K. Morris's Blog, page 81

Lou Who Was Known for Wearing 1 Shoe

There was a young lady named Lou

Who was known for wearing 1 shoe.

When they asked her why

She’d point to the sky,

And say, “there flies my other shoe!”.

How Quickly August Slips into September

How quickly August slips into September.

I remember how the Spring

Was full of birdsong

And opening flowers.

 

In December

I remember

Long spring hours

And birdsong.

Punters

Some take  a punt

On a horse.

Others follow a different course.

But they also play

In their hunt

For the perfect young Philly.

 

 

All punters are silly

And all pay

For horses lose races

And a Philly’s bought laces

Soon fade away.

The Perils of Writing

When guilty men

Dip their pen

Into black ink,

Later they may regret

And by burning the whole

Hope to conceal their soul.

The wise use ink,

But others regret

The damnable internet!

Gangster

When I met a person named Dan

Who is an extremely tough young man,

And he demanded my money,

I said to him, “sunny,

You are fat. and then I ran!”.

August Author Newsletter

I am pleased to announce that my August Author Newsletter is now available. To read it please visit https://us2.campaign-archive.com/?u=1db75701fcc25d339e473c8d6&id=efaf3b5cad.

A Rhyme of Her First Time

A rhyme of her first time.

She stayed for roughly an hour.

And after his bliss

Took a shower.

Then the door closed

On nondescript clothes.

 

 

She didn’t kiss  him goodbye

And left no perfume

In his bedroom.

Just her towel

On his chair

To prove she’d been there.

My new audiobook – Kevin Morris reading from More Poetic Meanderings

I am in the process of recording my book ‘More Poetic Meanderings.’ You can listen to Part 1 here  and Part 2 here.

This is an ongoing project and further extracts will appear here in due course.

‘More Poetic Meanderings’ is also available from Amazon in Kindle and Paperback.

 

I Touch the Gravestone

I touch the gravestone

Warm from the afternoon sun.

I have come

Here alone,

Many a time

My mind

Full of rhyme.

But under the cold gravestone

There is neither sun

Nor rhyme.

There Once Was a Poet Named Moat

There once was a poet named Moat

Who traveled the seas with a goat.

That beast wrote verse

Which grew steadily worse.

But it wrote better poetry than Moat!