Category Archives: Poetry

Three Little Ducks – Mob Barley

Don’t worry about a duck,

Cause every little duck gonna be all right.

Singin: don’t worry about a duck,

Cause every little duck gonna be all right!

Rise up this mornin,

Smiled with the risin sun,

Three little ducks

Pitch by my doorstep

Singin sweet songs

Of melodies pure and true,

Sayin, (this is my message to you-ou-ou:)

Singin: don’t worry bout a duck,

Cause every little duck gonna be all right.

Singin: don’t worry (dont worry) bout a duck,

Cause every little duck gonna be all right!

Rise up this mornin,

Smiled with the risin sun,

Three little ducks

Pitch by my doorstep

Singin sweet songs

Of melodies pure and true,

Sayin, this is my message to you-ou-ou:

Singin: don’t worry about a duck, worry about a duck, oh!

Every little duck gonna be all right. don’t worry!

Singin: don’t worry about a duck – I won’t worry!

Cause every little duck gonna be all right.

Singin: don’t worry about a duck,

Cause every little duck gonna be all right – I won’t worry!

Singin: don’t worry about a duck,

Cause every little duck gonna be all right.

Singin: don’t worry about a duck, oh no!

Cause every little duck gonna be all right!

How High (Can a Butterfly Fly?)

How high?

Quite high?

Not very high at all?

Really high (higher than our garden wall)?

As high as in the film The Aeronauts’?

How high?

As high as an elephant’s eye?

High enough to watch the clouds go by?

Higher than a leaping building?

Higher than an all time low?

As high as an outfielder on grass, fielding?

Higher than a geographical lake – obviously an ox-bow?

How high can a butterfly

fly?

I ask, because,

I’ve just seen a butterfly

flutter by –

three feet off the ground.

Scarecrows in Fields

If I ‘start’ talking to scarecrows in fields,

then I may have just lost it;

however, if I just ‘continue’ talking to the scarecrows in fields…

… as I have done for many years…

who’s to say that I have become mad?

Company Bee

The bees do keep me company,

whilst I potter in the garden;

they bimble about,

as do I,

and when we meet,

it’s, ‘I beg your pardon.’

and we both bimble on

as before.

Rusty the Dog

My dog’s Rusty,

I left him out last night,

there was a brief rain shower,

he used to be

just black and white.

Bees – and which bee they be.

There was this bee

identification chart

showing what was a bee

and what was another bee

(it didn’t show what was not a bee,

obviously)

it gave me ten examples

of what bee it was

when a bee I did see –

all very useful to a D like me.

So, next time I am in the garden,

doing a bit of D I Me,

and I see a bee,

I shall be grabbing desperately

for my chart to see,

what is the name of the bee

that is currently bothering me.

The Incredible Shrinking Poem

Starting off being quite lengthy,

the lines diminish quite soon;

syllable reduction

is no seduction,,

but a sorrow

that hits you,

then it’s…

gone.