Hark hark

the doggy bark
will get you up
before the lark.

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7 of my comedy rhymes

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 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...
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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...
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The lonely Inn across the Lonely 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 a raggedy worn cap. "Stay my friend," he said, with a leering smile; If only I could have squeezed passed him I'd have done a minute mile. As I went back to the bar the customers watched intently. One of them muttered something about a hearse being a luxurious Bentley. What is this place I thought to myself; not daring to ask. Then I overheard some muttered words where someone mentioned an ornate cask. The barmaid was not a pretty lass, with hair all frizzy and thin. She stared at me with glassy eyes and knocked back a double Gin. "What do you want to drink?" she asked, in a haunting voice. "A pint of bitter please", I answered, thinking I had no choice. The beer was good, the company bad, t...
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