Pat Poems - Poems about Pat

One Good Deed

People come and people go
and how the times do change
but something here needs to be done
it should be rearranged
preachers pundits politicians
won't ever set things right
the man in the street can make a difference
if he takes up the fight
so many souls lost at sea
tho' they're on dry land
action speaks louder than words
they need a helping hand
and

Story Of Pat

Story of pat,

Can you hear the sirens?
The old mans values engulfed with burning lust of minors,
Patrick’s family left in suspense & deprived,
Waiting to hear news, if their son is alive.

Peter 5:8 of the bible reads the devil walks among us,
I have met him in a house on fifth street living just behind us,
Across the road

WTC Postman Pat

Another hallowed arrow from his quivers

One of cricket’s greatest shiver givers

Coursing down your spine like rivers

Fine line..never dithers as slivers 

Of adversaries hopes on the ropes..withers

Tipples tickle our livers

The latest tropes of how

Somehow…anyhow won’t kowtow

Postman Pat delivers


Matinee idol looks tease

Record books hooks please

Finds batters crannies & 

Nooks with such ease


Impeccable length…metronomic 

Chin music chagrin

Such strength..astronomic

Gift

Get Well Soon Pat

Sending you get well wishes your way 
To help you get through each trying day
Relax, time and rest will heal your pain
And the sun will shine for you again.

Stay positive, strong and have no fear
Better days are sure to soon be here
A teddy bear in claret and blue
Is sat at home, just waiting for you.

You

Echoes of the Silent Shore

Beach Music, Pat Conroy’s voice in flavors
Of raspberry ice and chocolate paradise
Mists blowing across the waters, soundless
Yet aching so that every heart felt blessed
By his melancholic treasure, the history of a sea
Who restored peace and awakened the night
Blowing winds who waved to the shores
Silencing the darkness and flooding the heart
With a flowing light, a flutter

Not Standing Pat

   trumpeting the deportation of Tren de Aragua killers
     only one democrat stood up, few even clapped
     
   if congress isn’t united about that
     it’s a good thing the president’s not standing pat

A Lass Called Pat Limerick

                  There once was a lass who waddled.
                  She liked running, but she dawdled.
       

We Go So Fur

You’re so much artificial fur.
You, little bear, do not communicate,
not a word, not a single utterance.
Yet I speak to you, tap your nose,
pat your head - gently, of course.

I call you Mr Titch - yes, a name!
You have been at table with me,
sitting in a bar, I with others.
Should I have said we?
Yes, we were

Pat

Rat-a-tat and pit-a-pat!
‘Pon my word!
Pit-a-pat and rat-a-tat!

It’s a bird –
A woodpecker knocking!
Loudest I’ve heard!

His noise shocking!.
Thrashing the habitat.
His visage mocking.

Pat my head

You ran across the hall, 
I stood infront our schools mall.
Hm, shall I buy the chocolate bread or Snack Bar though? 
How much money do I even have with me, I think my bag is low.
I felt a gently pull from a little blond haired kid.
Confused I looked around the myth.
A other kid with a

Pat the Potato

Pat the potato just sat in the ground
Wondering if he would ever be found
He couldn’t see anything there in the earth
So spent his days praying for all he was worth

Then the ground heaved as a metal spade dug
And Pat knew that soon he’d be snug as a bug
A new human home is what life is

Pat and Sam in a row

in my colourful world of lego,
there was once a clash of big egos,
postman and fireman blocked road halfway!
Pat and Sam two old friends had a fray!

Sam said as fireman, he had the right,
Pat said I agree there is no fight!
My van has stopped with front flat tyre,
would not block your way to a fire!

shall guide

Storm Cloud Pat

the second Pat walks into the room
I sense the cloud that is over her head
It is gray, gloomy, full of grouse and gripes

She does not have to open her mouth
for me to recognize it is there
a storm ready to burst open

flooding the room with negativity
trying to flush away all laughter and mirth
I run from the

Pierre Pat Panda

no one can bake, cook, or grill like pierre panda, someone said.
his recipes are exquisitely tasty, all up in his head.
He learned it from his grandma Maria Marla Maghetti
You should taste his lasagna, French bread and spaghetti!

cooks cuisine like the French, his Italian background imperative.
Pierre’s recipe book is a full-blown in-mind keen narrative
he experiments with

No More Pitty Pat

Pitty Pat the wonder cat
Ate more than a gutter rat
A wonder but really fat
Beaten with a baseball bat

Now there's no more Pitty Pat
I wonder wonder where she's at
Under ground or in a vat
Or eaten by that gutter rat

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