Nordic Play – Gabriela M.
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Monthly Archives: December 2019
Growing old
When
Young women say,
In a conversational sort of way,
“I wasn’t born
When
You did such and such”,
Then
My heart does warn
Of dust.
Though I
Suspect, ’tis lust,
Which is last to die.
General Election Day
Today is general election day.
The sun must
Rise on Johnson or Corbyn.
Soon, manifestos will gather dust,
Or be re-read with a cynical grin
By people who will say,
“You promised such and such
On election day”.
Then, in disgust
They will throw the thing away.
Oh the joy
For girl and boy
Of yet, another, election day!
A Young Man Named Mo
A young man named Mo,
Having read every manifesto,
Decided to cast his vote
For a very large goat,
Although it had no manifesto!
An Elderly Gentleman Named Frank
An elderly gentleman named Frank
Being fond of a spank,
Visits a young lady called Jane,
Who wields a mean old cane,
But that’s between Jane and Frank!
Concrete Poetry
A young man named Lee
Composes lots of concrete poetry.
His poem about an urban pavement
Has led to much critical engagement,
But his poetry’s to hard for me!
Dust Commingles With Dust
Did she choose
To wear
Those shoes,
With her legs bare
To the evening air?
Look and you will find
That her name
Is as old
As mankind.
‘Tis an ancient game
Played by the bold,
The strapped-for-cash,
The rash
And those who, perhaps just
Enjoy the game
Of lust.
Perchance it is the knowledge of his own dust
Which causes man to thrust
Into an empty vessel, where his tingles
Of lust
Commingles
With dust.
When A Young Lady Dressed In Pink
When a young lady dressed in pink
Said, with a knowing wink,
“You know my friend Lorna.
She works in a sauna”,
I said, “just plumb in this sink!”.
When A Young Lady Dressed In Red
When a young lady dressed in red
Said, “please, get out of my bed!”,
I said, “this bed is mine.
You’ve drunk far to much wine!
Go back to your own blooming bed!”.
A Gentleman Will Never Tell
A gentleman will never tell.
Well,
If that is so,
I shall go
And compose
A poem about a rose,
Or a sweet peach,
Quite out of my reach.
K Morris - Poet 