These days George is a binge drinker,

wears his red cross tabard down the pub;

not much of a religious thinker,

worships footy with his Sunday grub.

Pawned his knightly armour long ago,

gave the lance to pay his bookie’s bill.

Golden Dragon, Saturday he’ll go

with his wayward mates and drink his fill.

Monday morning finds him back at work,

hiding from the gaffe...

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We went abroad to guarantee the sun

and all this week we’ve revelled in the heat.

I have to say, we’re having so much fun,

with sights so stunning, home just can’t compete.

And oh, the food’s almost too good to eat;

I’ve put on so much weight, it’s pitiful.

We’ve stopped at this café to rest our feet,

to have a drink and text you something cool;

the weather’s here, wish you...

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All through this night your words have had me reeling;

I thought I felt the growth of a connection,

but now I’ve had to second-guess that feeling.

The glut of tears reflect on my dejection;

No matter what I do, I can’t stop crying,

for what you said can only mean rejection.

Was any of it real, or were you lying?

Why would you stoop to toy with my affections,

to le...

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This form has got a fearsome reputation;

I don’t know why, it seems ok to me.

I guess it’s ‘cause there’s lots of repetition.

Come now and let’s review my definition;

five tercets and a quatrain, I agree

this form has got a fearsome reputation.

I thought it was a simple composition,

but straight away the problem’s there to see;

I guess it’s ‘cause there’s lots of ...

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Can someone say what is the rationale

that says we cannot be platonic mates?

Simply because you’ve now become a pal,

we’re not obliged to have romantic dates.

We’ll still go out and chat and have a laugh,

no pressure to start jumping into bed;

and just ignore the sceptical riff-raff

who will not leave scurrilousness unsaid.

We two can be content in our rapport,

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I think of all the loves that there have been,

and there have been a number, it is true,

there’s one I hold so dear, and has to mean

the most to me. No matter when a new

infatuation comes along, I still

return to my old favourite in time,

to prove that I can never have my fill

of one who leaves me feeling so sublime.

The taste of some brings pleasure to my lips,

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What is it with those weathermen that now

they want to give a name to every storm?

Do they believe that this will humanise

the winds and floods left trailing in their wake?

And will a cutesy designation serve

to moderate the mindless potency

that rips the very rooftop from our home?

Shall we just smile when rivers burst their banks

to fill the house with all that endless oo...

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