Will I always be
The man who recites poetry
To young women,
My mind half on poetry,
And half on sinning.
They may admire my poetry,
But I am told
I grow old
And girls who have time
For my rhyme
Will never love me.
Yet they love my poetry
And is not poetry
Part of me?
I know a young lady named Miss Plumb
Who likes to spank blokes on their bum.
You ask, “is it nice?”.
I say, “its my vice!
And its strictly between me and Miss Plumb!”
As I walk the solid path
And pass trees waving in the wind.
I sway, and think of yesterday
When Romans came in wind and rain.
Did they think all will stay
As they made their way
Along This path of passing dreams?
I can not say
But the wind will outlast me
And the swaying tree.
I see babies in prams pass me by.
The seasons merge into 1
And I sigh for what is going fast,
And may already be gone.
The sound of carefree children touches me.
I must grope for hope
When women give birth on warming earth
To children who will not see
The season’s cycle as it should be.
Over the last few years, I have been guilty of allowing my Youtube to languish. However, one of my new year resolutions is to post more frequently on Youtube. I have therefore started to upload more of my poetry onto Youtube over the past couple of weeks. To listen to me reading my poetry on Youtube please visit https://www.youtube.com/@101drewdog/videos. If you enjoy what you hear, do please consider subscribing to my Youtube channel.
Have you heard of a certain bar
Where the girls they go too far?
A young lady named Hocking
Wears naught but a stocking.
But now lets return to that bar …
When a young lady eating big bananas
Said, “have you seen my pink pyjamas?”,
We all began coughing
And said, “your wearing nothing!”,
She said, “yes! I’ve lost my pyjamas!”
I am pleased to have had my poem “Fire”, included in Dodo Modern Poets. To hear me reading “Fire”, and other poets reading their work, please visit https://dodomodernvidpoets2022.blogspot.com/
When a careless young man named Cope
Went and swallowed soap on a rope,
They feared he might fall
But he said, “not at all!
I’ll hold the rope on this soap!”
At the edge of town
All sound is drowned
By the wind and rain.
The Roman came
And wrote Rome’s name
Here in Britain.
Now I hear the same
Wind and rain.
K Morris - Poet 