K. Morris's Blog, page 298

A Young Lady Whose Morals Are Lose

A young lady whose morals are loose
Rode through the streets on a goose.
When I called her immoral,
It led to a quarrel,
So I roasted that young ladys goose!

The Weather Was Chill

The weather was chill,
And the park still.
Few birds I heard
On this spring day.
Dickinson spoke, of feathered hope.
I would like to say
That Emilys feathered thing
Will, through its song, bring
To birth a much brighter day.
But things dont work that way.

When A Ghost Whose Name Is Dave

When a ghost whose name is Dave
Arose from a most ancient grave
And said, you should be very scared!,
I said, have you not heard
Dave, that I am very brave!.

All Along the Watchtower by Chris De Burgh

I find this song both enigmatic and sinister

He Stood to the Side of the Path

He stood to the side of the path
So that I might in safety pass.
I turned my face away
On a beautiful, spring day.
But thanked him with a smile, while
Pondering on what constitutes a safe distance,
And the persistence
Of common courtesy.
And what did he
Think of me
As I turned my face away?
I can not say,
But suspect he understood
As we did pass
Along that tranquil, woodland path.

My Poetic Well is Dry

My poetic well is dry.
A virus of some kind
Slows my body and mind.
Much loved books remain untouched.
Sleep is my friend.
I know not where this will end.

When An Elderly Gentleman Named Pat

When an elderly gentleman named Pat
Said, would you like to play snap?,
I jumped on his fine old table,
With a young lady called Mable.
And the table leg went snap!

The sound of rain

K Morris - Poet

The sound of rain reached my ear.
Twas no cadence drear
To me,
Simply the rain,
Timeless, wild and free.

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There Once Was A God Named Zeus

There once was a god named Zeus
Who decided a nymph to seduce.
He plied her with fine wine
And on spaghetti rings they did dine.
And he bought her a chocolate mousse!

Mortality

I love the sunlight
That comes and goes.
It is easy to write
Of eternal night,
And to compose

Flowery verses
About ones mortality.
But many a poet curses
The reality
Behind his poetry.