Sometimes I dash
Along the churchyard path.
But those who sleep
Have no appointments to keep.
And I pass by
The graveyard plot
Until I do not.
Yet I must
My final appointment keep
With worms and dust.
And the earth
Will continue to turn
Without heed or need
Of me
Walking along the familiar street
I meet
A lady who asks me
For £1
So that she
Can get to bank.
I give her the pound
And laugh at her story.
I receive no thanks
But get asked for £5
(Which I deny I have).
I go home
Thinking on philosophy,
Lies,
And the fickleness of charity.
But who
Exploited who
I wonder
As I sit alone
At home
Writing poetry …
(Note: “Bank” refers to bank station on the London underground).
I met a young lady Named Louisa
Who said, “you are a dodgy geezer!”
I said, “I’m not dodgy,
But perhaps a little podgy!”,
Which tickled that young lady named Louisa!
My girlfriend whose name is Aphrodite
Went and bought a see-through nightie.
Her friend Miss Echo
Is fond of Prosecco –
And the vicar has her nightie …
When Count Dracula went to a pub
In search of some good wholesome grub,
A barmaid named Kelly
Offered him fruit jelly.
But he wanted another kind of grub …
The tree
By the graveyard plot
Has stood, impassively
For years.
Many tears
Have been shed
Over the dead.
This old tree
Will outlast me.
Yet, it to must fall
For the churchyard plot
Calls us all
To dust
Have you heard of a dominatrix named Nicks
Who is known for her love of sticks?
If you ask how I know,
I heard it from Vicar Joe;
Who is known for his love of sticks …
Standing in the cold park
I heard the birds
Sing in early January.
I will hear them in spring.
And think I see
Cold birds.
Yet I know that the winter
Lives in me
And poets sing
Of what is true.
Whilst browsing a dodgy website
I encountered a young lady named White.
She came round to mine
And after much wine
I kissed that young lady good night …
I am dating a young lady from Gen Z
Who says that she is in love with me!
She calls me her honey
And thinks I have money.
So don’t tell her the truth about me …
K Morris - Poet 