Details |
Kit Webbe Poem
Acapulco
I’d love to go down to the sea again,
The sea and the Holiday Inn,
Where some of the guests are awfully fat,
And others are awfully thin,
Where the average age is a hundred and four,
Give or take a year or three,
‘Cos another senior citizens’ tour
Has come to see the sea.
I’d love to go down to the sea again,
And lie on the golden sands,
And watch the dark-eyed gigolos,
As they roam around in bands,
I’d love to sit at the Patio Bar
And get ever so slightly pissed
“Have another tequila old boy ?”
“Well, one, if you insist.”
I’d love to go down to the sea again,
Where the con artiste is king
Where it only costs you an arm and a leg
For a genuine silver ring,
I’d love to go down to the sea again,
It’s the only place for me
Where it’s twice as nice
At twice the price,
Acapulco by the sea.
Copyright © Kit Webbe | Year Posted 2018
|
Details |
Kit Webbe Poem
Rats
If rats live on no evil star
Then why did rats not get that far ?
Or if they did, and then they left
Then why’s that star of rats bereft ?
And what of good stars ? Did they
Fail to keep the rats away ?
Did rattus come complete with fleas,
Lured on by interstellar cheese ?
Copyright © Kit Webbe | Year Posted 2018
|
Details |
Kit Webbe Poem
When Livingstone got back to quarters
It was time to pay off his porters
His account was in London, no branch was nearer
So each man got a check made out to bearer
Copyright © Kit Webbe | Year Posted 2018
|
Details |
Kit Webbe Poem
Whatever
It is what it is, whatever it is
Of that there can be no dispute
For whatever it is, it is what it is
That’s something no one can refute
And although it might be that it might not quite be
What you thought it might be there’s no doubt,
As they say in the biz, it is what it is
It’s not hard to figure it out.
Now perhaps what it could be, is not what it would be
Though just what it should be, who knows,
So whatever it is, it is what it is,
And that is as far as it goes.
Copyright © Kit Webbe | Year Posted 2018
|
Details |
Kit Webbe Poem
Will you fold if I get old ?
Will you bale if I begin to ail ?
Will you give a toss for my hair loss ?
Will your eye bat at my fat ?
Will you think me a wimp
If I start to limp ?
Will it stop your heart
If I fart ?
What’s the net if I begin to forget ?
Will you call a let ?
Or is it game match and set ?
What I’m asking is whether
When I get old, will we stay together,
Or will I fall apart, apart ?.
Copyright © Kit Webbe | Year Posted 2018
|
Details |
Kit Webbe Poem
Autumn
The leaves of Autumn
The bloody leaves of Autumn
When the wind’s got up and caught’em
And blown’em everywhere
With Autumn winds a-squalling
Those bloody leaves keep falling
Those leaves I’ll soon be hauling
Until the trees are bare
The leaves of Autumn
I know not why God wrought’em
Nor why the wind has brought’em
And blown’em everywhere
Now I guess I can’t return’em
So I rake’em up and burn’em
And you’d think that that’d learn’em
Not to come again next year.
Copyright © Kit Webbe | Year Posted 2018
|