Six limericks Poem by Roy Ballard

Whatever you're writing is prose
or it's verse. It depends how it flows.
If it rings like a bell
then it's music as well
which is terribly hard to compose.

You must think and then carefully weigh
every word lest your thoughts go astray.
‘But', she said with a wink,
‘I don't know what I think
till I've seen what I happened to say'.

Of all chagrin I'm sure that the worst
is the rival in love who comes first.
Though a colleague in crime
might be good for a time
the love of my lover is cursed.

‘Let us sin, it is really all right',
said the Devil. My answer is, ‘Quite!
Though I try to sin more
Milton's Unchanging Law
keeps on putting me into a fright'.

It is good to watch some great affair,
gaze on death as it flies through the air;
it is sweet to watch battle,
to see teeth and bones rattle
but I like to be not really there.

A troubled young man said, 'I swear
there is nothing to breathe, only air
and to eat: only food
so I go about nude,
except clothes I have nothing to wear'.

A lungfish crawled up on the land
with his fins, without legs or a hand.
Now he's you, it appears.
This took four million years
which is surely much longer than planned.

All those millions of years
would have bored him to tears
but he had it in mind
that one day he would find
he'd evolved far beyond all his peers.

Old Socrates corrupted kids,
with notions that the state forbids:
that national divinities,
are rational infinities,
which put the gods upon the skids.

And then he tried to find his soul,
a worse corruption on the whole,
for constantly it makes us try
to find it in the earth or sky
while nobody achieves the goal.