There was a young policeman named Glass
Who had a great fear of the mass.
When the mob engaged in riot
He would go very quiet.
His nerves where brittle as glass
There was a young policeman named Glass
Leave a reply
Category Archives: creative writing
A fire in the blood
A building flood.
A fire in the blood
Consumes,
Assumes
Control
Of his immortal soul.
The flood subsides.
The fire dies,
And she hies
Away
Leaving him to pray,
For what? he can not say.
Refusal may cause offence
Refusal may cause offence.
His defence
To play the wit
And sit
On the fence.
It is easier to flirt,
As a “no” would hurt.
But those who refuse to speak
Will forever seek.
There was a young lady from Bombay
There was a young lady from Bombay
Who used to live down my way.
She sang like a bird
But today I heard
That she flew back home to Bombay
There was a poet who lacked the art
There was a poet who lacked the art
To hide what lived in his heart.
He could not conceal.
His verse was gritty and real,
So they pilloried him for his art.
There was a young lady named Jane
There was a young lady named Jane
Who’s stiletto got stuck in a drain.
Her best friend Lou
Lent her a shoe,
And the stiletto remained in the drain!
Competition to win a signed copy of “My Old Clock I Wind” by K Morris
I am giving away 1 free, signed copy of my collection of poetry, “My Old Clock I Wind”.
In order to be in with a chance of winning, please answer the following question, which novel begins as follows ”1801—-I have just returned from a visit to my landlord—the solitary neighbour that I shall be troubled with”.
The Rules
1. Please email your answers to me at newauthoronline (at) gmail dot com.
2. Please put “Competition” in the subject line of your message.
3. Please do not leave your answer in the comments below, as everyone will be able to read it!
4. The first person to email me with the correct answer wins a signed copy of “My Old Clock I Wind”.
5. The winner will be informed by email.
6. You may enter irrespective of your country of residence.
The book
To read reviews of “My Old Clock I Wind” and an extract, please visit http://moyhill.com/clock/.
Those with greying hair
Those with greying hair
Linger where
Fallen leaves proliferate.
It is growing late.
Dare I broach
The final gate
We all must approach?
A conker I found
A conker I found
On the ground.
Still in it’s prickly clothes,
Yet to be disclosed.
“I aught
To leave you here” I thought.
“You may, for all I know
Grow into a great tree”.
But another voice in me
Said “some other will take you away, if I leave you here on the grass
For many people here pass”.
So I took you home
As my own.
On my sill
You sit, waiting to spill
Your seed.
Was it need
Or greed
That made the virile
Sterile.
Would that I could
Get to the root
Of this drying fruit.
His heart was soft
His heart
Was soft
In part.
But the devil coughed,
So he did what he did
And further downward slid.
K Morris - Poet 