When a young lady sitting on a church
Said, “I hear your fond of the birch”,
The good vicar Ted
Thought of his bed,
And the bishop he thought of the birch!
The Joys of the Birch
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Monthly Archives: February 2024
Passing By
The ageing poet deals
In rhymes of passing time.
As girls in heels
Laugh as they pass by.
Their minds are not
On the ticking clock,
Nor on poets who sigh
As they heedlessly pass by.
A Beautiful Young Vampire Named Miss White
A beautiful young vampire named Miss White
Promised to be my lover last night.
I offered her steak,
Which was a mistake
As I got no loving last night!
Time’s Scythe
February is slipping away.
It is easy to say
I will act tomorrow,
But why not act today?
For each moment I borrow
And Time’s unyielding knife
Ends all joy and strife.
And none can say
When his scythe may fall.
But it must fall
And bring all to dust.
The Pretty Maid
I know a most pretty young maid
And many a game we have played.
Her hair has a kink
And she dresses in pink
And I hear she’s the vicars maid!
Knuckle Sandwich
I met a man digging a ditch
Who kindly offered me a knuckle sandwich.
A girl named Kate
Passed me a plate
Which amused that man in that ditch!
Causing a Commotion
I know a young lady named Ocean
Who is fond of causing a commotion.
She jumps in my bath
And all my friends laugh,
And my girlfriend she causes a commotion!
Free
You are in touch again.
It is always the same
Time worn dance
Of pseudo romance
Over and over again.
We meet and greet.
I have fun.
In the morning you run.
We both know
It will be so.
Love is free.
I give you no rings.
But other things
Are not free.
Scaffold
I see scaffold on the old church .
Perhaps it is required
To hold bricks which may otherwise slip.
I have passed by graves
In the cold rain
As the great heavens above
Stood empty of love.
This scaffold may momentarily save
The church. But all
Are in thrall to dust.
Nightmares
At times I dread
My dreaming head.
In the sunlit day
Nightmares hide away.
But, come the night
My terrors delight
In their twisted play.
All my lusts
Stay hidden by day.
But, in dreams
I play with prey.
Yet all lust
And fear of dust
Ends in dream.
K Morris - Poet 