John Carter Brown Poems

I hate it when I sneeze, these days,
It lifts my fringe, my curls, my greys;
It blasts my ears and rattles my head,
But at least it gets me out of bed.
...

There once was a skiver from Perth
Completely bone-idle from birth;
He said, 'I'm a singer,
I'll lift not a finger'
...

Sadly, to me
This thing they call Prose
Is naught but just talk,
And often verbose;
...

It doesn't seem right
When you think of it cold,
All this creaking of bones
That they call growing old.
...

A little friend came to visit one day
And I said, 'Fancy that! '
He said his name was Stanley,
I said, 'How come you're flat? '
...

If all the world was rubber
And all the human race
Jumped up and down together
They'd bounce off into space.
...

I think I'd rather pop my clogs
In summer's warm embrace;
The thought of death in winter
Is more than I could face;
...

I saw some lazy snow today
To idle e'en to melt away;
To all the world, beside the road
It sat, just like a fat white toad.
...

There was a mad artist named Ben
Who painted a pretty white hen;
Then o'er it he pored
And, seemingly bored,
...

They're drawing us in
By their subtle design,
Desiring to know
What's your and what's mine.
...