K. Morris's Blog, page 566

There Was A Young Poet Called Kevin

There was a young poet called Kevin
Who said “I may not get to heaven.
But I shall write
Throughout the night,
And get drunk by half-past seven”!

Can I Pray for You?

“Excuse me, can I pray for you?”

“Yeah, do what you like”!

There I was, on my way home earlier this evening, when a random stranger accosted me (and I responded), in the manner set-out above.

Some may interpret my reply as brusque, perhaps even rude. However I am blind and a guide dog user and my gut instinct screamed “this man is a religious zealot who believes that by praying for me he will, with god’s assistance, help me in regaining my eyesight”.

I don’t have a problem with religion. If r...

The Disillusioned Dissolute

Of an evening late
Oft times I would wait
For a click clack
To relieve my lack.

In the street below
Feet would come and go.
Heels would approach
And broach …

Or in the dark
Car park
A door would bang,
Which rhymes with twang.

Looking back, I recall
Bang
And twang
And fall.

One Argument for Writing Every Day

I agree with Tonya that in order to be a writer, one does not have to write every day. It is, however good to get into the habit of trying to put pen to paper (or fingers to keyboard) each day, even if one produces little (or nothing) during some of those days.

A Writer's Path

by Tonya R. Moore

Recently, writers all over the Internet got outraged over an article declaring that unless you write every day, you’re not a real writer. I don’t share this article’s sentiment however, I do believe...

There Was A Young Lady Named Gay

There was a young lady named Gay
Who said “every dog has its day”.
Her dog heaved a sigh
And said “I wonder why,
That can not be today?”

There Is An Equalitie In The Grave

There is an equalitie in the grave
Where the brave,
The coward, the rich and the poor
All must bow down,, to death’s all conquering law.

In the beds of the living,
There may be mutual giving
And equalitie,
But love may not always be free

Long Forgotten Lists

Long forgotten lists
And secret trysts.
Girl’s wrists
Naked, save for cheap jewels,
So often left behind
For fools
To find.

Inexpensive scent
Grossly overdone.
It is fun
To repent
Over the fact
Of an act
And say, “come future days,
I shall mend my ways”.

The moralist gabs
About heels
And midnight deals
As the stiletto stabs
Again, and perchance leaves a mark
On Lothario’s fickle heart.

There Was A Young Materialist Named Ted

There was a young materialist named Ted
Who remarked “when we are dead, we are dead”.
He went to Hell
Where the Devil does dwell,
That unfortunate young materialist named Ted!

Whispering Girls

Whispering girls, I know
not what you are saying.
Perhaps
‘Tis a kind of praying,
For your first lapse
Happened not long ago.

One cold,
Rigid as an ironing board.
The other bold.
Their desire for gold,
And his aching lust,
All must
End in dust.

There Was A Young Man Named Ken

There was a young man named Ken
Who entered the lion’s den.
The creature rubbed it’s eyes
And remarked with surprise,
“I nearly didn’t recognise you, Ken”!