K. Morris's Blog, page 493

Conservatism

Conservatism is a scepticism regarding what some call “progress”
Coupled with a desire to redress
Genuine grievances, lest the great wall crumble and fall
Crushing all.

Conservatism is men who
Wish the clock
Would stop
At half-past 2
But know that this man can not do.
While the reactionary believes that one can rewind the clock
And it’s hands lock
At some frozen place
In time and space.

Conservatism is scepticism about equality
For the Conservative does see
That each tree
Is different. but...

Some Gifts

Some gifts are given in lust
And are not meant.
Some repent
Of their lust
And the whirling dust
Chastens
Hastens
The onset
Of regret

Wild Flowers

I perceive
The flowers as I
Pass by.
Should I
Grieve
That they will die?

I paused and smelt
And felt
Their slim stem that I
Could so easily break.

I chose not to take
And did the blooms forsake
For I
Know that they shall die

A Doleful Young Man Called Cook

A doleful young man called Cook
Sought a sequestered nook.
His thoughts where muddy
And he needed to study
So there he took
A book.

A young lady was there
With auburn hair.
And Cook
His thoughts no longer muddy
Forsook
Both book
And study …

There Was A Young Man Called Jack

There was a young man called Jack
Who gave my head a whack.
Only last week
I turned the other cheek,
But today I whacked Jack back!

Short Skirts

“G and I
Are wearing a short
Skirt”.
She said as I
Passed by.
An attempt to flirt?
Caught off guard
I didn’t know what to say,
Mumbled some words
And went on my way.

Both young enough
To be my daughter.
Why dwell on such stuff?
For we where all the worse for drink.
Yet I still think
On that night
And thus write
It down
Though the prude
Will consider me crude
And frown.

There Was A Young Lady Called Kate

There was a young lady called Kate
Who invariably came home late.
When her father, Lord Moor
Banged on my door
I hid with his young daughter Kate …

Haircut

A myriad leaves fall down
Tis many a long day
Since the gray
Hair were brown

There Was A Young Lady From Bristol

There was a young lady from Bristol
Who shot me with her pistol.
I said with disdain
“I feel no pain.
Throw down that water pistol!”.

There Was A Young Lady Called Rose

There was a young lady called Rose
Who had a remarkably long nose.
When the tide covered all
I do recall
That a poem she did compose.

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/tide/