rupert was an aspiring poet, though the critics didn't want to know it. He began to rave and tear his hair out, his lips were formed in a permanent pout. He wasn't original. In time he was sectioned, he'd gone out of his mind, Well, he'd never been in it, I think you will find. He now sits in his cell dreaming up lots of verse Of silvery moons and a nocturnal hearse. frittering lights and a madman's curse. He was getting original. In time he was allowed to use sharp pens, so he wrote of ghostly shapes crossing fog shrouded fens. The critics read his work and now want to know it. Rupert's now famous; a celebrated Mad Poet. Now he's original. The Inn on The Moor.  I came across a lonely Inn across a lonely Moor, The clientèle were weird as hell so I legged it for the door. I made it to the threshold, the air inside was cold. Mine host appeared in front of me, a pale skinny chap, upon his bony head he wore...
Read more

Hip-Hop Rabbit Finds Fame.

Hip-Hop Rabbit hops all around, and lives in his home deep down in the ground. one day whilst out munching a root, he heard a loud noise and decided to scoot. He hid in a thorn bush and heard a boys voice say, 'I love Rock and Roll, it's Hip, it's my choice. Slung over his shoulder was a shiny guitar' on which he twanged out a tune and sang, 'Lar, lar, lar.' Hip-Hop thought, "What a wonderful sound." He tapped his foot to the tune; on the ground. Thumpitty thump, 'lar, lar, lar, lar. I'm the most hip rabbit around here by far. He sang and he danced all the way home, and came across Norman the Gnome. 'Crikey!,' said Norman, 'what an unusual habit, that's the first time I've seen a Rock and Roll Rabbit.' Now Hip-Hop performs at Woodlands Hop every night, where the animals dance in the hall, that's packed tight. He has a stage name now that he is a star' It's Swivel-Hip-Hop, the most hip ...
Read more