Angela Wybrow Poems

People have gardens, both large and small,
Whilst flat dwellers have no garden at all.
Some people love to surround their homes
With comical-looking, little garden gnomes.
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Tall trees offer the birds and beasts much protection;
Of flora and fauna, there is a truly fabulous collection.
Through the forest, ponies roam around wild and free;
Up above their heads, the small birds nest in the trees.
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For my colony, I am the explorer scout;
I am sent on ahead, to sniff things out.
When I've found something tasty to eat,
Back to the nest, I beat a hasty retreat.
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The local residents are all up in arms,
Worried that their town may lose its charm.
With hundreds of new houses, they are faced,
But plans to oppose them, are firmly in place.
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A poet who is without a pen,
Is like a lion that has no den.
Like a hotdog with no mustard,
Or like jelly with no custard.
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While I was out walking,
I saw a little cat.
So I called him on over
For a little chat.
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She was built in the city of Belfast;
She was a ship that was built to last.
She was rumoured to be unsinkable,
But, soon happened, the unthinkable.
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In a coffee shop window, I sit and stare
At all the people passing by, out there.
In London town, literally anything goes:
Zany hairstyles, as well as crazy clothes.
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It is late, on a cold, dark, wintry afternoon;
Up high in a tree, a small bird merrily croons.
Trade in the town, has now begun to wind down,
And taking centre stage, is the bird’s sweet sound.
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At the idea of poetry, some people seem to scoff,
As they consider it is an art form only for toffs.
They may think that the concept of poetry is boring,
And that it will leave them fast asleep and snoring.
...