K. Morris's Blog, page 325

There Once Was A Poet Named Lou

There once was a poet named Lou
Who said, “one day I’ll break through
With my very quirky verse”.
But it grew steadily worse,
So she turned to making strong glue!

I Have Sat Round the Open Pub Fire

I have sat round the open pub fire
And discussed the rights and wrongs of empire,
And the ends
Of men
With friends.
But when
I walk through fallen leaves,
The ends
Of men
I truly perceive.

Thinking of A Girl He’s Never Met

Thinking of a girl he’s never met,
And perhaps he,
Will never see.
Memories of heels and skirts.
And flirts
(Who where not).
Momentary joy, close followed by regret
And pain,
Maybe he
Will do it all again.
But, If so, for what?
A brief hot
Rush,
A flush
Of pleasure.
Recollections of girl’s scent,
Then repent
At leisure.

When A Religious Young Lady Named Fay

When a religious young lady named Fay
Said, “sir, let us both now pray”.
I said, “we are full of sin,
So let us now both begin,
Then, afterwards, we ought to pray!”.

Dark Heart

I love
The dark heart
Of the wood.
But the black
Has been cut back
Allowing me
To see
Where the mystery
Should be.
Yet the dark
And the light
Fight
Within me,
Still, and will
Do so
Until I go
Into the night,
And become forever part
Of the dark,
And the light.

Politics and Poetry

I met a young lady named Ling
Who said, “you poets are all left-wing!”.
I said, “between you and I,
Eliot was a Conservative kind of guy,
Whilst Philip Larkin was really right-wing!”.

The Ad

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There are no strings to tie.
You to me.
I
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Whatever you wish me to be,
And I’ve uniforms galore
(and more),
so come visit me!

Or, if you prefer
My friend Claire
Can make it 3.
She has long blonde hair,
While I’m a brunette.
Please, come and see me,
And don’t forget,
The little matter of the fee …

I Met A Young Man of Harrow

I met a young man of Harrow
Wheeling his wife in a wheelbarrow.
When I said, “you are cruel!”,
He called me a stupid old fool,
And threw at me a marrow!

Words On A January Day

There is something about the song
Of birds, on a cold, January day,
That makes me wish to stay,
Out in this wood,
Where
The air
Is good.

There song
Is long
As joy, or grief.
Although, we know
That joy is, too often brief.

The smile
Oft flits across the face, then is gone
While
Grief
Lives on
In the hearts of men
Who, when
They hear the birds
Pour out words,
To our feathered friends,
Who comprehend
Not our ends).

My dog revels in the sscents of grass,
Whilst I
Look up to the sky
And think “all...

I Met A Young Lady in Victoria

I met a young lady in Victoria
Whose name was Louise or Gloria.
We went to a hotel,
That I know quite well.
‘Its in Clapham, or maybe Victoria!