“Do nymphs still play
In woodland glades today
And the sunlight gleam
On pristine stream,
Where Flighty Aphrodite
Goes dancing and romancing?”
I asked Christine.
She made reply,
With a sultry look, in her one good eye,
“I aim to please
But the pollon makes me sneeze
So no rolling in the hay
For me today”.
Christine is such a tease …
What constitutes the erotic for you?
Is it the stiletto shoe
On an ankle slim
That tempts you into sin?
Or is it the red light
Which winks
At kinks
Both day and night
That does it for you?
Some prefer
The bare
While others consider the covered
Erotic, for the exotic
Is a mystery to be discovered.
I find at night
That there are better things to do
Than write
About the stiletto shoe …
There once was a writer named Sage
Who told all his business on the page.
Each affair of the heart
He described in his art,
And his lovers they all sued Sage!
I have not thrown away
That which you gave me the other day.
A worthless thing perhaps,
Yet hope takes time to collapse.
Maybe tomorrow
With a twinge of sorrow
It will be thrown away.
Or, like a coward
I shall put it in a drawer
Where it shall be seen no more
Save only by me,
Though ’tis better to be free
Of both it and thee.
Sitting in my living room
I hear the wind.
It will be gone soon,
And it’s blast
Will outlast
Thee and me.
Stream of consciousness
More or less.
Heels and shopping deals.
She steals
Away.
He will shop another day
When my friend whose name was Ted
Said, “I think I may be dead”,
I made reply,
“You did die,
And your wife she warms my bed!”.
It is a chilly day.
Should I be bold
And say
That I require? desire?
Some heat
To defeat
The cold
For today?
When me and my friend Nell
Went to an exclusive hotel,
And a young lady named Rose
Said, “take off your clothes”,
I said, “Nell, is this a hotel?”
Your hand
Can command
A fire.
Desire burns
Ere it turns
Into pools
Where fools
Drown in sin
While the devil of lust
And dust
Looks on with a woolfish grin.
K Morris - Poet 