Category Archives: k morris poet

When a Young Lady Said, with a Curse

When a young lady said, with a curse,

Do stop including me in your risqué  verse!”.

I said to her, “dear Lou,

Stop spanking me with your shoe!”,

Which caused that girl to curse even worse!

Lout

When a young man eating a sprout

Went and called me an uncouth lout,

I said to Lou,

“Pass me that shoe!

I’ll give that young man a clout!”

 

There Once Was a Lonely Young Guy

There once was a lonely young guy

Who said, “I’ll create a female AI!”.

She was extremely pretty

And so very witty,

And she married a girl called Sky!

The Writer

Once green leaves

Rot. And are forgot.

But great trees

They live on

When we are gone.

 

And some trees

Make leaves for books.

And some books

They live on

When we are gone.

But a tree

Has no vanity.

 

Poet Kevin Morris Interviewed on Access Radio

I was delighted to be interviewed by Access radio about my day job, my life as a visually impaired person and my poetry, https://www.mixcloud.com/VictorSchwartzman/access-radio-may-15-2024-kevin-morris/

 

 

The podcast runs for approximately 60 minutes, of which around 25-30 minutes concerns a discussion of my poetry and the creative process more generally.

 

If you do listen, I would be interested in your thoughts.

Flow

I know a young lady named Flow.

Her husband he left some time ago.

We laugh and drink

And sometimes I think,

On that strange lump in Flow’s patio …

There Once Was a Young Person of Woking

There once was a young person of Woking

Who had a very bad habit of poking,

Until they poked an old man

Who said, “I’ve got a plan,

To kick you around the town of Woking!”.

 

 

Lyme Who Taught His Dog How to Rhyme

There once was a poet named Lyme

Who taught his dog how to rhyme.

In the depths  of dark

He would howl and bark

And his dog would recite a rhyme.

Ambiguity

I dreamed a dream of delight

On a warm spring night

And when I awoke

My conscience spoke.

 

 

It said, “dreams are not crimes,

But when a poet rhymes

In his art

You see his heart”.

 

As for me

I must practice ambiguity

In my poetry

Lest my art

Reveal my secret heart.

 

When I go away

Perchance my  verse will stay

And some will upbraid me

For my poor poetry

And the crime

Of ambiguous rhyme …

Seals and High-Heels

A young lady who wore only high-heels

Had a fondness for swimming with seals.

An old vicar called Glass

Said, “we are but grass.

But I’m fond of seals and high-heels!”