There was a young lady called Moriah
Who married a Tory squire.
But being a Whig
She gave not a fig
For Toryism or that squire!
There was a young lady called Moriah
Who married a Socialist squire.
They retained a maid
Who was rarely paid
And they kept a roaring fire!
There was a young lady called Moriah
Who married a very old squire.
Their butler Mike
Rode a bike
And fulfilled her every desire …
Her gown
Tossed aside
Without pride.
Her crown
Has fallen down
But there are none to stare
For it is his and her
Affair.
Wherefore
Should you and I care?
When the TV does cease
Peace
In the hypnotic
Tick tock
Of the clock
Takes hold.
Tel me not
That time is a despot.
True the wise and the fool
Both must obey his rule,
But the wise accept
While many a fool has wept
At the swing of his rod
That reduces all to sod.
The TV
Can make us free
For a while from the thought
That we ought
To heed the pendulum’s swing
That does bring
Our spring
To summer and thence
To autumn when those of little sense
Dye their hair
(Although
They know
That the winter snow
Lets none go.
There was a young man called Nool
Who called me a blithering fool.
When I said “pistol or sword?”
He replied “good lord
I really don’t want to duel!”.
My thanks to Lucy Brazier for hosting me on her excellent blog. To read my guest post please follow this link, https://portergirl.com/2018/08/23/kevin-morris-the-writers-pen-other-poems/
I know a young lady called Divine
Who often comes round to mine.
Her husband Bill
Swears he will
Come round but not with wine …!
There was a young lady called Hall
Who invited me to a ball,
But when I got there
She said, with a glare
“I didn’t invite you at all!”.
There was a young lady called Hall
Who invited me to a ball,
But when I got there
She said, with a glare
“This invitation I fail to recall!”.
There was a young lady from France
Who requested me to dance.
Her best friend Lou
Said “me too”
Which led to a little romance …!
There was a young lady from France
Who invited me to dance.
As we waltzed on the dance floor
Her husband, General More
Brandished a very sharp lance!
It was dark inside the church. Dark as the hell inside her. It was a few years since “the THING” had happened to her. Mostly now, it was way back in her mind. But the darkness still remained.
She had gone to light candles. To pierce the darkness. Hers and her friend’s. Her friend had been attacked by her own dog, and now she was being monitored for rabies. She had spent the last two days on the phone with her friend, listening, trying to calm her. But all that there was to do now was light candles.
Kathy entered the church – a place which had become her home since “the THING” had happened. Well, she said it was her home, but in reality nowhere felt safe any more. “Hold Thou Thy Cross before my closing eyes” he had sung as he did “the THING”to her. Who could ever…
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There was a young lady called Lou
Who owned one single shoe.
She would hop along,
Singing a song,
That excentric young lady called Lou!
There was a young lady called Lou
(Or perhaps her name it was Sue).
She worked as a spy
And I’m told she did die
But I really don’t know if that’s true!
My thanks to Sue Vincent for hosting me on her blog.
“I perceive
The flowers as I
Pass by.
Should I
Grieve
That they will die?
I paused and smelt
And felt
Their slim stems that I
Could so easily break.
I chose not to take
And did the blooms forsake,
For I
Know that they shall die”.
![The Writer's Pen and Other Poems by [Morris, K.]](https://images-eu.ssl-images-amazon.com/images/I/51OR3BsCG2L.jpg)
“Wild Flowers” can be found in “The Writer’s Pen and Other Poems”, a collection of 44 poems encompassing the passing of the years, nature, man’s place in the world and politics. The book is now available in the Amazon Kindle store for preorder
via Amazon USA) and Amazon UK .
Read Audrey Driscoll’s review of the book on her website.
Kevin Morris and his guide dog, Trigger.
About the author
I was born in Liverpool (UK) on 6 January 1969.
I lost the majority of my eyesight at 18-months-old due to a blood clot.I am a braille user and have happy…
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K Morris - Poet 