PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

A little old man we'll call Willie

Had a haircut that looked very silly

Striped red and brown

With some tufts hanging down

And a topknot bedecked with a lily.





In France the fine gendames fight crime

this force full of men in their prime

It's no use to bluff

When in a handcuff

You're sent off to jail to do time.





A duck swimming out on a lake

Was eyeing a right handsome drake

When the sun beamed

His feathers just gleamed

So she swam all the day in his wake.





A thesaurus has words that are new

From that source I've learned quite a few

When I am writing

And ideas are not biting

I leaf through to get a fresh view.





Taking my cat to the vet

A shrill serenade I would get

She hated her cage

Would get in a rage

Like an off-key violin quartet





Shop-till-you--drop is no fun

I'd rather shop briefly and run

For when you have finished

Your cash has diminished

And you are exhausted and done.





An artist puts on a display

Of paintings in colours of grey

Most visitors scoff

Give him the brush-off

So he hid all his paintings away.





A plumber was mending a pipe

A hard to get underneath type

He wished he could shirk

This muddy type work

But pipe dreams are nothing but hype.





When rain tumbles down in July

The clouds have a really good cry

Their tears fall so hard

Out there in the yard

There is not a thing that's left dry.





Three mice in a pantry one week

For some tasty morsels did seek

They heard a cat coming

Which sent them all running

Whew! That was sure one narrow squeak.





A train driver was hauled up in court

For not doing things that he ought

Going right off the rail

Was sent off to jail

His wheeling and dealing cut short.





When riding a bike down a hill

An old man had a terrible spill

A hardy old bloke

When of it he spoke

This retired man said it was a thrill.





A pot of plum jam on a shelf

Felt lonely sat there by itself

His mates were all eaten

The plum jam felt beaten

It was stoned as a brain addled elf





A book that I read in my bed

Had a cover quite brilliantly red

When that book I was seekin'

It flashed like a beacon

There's no way I could be misled.





I spy with my little eye

A wasp and a bee flying by

while they're on the wing

They cannot me sting

So may they continue to fly.





I once knew a very grim chappy

Who never did seem very happy

He cried at each need

Whether drink or a feed

Or when he required a clean nappy.





While writing a novel in Spain

A young man was wracking his brain

For ideas romantic

Getting quite frantic

Re-writing again and again.





A mug and a cup side by side

Each other began to deride

The teasing progressed

Each day without rest

For each other they couldn't abide.





A tree stood beside an old well

The leaves into its depth fell

Whenever a breeze

Took a trip through the trees

It dropped in its whole bagatelle





Open plan living is fine

I'll toast it in extra good wine

But smashed window panes

That let in the rains

Are not such a happy design.





Our intent was to camp in a tent

But we found that it had a big rent

when the rain tumbled down

We thought we might down

So the tenting was one non-event.





A skylark was spiralling high

Up, up to the clouds in the sky

down he did scoop

While looping the loop

But this kind of lark don't you try.