K. Morris's Blog, page 75

Dust

In my bedroom

Your Perfume

Mingles with the dust

Of books.

 

Your scent lingers

On fingers.

But all I’ve touched

Will be dust.

Graces

I could call

On 2 young graces.

Silks and laces

So easily fall away.

 

I find charms

In a girl’s arms.

But they go with day

And my love of solitude

May love exclude.

 

I am glad

For I have

A kind of friend.

 

 

But all our graces

Must end

In the hard churchyard

For below

There is no pretend.

There Once Was a Poetical Old Monk

There once was a poetical old monk

Who composed a poem about his skunk.

A pretty young nun

Said, “that was fun”.

And then they spoke of that skunk.

A Girl and her Big Gun

When a young lady waving a gun

Said, “are you up for some fun!”.

Having learned not to trifle

With a girl’s big rifle,

Of course I agreed to some fun …!

The Pleasure Seeker

I have demanded pleasure

And chosen not to understand

That the pursuit of pleasure

Would leave me stranded

In the desert sand.

 

I can command

Sweet painted lips

To tease and kiss.

But the desolate sand

Obeys no command.

Fluidity

Whilst visiting a place known as Stonehenge

I met a young lady from Penge.

She was dressed as a Druid

And her identity was somewhat fluid,

And she said she came from Penge …

Love that is Not

On this dull day

No girls pass

Before my bedroom glass.

 

 

On other days

It has reflected back

The black

And white

Who have relieved

My lonely night.

 

Sometimes when they leave

I grieve

For the cost

Of lost

Souls. and love

That is not love.

 

Butterflies fly away.

But no, they stay

Caught in rhymes

Though they know it not.

 

There Was an Old Lady of Penge

There was an old lady of Penge

Who advertised her garden rockery as Stonehenge.

Many rich Americans came there

And one known as Claire

Purchased that rockery and all of Penge!

All Men Fall

All men fall

But some men

Deny it is so.

But could one go

Into the mind

Of all men

One would find

No angels here below.

 

I have seen Heaven and Hell

And I know well

That the path to both

Oft runs parallel.

On an Autumn Day

On an autumn day

I heard the sound

Of children at play.

 

 

My brown

Has gone grey.

 

 

Leaves fall

And the ground

Takes all

Our leaves away.