A boy who attended my old school
Once claimed to have seen a ghoul!
That place wasn’t Eton
So he wasn’t beaten.
But the headmaster called him a fool!
The School Ghoul
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Category Archives: books
Spring Grass
The scent of spring grass
Enters through the window
As I lie in my hospital bed.
This day will surely pass
And I will go
Where the mower turns grass to hay.
I relish this spring day
And will walk in sun
As the mower goes to and thro
Until my rhyme is done.
Sprouts
When a young lady known as Lee
Went and threw a sprout at me,
I said, “you are so pretty
And I’ve heard you are witty.
But why are you wasting your tea!”
The Fountain
I wish the fountain’s hypnotic rhythm
Would never cease
for I am, momentarily, at peace
Listening to the splash
Of water flowing fast.
I have striven
For pleasure, and filled my leisure
With pretty flowers
Picked by many men
For a few brief hours
And then by me.
But pleasure lies in poetry
And the gentle sound
Of the fountain as she speaks to me
Is far more profound
Than wasted hours, spent amidst these painted flowers
Of whose scent
I often repent.
Lee Who Kept a Large Pet Bee
There was a young man named Lee
Who kept a very large pet bee.
When they said “does it sting?”,
He said, “only in the spring!”,
As he tenderly rubbed his right knee!
Yeats’s Falcon
Will Yeats’s falcon stay?
Or will he fly away
Leaving mankind behind
As our sun goes down
And civilisation is drowned
In endless night?
I think he may
Have long since taken flight.
Busts
A young man on seeing a bust
Said, “some men are stirred to lust
By girls in short dresses
And their sweet soft caresses.
Miss, how much for Napoleon’s fine bust?”
My name it is Alice!
There was a young lady of Crystal Palace
Who went by the name of Alice.
They said to her Claire,
“You should take great care!”,
She said, “my name it is Alice!”
Old Father Time Got Stuck in a Rhyme
Old father time
Got caught in a rhyme
And couldn’t get away.
He knew not
What to say or do
As his hands
Got stuck with glue.
Lost Time
The wind is eternal.
It blows and my thought goes
Scuttering like dead leaves.
I heard the clock’s tick tock.
Should I grieve
For lost time?
There is no time
Only my temporary body clock
Which will, one day, stop.
K Morris - Poet 