The desk is cold to my hand.
I can not command
My poetic muse.
So think of girls who lose their shoes,
And poets who
Say more than they ought to
Of women and wine
And men who may seem
To spend their time
In fleeting dreams.
But it is no crime
For a poetic muse
To lose
Her ethereal shoes.
Yet what can be said
Should she lay her fickle head
Upon the poet’s empty bed
Where love sleeps.
Or is dead.
There was a young lady of Peru
Who was famous for losing a shoe.
One hot day in May
They found it in Bombay,
Which was strange as she’d never left Peru!
The rain fell
In the wood I know well.
I could say it’s sound
Was very profound
And the forest rang with birdsong.
All of this is true.
But I was wet through
And wanted home
And hot tea!
A young man who works as a waiter
Has a reputation as an unreliable narrator.
He has written a novel
In a rundown old hovel.
But some whisper, he’s only a waiter …!
A young lady who wears 1 spectacle
Has a reputation for being very respectable.
I’ve seen her at night
Dancing by the moon’s light,
And she’s only been wearing 1 spectacle …!
When a young lady named Miss Bella
Went and called me a rude fella,
I said, “my language isn’t crude!
And you madam are most rude!
You are thinking of some other fella!”
There once was an author named Kafka
Whose books are all lacking in laughter.
There can be no denial,
For I have it on file:
His books are all lacking in laughter.
A young lady known as Miss Nicola
Invites all the gentlemen to tickle her.
My friend Heather
Dresses in leather
And no gentlemen dares to tickle her …
The scent of cheap perfume
Pervades an overheated room.
She in her mini skirt
And too high heels.
He in t-shirt and jeans.
They play their scenes.
She loses skirt and heels
And feels
The threadbare carpet under her feet.
She wants to sleep …
Sometimes she weeps,
But not in front of them.
He sighs.
His fun is done.
Occasionally he cries,
Though not when they can see.
The same dance
Of no romance
Over and over again
To hide his pain.
She has a child to feed
Or perhaps some other need.
Sometimes he wonders about them.
But they are free
As is he …
To choose …
I am dating a young lady named Lorna
Who works in some kind of sauna.
When I say, “what goes on there?”
She refers me to her colleague Claire –
Who refers me back to Miss Lorna …
K Morris - Poet 