Poetry

A gentleman’s hair

Fear not, dear lady,  for I do declare

that is not a rat, just a mound of hair!

 

It escaped from beneath my top hat,

and now, if you’ll excuse me, I shall be taking it back.

 

Dear sir, perhaps I may enquire

as to why you hair fell towards my fire?

 

Is it perhaps one of those fancy toupées

that gentlemen such as yourself wear to conceal their true age?

 

Why, madam, I am affronted at such an accusation,

and must inform you such finely crafted hair has nothing to do with my generation.

 

I simply seek to add more fullness to my locks,

and if that does offend, I’m afraid I care not a jot.

 

 

Poetry

The Magician’s Bedroom

A box of playing cards, premium print.

A corseted top hat with deep red hints.

A box of chips, yet no bag.

A unicorn doll, still with tag.

A mountain made from clothes

including socks with holes at the toes.

Cables, cables, wires and more!

A discarded table on the floor.

Three water bottles, sloshing about

Guarded well from being thrown out.

And peeking carefully into the gloom,

a wary guest too frightened to enter the room.