She,
Drunk
Kissed me.
Although she
Is not my type,
I am no monk
So thought of night
And a young woman who,
Its true
I more than like,
Though she Is not
My type.
But oh what
Bliss to kiss
And lose
Socks and shoes.
Me, I’m no monk,
But she was drunk.
Secret delights
At night.
The heart
Turns from white
To black.
In his art
He plays at
Turning back.
The night
And light
Oft fight
Behind man’s eyes.
And the wise
Know what is true,
That few
Are whole
In soul.
And behind our eyes
The night
And light
Perpetually fight
Until we
Enter eternity.
(This poem is somewhat disjointed, as are my thoughts on this matter).
I know a young lady named Maude
Who makes love on an ironing board.
A man called Bret
Runs my local laundrette,
And he’s banned me and Miss Maude …!
When a brave young lady named Beth
Came face to face with grim Death,
She said, “you will find
That the devil lurks behind!”,
But Death he was completely stone deaf!
I know a young lady from France
Who is an expert in erotic dance.
My friend Lin
Condemns her sin,
And Lin’s husband he works in France …!
When tempted to condemn
Other men,
I recall,
That all men fall.
But, as in every age,
Hypocrisy is all the rage …
There was a young lady named Dawn
Who made love on the vicarage lawn.
A passing parishioner
Applied lawn conditioner,
Which disconcerted the good vicar and Dawn!
Caught in useless thought
On a sunny day,
I entered that place
Of light and shade.
That unknown space
Where we
Are made
To face
Our own mortality.
I met a young lady named Patricia
Who said she works as a stripper.
I went to her shop
Where I found Miss Hopp,
Who assists Patricia as a wallpaper stripper …!
Doubtless, nymphs have played
In this woodland glade,
Where bright flowers bloom
And are gone ,
Oh too soon!
Yet, another one
Will, doubtless play
As satyrs say,
“tis hot today!.
But, tis true
That satyrs too
Must fade away.
K Morris - Poet 