K. Morris's Blog, page 662

There Was A Young Lady Called Flow

There was a young lady called flow
Who said,”you reap what you so”.
She made a dress,
Her friends to impress,
Then found she had nowhere to go!

The Camera Never Lies …

A photograph says
He who sends pays.
A photograph implies
He who attaches does not lie.
A photograph states this is me
And not some other he.
A photograph says all that you need to know is here,
You need not fear.

A photograph says
There are many ways
To skin a cat
And I will eat my hat
If the camera never lies.
“Whose eyes
Are those?”
“Only heaven knows”.

There Was A Young Lady Called Claire

There was a young lady called Claire
Who liked to go here and there,
By train or bus.
Oh how the officials did fuss
As she never paid her fare!

What is Poetry

A powerful cry from the heart by Jason. Kevin

I do not know what poetry is or even how to write it. How the lines are supposed to support one another, a house of cards is all I build. Crashing words make no sound at all as they fall to waiting ground. They simply fall forever and are forgotten. It makes me angry and upset as the lines I have written are quickly forgotten.

What is poetry? What is the image that you see, that is poetry to me. Rules from dead fingers mean nothing to me. They ar...

There Was A Young Man Called Roary

There was a young man called Roary
Who was a traditional high Tory.
His girlfriend Mel
Said “I love you well,
Though I am no hidebound Tory”!

There Was A Young Lady Called Jill

There was a young lady called Jill
Who never would pick up the bill.
Her friends did say,
“you must pay your way”.
I fear they are waiting still!

There Was A Young Mann Called Max

There was a young man called Max
Who liked to play on the Sax.
He played for his girl,
Who did a twirl.
It made her really relax!

There Was A Young Lady Called Nell

There was a young lady called Nell
Who worked in a hotel.
The guests where crude,
But she was no prude
And Nell would never tell …

Shorn

Does the grandfather clock’s pendulum
Still, with measured swing
A sense of order bring
To that country place
Where a mantion’s stately grace,
Brought peace,
For a while at least.

I would resile
This urban life
Of strife,
And solace take
In the birds who awake
At morn.

We are from tradition torn,
And shorn
Of a sense of the past
Wander in a vast
Whirlpool
Where the sleepless screen does rule
And institutions are thrown away
For they belong to yesterday.

Submissions on Ink and Quill

A generous offer by Jen at Ink and Quill. Kevin

INK AND QUILL

Ink and Quill is acceptingsubmissions.

Would you like to feature on Ink & Quill?

I’m looking for poetry, and fiction, art, music and photographythat is original, quirky, dark, romantic, thought provoking, empowering…new or previously published on your site.

In particular, I would like to feature poetry, fiction, art music, or photographyin honour ofpowerful and empowered woman.

The submissions will feature on Ink and Quill weekly...