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!
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!
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 https://www.tiktok.com/@kevinmorrispoet
—
Some thought his poetry meant this
And others that.
He wore a hat
Sometimes,
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.
A good short post by Josephine Corcoran, a published poet, on getting poems published, https://josephinecorcoran.org/2022/11/20/on-getting-poems-published/.
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.
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.
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.
When a clown whose name was Moat
Sang as he sank in a boat,
His friend Guy
Began to cry,
At the loss of his new boat …
There once was a man most dissolute
Who liked to play on his lute.
When the young women came round
You would hear a sweet sound
As he skillfully played on his lute!