K. Morris's Blog, page 559

There was a young man named Paul

There was a young man named Paul,
Who was a Socialist as I recall.
He quaffed expensive champagne
With his aristocratic wife Jane
And they lived in his ancestoral hall.

There was a young lady named Nell

There was a young lady named Nell,
(She was a girl who I knew well).
We went out on a date
With her best friend kate,
And a gentleman refuses to tell …

LongAgo

Long ago
I used to know
A lady who thought that Communism was best.
So, we sat drinking fine wine
(Enjoying the trappings of the west),
And I would smile while
She argued that the Berlin wall
Must not fall
As it protected,
The system she respected.

She was neither bad nor mad
But I, as a mere lad
Could see
The people of the east were not free.
A precocious teenager I was
Who argued because
I believed,
And also I perceived
That it was fun
To have adults on the run.

Now the wall has come down
A...

Dreams

There are dreams, streams
Of consciousness of which I shall not speak,
For I am weak
And would not have you know
Where I go
In sleep,
Lest you weep
For my dark heart.

I shall not tell you of my nightmares
For you have cares
Of your own
And, when alone
I would not have thee see
What tortures me.

I shall not open my heart
For you have dark
Thoughts enough of your own.
So let us leave our demons alone
Until they creep
Out in sleep
And we, in earnest weep.

There was a young lady named Ocean

There was a young lady named Ocean
Who brewed a potent love potion.
It was taken by a hoary old sailor
(Who went by the name of Tailor),
I hear he got lost in the ocean.

—

There was a young lady named Ocean
Who brewed a potent love potion.
It was composed of sea salt
And no one could halt
The effects of that potent love potion!

Poem: Glossed Over

Sketches from Berlin

Here’s a poem I left for dead and forgot about a long time ago but just resuscitated. The photo, by the way, has nothing in particular to do with the poem but someone told me you have to accompany your blogs with photos or no one will bother reading them.

Glossed Over

Everything about him, from the tall tuft
of gelled hair standing on his head, to his sleepy dignity
of expression, to the way his skinny jeans hug
his paltry little legs – everything inspires hatred,
and...

They did it because

A young student ‘twas
Who did it because
She had spent her loan
And being alone,
Took a decision rash
To raise some cash.

A man of the world he was
Who did it because
He saw
Just another she
– Merely a whore,
For what does it matter
When a girl’s dreams shatter?

There was a young writer named Coaker

There was a young writer named Coaker
Who’s work was considered mediocre.
When the critics criticised,
He rolled his eyes
And whacked them with a poker!

There was a young policeman named Glass

There was a young policeman named Glass
Who had a great fear of the mass.
When the mob engaged in riot
He would go very quiet.
His nerves where brittle as glass

A fire in the blood

A building flood.
A fire in the blood
Consumes,
Assumes
Control
Of his immortal soul.

The flood subsides.
The fire dies,
And she hies
Away
Leaving him to pray,
For what? he can not say.