Author Archives: K Morris Poet

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About K Morris Poet

The purpose of this website (kmorrispoet.com) is to showcase my writing. For details of my published works, please click on the 'About' page of my blog.

My Fine Old Bed

When I found a young lady in red

On the floor by my fine old bed,

And I said, “my dear,

How did you get here!”,

She said, “I fell out of your bed!”.

After Tea and Homemade Cake

After tea

And homemade cake,

And the crossword,

We heard,

Sitting in a London garden,

A wild, screeching sound.

 

“What was that?”, I said.

“A fox with it’s prey”.

 

 

Soon the screeching ceased

And our sunny day

Returned to peace.

 

 

A quick death

Is best.

And the dead

Read no romanticising poetry

Of death.

Claire and Jane

When a young lady known as Claire

Said, “I’d like to call you sir”.

I said to Miss Jane,

“Its you with the cane!

I think Claire should call you sir!”.

 

Keith and Lin

I know a young man named Keith

Who is known as a prodigious thief.

His pretty wife Lin

Is full of sin.

But I’m not that fond of Keith …

Poor Verse

When an old man driving a hearse

Went and composed a very poor verse,

A corpse named Ted

Said, “I am dead!

But I still object to poor verse!”

Whilst Visiting a Place Known as Clapham

Whilst visiting a place known as Clapham

A girl said, “I’ll make it happen!”.

When I said, “does it involve money?”,

She said, “o,  my dear naïve honey,

Don’t you know everything does in Clapham!”

I Check My Feet

I check my feet.

The skin underneath

Has begun to crease

And my toes

Are sometimes stiff.

I am growing old.

 

I can not deny

My middle age.

But when girl’s feet

Pass me by

I know only dust

Will defeat my lust.

Love in the Wood

In the sunlit wood

I heard

The sound of love.

No word

Did I hear.

Simply the bliss

Of young lover’s lips

Came softly to me

As a bird

In a tree

Mimicked kisses for me.

Obsession

Why do I

Obsess over fallen leaves?

Should I lie

And try to pretend

There is no end?

 

Trees do not  grieve

For fallen leaves.

Nor will I,

For all must die.

 

Yet I see

A poignant beauty

In these bare trees

And Autumn leaves.