K. Morris's Blog, page 555

There was a young man from Pakistan

There was a young man from Pakistan
Who married a girl called Anne.
She was extremely pretty
And worked in the city
For a man by the name of Dan

Public Speaking

I heard his peroration
About the good of the nation
And how we must all stick together
Through stormy weather.

I heard another
Say all men are my brother.
And rich old Jack
Must give what collective Jill does lack.

Looking back at that hall
I recall
The people cheering.
Others jeering,
And the cynics sneering.

The Lost Soul

In the beginning

Sinning

Is like touching a live wire.

You know

That you mustn’t go

There But desire

Twitches

And reputation, riches,

Are for a moment forgot

In pleasure’s  hot

Flush

And rush.

 

Later sinning

Becomes habit forming.

The devil is grinning

And there is no chance of reforming.

You fight

At night

Under sweated sheet.

When the morn breaks

The bird takes Flight

Leaving you in defeat.

Thoughts prior to sleep

Come the morn
I shall yawn,
Or not.
In the graveyard plot
Tombs stand.
Now my hand
Is hot.

Lost Shoe

Who
Left
Her shoe?
What should I do?
For a foot bereft
Of shoe
Is a sorrowful sight to view.
I grieve
As I perceive
That she lost her stocking
Too.
Tis a thing most shocking
To lose both stocking
And shoe …

From my archives – “One Night Stand”

The below first appeared here on 15th August 2015:

“The passage of time muddles the brain, I don’t recall your name.

Perhaps Marie or Melisa, no matter its all the same.

Though some would consider it shocking, it meant absolutely nothing,

You kept on your stockings,

I feared my neighbours knocking.

It signified everything and nothing,

A girl in suspenders and stockings”.

There was a young man named More

There was a young man named More.
Who was extremely poor.
He wed an elderly billionaire
By the name of Claire.
It was her wealth he did adore!

What Happened to Us? Are we in a Brave New World yet?

Interesting Literature

In this special guest post, Lyubov Dali offers an analysis of Zamyatin’s We and Huxley’s Brave New World in light of their striking dystopian visions

What is freedom to you? Is it an ability to choose what degree to pursue, where to live, what to have for dinner, or is it that hip Pharrell tune? Would limiting these freedoms make you unhappy? More importantly, are you likely to ever be persuaded to volunteer your freedom, aspirations, identity to be sacrificed for the...

One should not speak ill of the dead

It is frequently said
That one should not speak ill of the dead.
It is a notion most quaint
That in death, a devil becomes a saint,
Yet we cross ourselves and say
“He has passed away.
May god have mercy on his soul”.
While inwardly we smile
For well we know
Where his soul did go …

My visit to the doctors

I visited my doctor yesterday. He began with a series of questions regarding my lifestyle:

“Do you smoke?” he asked.
“No” I replied truthfully.

“Do you drink?” he said.
“Yes, I’ll have a large red wine, please” I replied.