So many broken rings
That I forget
And regret
The number
That does encumber
Not.
So many strings
Have I
Undone
In fun.
Yet there were none to tie.
Oh how the clock’s hands run
Away
Ushering in the end of day.
A fox
In my garden, and me
In this elaborate box.
We call down a pox
On the hapless fox
For he
Is free
To kill
At will
The domestic rabbit.
While our own habit
Is to preserve the life of all
Is it not? Although
I recall
That twas man who did fall
From Paradise.
Adam and Eve
Grieve
Over the loss of their pet
And forget
That vice
Is a purely human quality.
Colours converge
And the black does merge
With the white.
The night
Is sweet
And colours greet
In starlight.
There was a young lady called Rose
Who never wore any clothes.
A policeman called Jim
Went for a swim
But not with that young lady Rose
I know a young lady called Kipps.
Bad language never passes her lips.
But in a Soho club
Called the Rubber Dub Dub
She seductively wriggles her hips
I once knew a dog called Rover
Who ate my favourite pullover.
When I began to moan
He swallowed my phone
So I banished him to Dover!
There was a young man called Guy
Who worked in the field of AI.
He created a robot girl to love
But alas she gave him the shove
Which caused that young man to cry
To pour oil on troubled waters
Calms.
But when
The daughters
Of men
Employ their charms
The oil may destroy
Both girl and boy.
One can overanalyse
An action.
Yet a girl’s bright eyes
May grow dim
Through too much interaction
With a random him
And him.
‘Tis true
That there is nothing new
Under the sun.
Men will after pleasure run
And fun
Is only a phone call
Away. And perhaps to some
To fall
Is no great matter at all.
If I could paint a portrait
Of each dream and nightmare
There you would see me
Naked in love and hate
Nameless feet have walked this way.
We danced but none did stay.
Some in heels, others bare
Dancing, dancing to who knows where.
The dance
May entrance
Or bring on care,
Shameless feet dancing, to who knows where.
K Morris - Poet 