Ermaddogan is my pet,
A beastie, that’s him,
Though howling and snarling,
He is always my darling,
My sweetie, my beastie, Ermaddogan.
*****
Please note: any similarity between my pet and Erdogan,
the President of Turkey, is purely coincidental.
Category Archives: rhyme
I had a little sock tree
I had a little sock tree
Nothing would it bear,
But some little red socks,
And what a scruffy pair.
*
The queens of England’s son,
Came to visit me,
All because of
My little sock tree.
*
When he saw my sock tree,
And the scruffy pair.
He staggered back, aghast,
At the colour, rare.
*
He said, they are fine socks,
I must have them – I must,
How much do you want,
For the pair, he asked.
*
I told him that my socks,
Are not for sale – are not,
He replied, I must have them,
I’ll pay a pretty bob.
*
How much will you pay?
I asked, intrigued, a bit,
He said, I’ll pay ten thousand pounds,
Here they are, I said.
***************
A Dog on a Rock
I saw a dog sitting on a rock one day,
The scrawniest dog in the world, I say,
Sitting on a rock under a hot sun,
Ever so hot and beginning to burn.
*
The dog had the mange or so I did think,
I could see its skin; it was ever so pink,
Hot in the sun, roasting for sure,
That dog on a rock must have been sore.
*
I wandered across to the dog on the rock,
And offered a drink from my bottle of pop,
Baring its teeth, the dog snarled and it growled,
So I beat a retreat as it started to howl.
*
Leaving dog on the rock to sit there and stew,
I thought of my skin that it threatened to chew,
Then strolling away with a skip and a grin,
I abandoned the dog with the mangy old skin.
*******************
You are old, Crazymad Writer…
“You are old, Crazymad Writer,” the youth said,
“And your hair has become very white;
And yet you incessantly stand on your head—
Do you think, at your age, it is right?”
*
“In my youth,” Crazymad Writer said to the son,
“I feared it might injure the brain;
But now that I’m perfectly sure I have none,
Why, I do it again and again.”
*
“You are old,” said the youth, “As I mentioned before,
And have grown most uncommonly fat;
Yet you turned a back-somersault in at the door—
Pray, what is the reason of that?”
*
“In my youth,” said the sage, as he shook his grey locks,
“I kept all my limbs very supple
By the use of this ointment—one shilling the box—
Allow me to sell you a couple?”
*
“You are old,” said the youth, “And your jaws are too weak
For anything tougher than suet;
Yet you finished the goose, with the bones and the beak—
Pray, how did you manage to do it?”
*
“In my youth,” the writer explained, “I took to the law,
And argued each case with my wife;
And the muscular strength which it gave to my jaw,
Has lasted the rest of my life.”
*
“You are old,” said the youth, “one would hardly suppose
That your eye was as steady as ever;
Yet you balanced an eel on the end of your nose—
What made you so awfully clever?”
*
“I have answered three questions, and that is enough,”
Said the writer; “don’t give yourself airs!
Do you think I can listen all day to such stuff?
Be off, or I’ll kick you down stairs!”
**************
I once had a pain in my toe
I once had a pain in my toe,
That would come and then it would go,
That’s how it stayed for all of my days,
The pain at the end of my toe.
A note: I don’t have a pain my my toe anymore.
I don’t have any toes, not even one.
You see, I have gone to heaven.
The Crazymad Writer 