K. Morris's Blog, page 488

There Was A Young Man Called Guy

There was a young man called Guy
Who said “a Socialist am I”,
As his housemaid Jane
Poured champagne
For me and my friend Guy

THE BORED WOODWORM

This made me smile

AND NOW, A BIT OF FUN

A woodworm that felt rather good
Chewed its way through lots of wood
But then it got bored
Yelled “This main course is flawed
I think it’s now time for some pud.”

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Twas Such Bliss

Twas such bliss
Her kiss
So sweet and soft
As we lay
In the hayloft.
Then the devil coughed
And I heard him say
“Apologies, I have terrible hay fever today …”.

There Was A Young Lady Called Jill

There was a young lady called Jill
Who owned a dog named Bill.
While in her local pub
He ate all the grub
And Jill she paid the bill!

Working Towards A Collection Of Poetry

Emma Lee has written a helpful post on producing a collection of poetry. Emma discusses the advantages and disadvantages of publishing a collection dealing with one theme VS producing a book containing a variety of themes.

Emma’s post caused me to ponder on my own writing and, in particular my collection of poetry, “My Old Clock I Wind”. The title of the book brings to mind both clocks and time more generally and there are, indeed a number of poems which deal with this subject matter. There...

There Was A Young Man Called Dave

There was a young man called Dave
Who slept on a weathered old grave.
Late at night
Much to the ghost’s delight
Dave would rant and rave!

I am Told

I am told
That one is getting old
When policemen look younger than you.
I’m sure that’s true
But when girls say
In a friendly sort of way
That their dad has the same interests as you,
Then what is a guy to do
Other than smile and accept
That age
Has crept
Up on him like a thief in the bleak night
And that although he may, in the company of young women delight
He must
For the purposes of love or lust
Engage with women of a similar age
As no
Young ladies desire
A grey haired sire.
But oh!
If he...

The Hands Are Almost At Half-Past

The hands are almost at half-past.
Will the clock last
The hour?

A sudden shock
Can stop
The clock
At …

And what of that?
For clocks
Are like flies,
One dies
But the great tick tock
Continues on,
Though one is gone.

Sunlight And Shade

Sunlight and shade
A girl made
With tresses brown
As Autumn’s gown.

I lay me down
Upon the forest’s ground
And lost myself there.
But oh despair
For when I awoke
And her name spoke
She was no longer there.

I am a fool
To think my mistress cruel.
Her beauty is beyond art
But lose not your heart
To her
For there is no heart to lose
In return
And as surely as the earth does turn
There is no love to return.

Everyone Has Their Thing

Alert: Risque humour below:

Everyone has their thing
Or most people do,
Whether it be a high-heel shoe
Or string,
Most people have their thing.

Alert!
The prim secretary, in her conservative skirt
And the sober executive, in his crisp white shirt,
All have their kink,
The chains that clink,
The Fluffy handcuff
And other such stuff.

Yes I think
That everyone has their kink.
But it simply won’t do
To dwell on the stiletto shoe
For I am a bore
And my thoughts are pure.