There was a young lady called Flare
Who met a handsome man on the stair.
Several hours later
He said, “I’m a waiter”,
But Flare didn’t care …!
—
There was a young lady called Flare
Who met a handsome man on the stair.
Several hours later
He said, “I’m a waiter
And we are blocking the stair …”!
The pneumatic
Girl’s ecstatic
Sigh
Causes him to wonder Why
No passion lights her azure eye.
Such style
And oh, Her smile.
He will resile
But that smile …
“I will play awhile
Then resile”.
It is a beautiful day.
They will make hay
As the sun does shine.
Women and wine
Are surely divine,
So he will make hay
While the weather stays fine.
While strolling around Kew Gardens, with my friend Brian on Saturday 30 July, we came across Leo Marx’s moving poem “The Life that I have”, on a bench which stood in one of the many tranquil spots to be found in the gardens, http://www.telegraph.co.uk/telegraphtv/3460867/Virginia-McKenna-recites-The-Life-That-I-Have.html.
Kevin
Many thanks to Jennifer Calvert of Ink and Quill for publishing my poem “Owl” on her blog. Kevin
I have lain awake listening for the owl’s cry.
A note that chills
Thrills
Then does die.
One day
This bird of prey
Will carry my soul away,
Or so the supersticious say.
Mice hide
While I, in my pride
Decide
The owl’s erie cry
Signifies that I will die.
The bird has no interest in me
So why can I not be free
Of his cry
That to my window nigh
does rise, then, as suddenly, die?
Biography
Kevin Morris was born in Liverpool on 6 January 1969.
After having obtained a BA (hons) in history and politics and a MA in Political theory, from University College Swansea, he moved to London where he now lives and works.
Kevin blogs at newauthoronline.com. For details of his published works please see the “About” page on newauthoronline.com.
There was a young lady called Michaela
Who met a deep sea whaler.
By the light of the moon
He brandished his harpoon,
That intrepid, handsome sailor
You neither sleep nor weep,
While I sleep, the sleep of the just or unjust?
Awaking, lust
Is replaced
By a kind of guilt
Mixed with tenderness?
I can not see your face
And the Quilt
Covers
That
Which
Perhaps
Should
Have
Remained
Undiscovered.
I am the girl who wasn’t there.
I did not sit upon that chair,
playing provocatively with my hair.
I did not drink that expensive wine,
While gazing on your paintings fine.
I did not recline under the quilt so red,
Or moan with exstasy in your bed.
If by chance, an earing she should find,
Worry not, it is not mine.
Skeleton
Cupboard
Not
Yet
Discovered.
Brush
Under
Carpet
Swept,
Sweeps
No
More.
A scheming young lady called Alice
Married an elderly billionaire from Dallas.
Said Alice, “You are minted and old
And I, being bold
Demand that you buy me a palace”!
There was a young lady called Samantha
Who went out on a date with a panther.
The panther said,
“I have not yet fed.
Its lovely to eat you Samantha”!
