A short black dress
You wore.
Making it easy for
My hands to explore
Your unstockinged legs.
Yes I confess
That I remember the dress
So black and tight,
And the hot
Night, though not
To my shame,
Your name
Whilst searching my store cupboard
I found old Mother Hubbard,
She lay on a bunk
With a disreputable old monk,
But her doggy I never discovered!
A barber whose name is Dave
Invites men in for a shave,
With his large cutthroat razor,
Which he calls the final eraser,
And the police are questioning Dave!
A young lady of Battersea
Invites men round for tea.
A man from Clapham
Says nothing will happen,
But I’m going round to see!
When a young lady named Lou
Threw at me her shoe,
I quickly did duck
And said, “bad luck!”,
But she owned another shoe!
I smell new-mown grass
As I pass
By the field
Where school children play,
Then pass
Through the Churchyard, where all must,
One day,
Yield to dust.
When a young lady whose name is Bland
Said, “your wish is my command”,
And I said, “please, spend the night”,
She replied, “that would be such sweet delight,
But my bouncer boyfriend, he just wouldn’t understand!”.
This morning whilst eating toast
I was joined by a rude ghost.
When I said, “I didn’t invite you!”,
He replied, “that’s perfectly true,
But I’m extremely fond of toast!”.
—
This morning whilst eating toast
I was joined by a rude ghost.
When I said, “I didn’t invite you!”,
He replied, “that’s perfectly true,
But I’ve come to read your post!”.
In a hot land
Man can not command
The sun,
But those of a certain mind
Will find
That fun
Under a foreign sun
May be had
With a girl or lad.
Though the trip enjoyed
Is a life
Destroyed. Yes, man can command
A smile
While at home the wife
Or girlfriend does trust, or pretend
That she does not know.
And, when he does go
To the pub on his return
His mates may learn
Midst laughter
Of fun
Under the sun
While disaster
Unlike Banquo’s ghost
Does not spoil the feast.
I think of you in dream,
Walking barefoot, along the sand
But you are forever out of reach
For ’tis impossible to command a dream.
K Morris - Poet 