My dear friend the beautiful Miss Lee
Has won prizes for her erotic poetry.
She came round last night
With a girl called white
And we played at cards till 3.
My Dear Friend the Beautiful Miss Lee
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Category Archives: creative writing
To an Ageing Rake
When your fun is done
And she goes home
And you are left alone,
Do you consider
Her youth
And that perfect figure?
Perhaps you consider
The truth:
How lack of finance
Or other mischance
Leads her to dance
With a rake
Who, fearful of dust
Takes, in lust
A young woman who
Needs your wealth,
But holds in contempt
You and herself.
Sun Who is Always Up for Some Fun
I know a young lady named Sun
Who is always up for some fun.
Her and Miss Claire
Work in the fair,
And from their boyfriends I must run!
Civilisation
Walking through these sweet scented leaves
I know autumn has come.
A solitary bird
Sings somewhere in the cool air.
While outside these sheltering trees
Civilisation goes on
And a few solitary birds
Sing their song
Of empires long since gone.
Choices
You and me
Played. She stayed
In another room
Just watching TV.
On this dull September afternoon,
I recall your chanting of new shoes.
I wonder, did you choose?
For the marketplace is full of choice.
Your friend’s voice
Is heard no more.
But market stores
Offer plenty of choice.
Politics or Pleasure
I met a young lady named Ling
Who said, “are you left-wing or right-wing?”.
I said, “politics are so boring
And will have us both snoring!
Now Ling, do you fancy a fling!”
My Homicidal AI
When I said,
To my Alexa AI,
“Am I dead?”,
She made quick reply,
“I hope so!”.
I really don’t know
But maybe I
Possess a homicidal AI!
(Note: sometimes I ask my Alexa random questions for the fun of doing so. The above poem stems from a genuine answer provided by Alexa to the question, “Am I dead?”.
Alexa has given the same response to the above question over several weeks. Should I be concerned …
Autumn
In her rush
A young woman’s heels
Cruelly crush leaves.
The ageing poet sees
Autumn has come.
He feels girl’s heels
Carelessly kick away
The once green leaves
Of his May.
Were We Lovers of a Kind?
Were we lovers of a kind?
There was no answering spark
In your heart.
While in mine I find
A rhyme of your first time
Bought through art.
You were kind.
And I too was kind
For you and I both knew
Just what you
Felt you had to do.
Your need to feed,
And mine for women and wine.
No return of texts
For you were never mine.
The Poetry Teacher
I know a young poet named Lee
Who says, “my poetry will outlast me!”.
I regret his verse
Grows steadily worse
So they pay him to teach poetry!
K Morris - Poet 