Skywriting
Infact, they both used pencils
Up until Nineteen Sixty-Seven,
When a privately-researched pen was announced
And NASA and Cosmonauts quickly renounced
Those flammable, lead-shedding pencils –
Americans first, with Apollo 7.
They should be so proud, that commie space-guys
Are writing with Yankee-most free-enterprise.
Open Season
August is a month that’s open wide,
When windows welcome in outside
And shoulders sport their freckles with a pride.
August is a month of empty woes,
Of open necks and open toes,
And bright unfolded blooms upon the rose.
August is a month of busy highs,
With covered heads and shaded eyes,
But still with smiles as open as the skies.
Niggles & Naggles
I’ve always suspected, vaguely,
Though I’ve never attempted to probe –
But it simmers away to plague me
At the back of my frontal lobe.
Of course, of course, I don’t dwell long,
But it’s never, not really, quite forgot –
Of course, of course, I could be wrong,
But of course I think I’m not.
A Pile of Babbage
You built a Diff’rence Engine
Just to see if it would work,
Then locked it in a cabinet
And let it snooze and shirk.
In all of its magnificence,
It’s still in cog and joint.
You say it makes no diff’er’ence –
I say, that’s just my point !
The Gravity Pin
Paperweight, paperweight, glorious paperweight,
Balanced on letters and jottings and files –
And whether beneath you are crooked or straight,
They are anchor secure in obedient piles.
Falling Worlds
(After Molière, The Learnèd Ladies, Act 3, Scene 3)
Another world has passed us by
Just as we were sleeping,
And fallen through our vortex as we lie –
A happenstance unseen across our sky.
For all the while the linens we were keeping,
A momentary spark can live and die.
Miss-World
Ms is such an ugly word,
Let ev’ry Ms become a Miss –
I know no-wedlock is inferred,
But Ms is such an ugly word.
And Mrs too, a mumble slurred –
It’s not the sense, but sound I diss.
For Ms is such an ugly word –
Let ev’ry Ms become a Miss.
Wimples & Dimples
Abbey – a building with arches and towers –
And also a girl who fidgets and glowers.
Abbey – a building with gargoyles and gables –
And also a girl who hides under tables.
Abbey – a building with vaulting and chapels –
And also a girl who giggles and grapples.
Abbey – a building with windows and doorways –
And also a girl who’s curious, all ways.
Patina
Her hair is purest white, not quite,
Her skin is hinted bisque,
Her eyes are palest blue in hue,
Her lips are coral kissed.
Her subtleties of shade displayed
Are never blanched, but lush –
And with a gentle goose, educe
A gorgeous crimson blush.
I would just like to add that the goose was consentual.
Building Slump
Oh, poor buildings ! Gutted inside;
They mistake your artisan pride for slumming.
They rip-out and knock-through, your subtleties egress
To plate-glass and concrete – the onmarch of regress.
Go, poor buildings ! Run off and hide !
The architects are coming !
They turn all to shit that they plan, draw and quarter,
But keep your façades as the trophies they slaughter.
Rhyming Couplets 