Category Archives: k morris poet


Sometimes I think

A thought

I ought

Not to think.



The devil winks

At me

And whispers, “she

May say

Yes”. To caress

And kiss

Would bring bliss

To me

For a while.



Maybe she

Would confusedly smile,

And say

“I never knew

That you

Felt that way

About me!

I must go!”.

But, maybe

She would stay.



Best to hold

My tongue

For words flung

Carelessly away

May come back

To bite.

But o the delight

Of 1 single night!

But hot fantasy

Is not reality.

So I

Must try

To let it be.

Curry and Rice

When a young lady serving curry and rice

Said, “do you all like my hot spice?”.

The girls said, “Rose!

Put on some clothes!”.

But the men all liked the hot spice!

Delving into My Poetry Archives

Whilst looking through my poems with a view to recording some of them for Tiktok, I came across the below, which is reproduced here. This poem does not currently appear in any of my published works.


To listen to the below poem (and other of my poems on Tiktok), please visit






Some thought his poetry meant this

And others that.

He wore a hat


And often, (being lost in rhymes)

Went out with no raincoat.


He had no moat

And little private wealth.

The reader sighs

Trying to categorise

The poet’s view.

Some declare he was a Tory of the deepest blue,

(While others protest this was not true)!

A few saw a man of the left,

But found themselves bereft

On finding verse which, they say,

Romanticised the nobility of yesterday.


Perhaps the poet smiles somewhere,

Or, perchance he doesn’t care.

For who knows

Where the rhymer goes

When his ink runs dry

And his words finally die.





Getting Poems Published

A good short post by Josephine Corcoran, a published poet, on getting poems published,


My Reputation

When a young lady of this great nation

Said, “sir, you have a terrible reputation!”.

I said, “come see my etching.

You will find it most fetching!”,

Which confirmed to that young lady my reputation …!”.


Gazing at my unmade bed

As a chill breeze

Enters in, I remember dead

Love. and girls who please,

(Though not for love).



Nor do I love

Such women.

But when we partake

In lust

Man half-believes

He can escape

The dust.

For lust deceives.

My Dirty Weekend

When a close friend of my girlfriend

Invited us to spend a dirty weekend,

We entered the deep wood

And fell in the mud!

But lets return to our dirty weekend …!



They couldn’t stay long.

A remembrance of hands

And an  abandoned hairband,

Kept for a while,

Brings a sad smile

To a man’s ageing face

At a girl’s lost grace.

Work Meeting

As the meeting neared it’s end

My old friend

Who had not

Yet said a word,

(Leastways,  I heard

him not),

Interrupted, and did say,

“Tick tock”.

Yet the clock

Is forever ticking away

our day,

Though oft we heed him not.

My Friend Miss Khan

I know a young lady named Khan

Who invites me into her old barn.

In the new stable

Miss Mabel is able,

While Khan works hard in that barn.