WRITTEN WORKS OF HUD WRITER/POET/PHILOSOPHER
WINCHESTER WALKIES
Alfred the Great...
Put the brakes...
On eggheads...
From the Nordic lakes...
Is just so great...
And he lays claim...
To all the Viking hordes...
As the king of Wessex...
Is so complex to sketch...
As philosophy of Kingship...
Is pretty hip and slick.
To the common man...
Who throws bricks...
Into the gene pools...
Lays claim to the Roman streets...
That wore out many feet...
Into toe-curling heat...
While crossing the river Itchen...
And quit bitching in King Alfred's kitchen....
Winchester College...
Loves to polish...
Jane Austin's written knowledge...
While Knights of the Round Table...
Are telling fables...
Of Chaucer's mighty capers to sailors.
Prior's Gate leads to heavens door...
While Cheyney Court...
Is a medieval fort...
For telling porkies in shorties.
Feast of Franciscan Friars of St Swithun's...
Buried beneath...
The well trodden pathways...
Will give you forty days and nights of weepy skies.
John Keats roams the empty streets...
Inspired by the tallest spires...
While Christopher Wren...
Is such starlet gem...
Fruits of the vine and the figs of life...
Add spice to Queen Eleanor's medieval life...
Is just so nice...
But what a price...
To pay for spinning of the dice...
Frozen in ice like diced mice...
Winchester Cathedral...
Soars like a mighty eagle...
Upon St Giles's hill...
Just for a thrill...
How very pretty...
This Cathedral city...
Winchester Castle is full of plasters...
What a disaster...
While the Kings gate...
Just breaks porcelain plates...
How very quaint...
The fates of saints...
Shakespeare...
Never played in this place...
What a disgrace...
Globe trotting plotters...
Never had it any hotter...
God bless Harry Potter.
Copyright Hud 2007-2014 Writer/Poet/Philosopher.
Put the brakes...
On eggheads...
From the Nordic lakes...
Is just so great...
And he lays claim...
To all the Viking hordes...
As the king of Wessex...
Is so complex to sketch...
As philosophy of Kingship...
Is pretty hip and slick.
To the common man...
Who throws bricks...
Into the gene pools...
Lays claim to the Roman streets...
That wore out many feet...
Into toe-curling heat...
While crossing the river Itchen...
And quit bitching in King Alfred's kitchen....
Winchester College...
Loves to polish...
Jane Austin's written knowledge...
While Knights of the Round Table...
Are telling fables...
Of Chaucer's mighty capers to sailors.
Prior's Gate leads to heavens door...
While Cheyney Court...
Is a medieval fort...
For telling porkies in shorties.
Feast of Franciscan Friars of St Swithun's...
Buried beneath...
The well trodden pathways...
Will give you forty days and nights of weepy skies.
John Keats roams the empty streets...
Inspired by the tallest spires...
While Christopher Wren...
Is such starlet gem...
Fruits of the vine and the figs of life...
Add spice to Queen Eleanor's medieval life...
Is just so nice...
But what a price...
To pay for spinning of the dice...
Frozen in ice like diced mice...
Winchester Cathedral...
Soars like a mighty eagle...
Upon St Giles's hill...
Just for a thrill...
How very pretty...
This Cathedral city...
Winchester Castle is full of plasters...
What a disaster...
While the Kings gate...
Just breaks porcelain plates...
How very quaint...
The fates of saints...
Shakespeare...
Never played in this place...
What a disgrace...
Globe trotting plotters...
Never had it any hotter...
God bless Harry Potter.
Copyright Hud 2007-2014 Writer/Poet/Philosopher.
Comment On This Poem ---
WINCHESTER WALKIES
WINCHESTER WALKIES
