Dear Future Wife

Dear Future Wife

Lay right down beside me,

And tell me your woes,

Together my love,

We shall beat your foes,

We’ll grow old together,

You’re part of my soul,

Heart still skips a beat,

And together we’re whole,

You know that I love you,

The same as I did,

Back all of those years,

When we were just kids,

All cute on the sofa,

I feel your chest rise,

The flicker of angels,

I see in your eyes,

To me you are perfect,

In spite of your flaws,

In love with you baby,

So kiss gaze and pause.

Charli's left big toe

Charli's left big toe

It’s Friday night people,

We’re out on the town,

Well some of us inside,

Behave like a clown,

And one of those people,

Is called CharliBob,

She’s had too much wine,

And become quite a knob,

She’s set me a challenge,

To write her some lines,

Her big toe the topic,

The left one defined,

We know that it’s painted,

And pink is the shade,

From status of robot,

I know she has strayed,

And now she is dancing,

She’s simply the best,

Controls all the men,

With her lovely chest.

Explanation

This is another case of someone challenging me to write a poem. Blame the internet. If you want to suggest any to me, just tweet me @philverney.

Snooker

Snooker

The green baize’s awaiting,

All neatly laid out,

Rob Walker announces,

The crowd starts to shout,

The twenty two balls,

All set to be played,

I wonder how big,

The breaks will be made,

And JV has told us,

There’s always a gap,

So careful now Ronnie,

It just needs a tap,

He’s high on the blue,

Goes into the pack,

And gets a nice split,

Soon back to the black,

The whispers of Dennis,

I like him the best,

The next shot’s a tough one,

He will need the rest,

This sport is my favourite,

It brings me much joy,

With Hazel, the boys,

Settle down and enjoy.

Kittens

Kittens

Producing lots of ooh’s and aah’s,

They really are so sweet,

The kittens of the internet,

For us they are a treat,

To have your own and see them play,

It’s really very nice,

But not so much when they bring you,

Some manky dead old mice,

I don’t know what they’re feeding you,

It’s probably not your fault,

You’ll always be a smelly cat,

But less so when you malt,

They’ll give you so much love and joy,

And ask for little back,

Except first thing when morning comes,

They need their stroke and snack,

These tiny cats that are so cute,

And usually really daft,

Cos kittens I will always love,

For many times I’ve laughed.

Explanation

This is another case of someone challenging me to write a poem. Blame the internet. If you want to suggest any to me, just tweet me @philverney.