Metaphor.. my meat and drink.
Although I’m known for quaffing ink.
I need to play with words on line.
But writing proper poems takes time.
And I have no time to waste,
so I write by copy and paste.
A line from Donne a line from Blake,
George Herbert  who-for goodness sake!
A bit of Shakespeare tossed and turned,
My poetry salads don’t yet earn.
Into the breach we’ll go dear friends
The Waste Land never seems to end.
To be or not to BBC ?
Shall we sometimes disagree?
Chaucer I have not yet read.
Is it good when one’s in bed?
Look,stranger,on this island now,
It’s illegal  for you to milk my cow.
And ,also, we do not roast  our geese.
Even when we have a feast.
Turning and turning in the gyre,
I think that church has got two spires.
The lake at Innisfree’s still there.
Is that where the Queen said prayers?
Who’d have thunk that Hughes and Plath
Never signed  their autographs.
I like her poem about a mirror.
Some of them are full of horror.
Lay your sleeping head, my love,
On a brick or turtle dove.
I’m too tired to kiss you now,
I’ll massage your back  and then I’ll bow.
The bed’s too small for all of us
I suggest Someone tries the bath.
If you put a duvet in
I believe  you are your twin
When did Herriot plough the fields?
Was Dover Beach where my skin peeled?
I forgot to put my sunscreen on,
Off they all go one by one.

Try cheese scones and  buttered frogs

My old man’s gone to the Gods.