She kept her stockings on
And soon was gone.
Now I write a rhyme
About the first time.
In a bedsit
By a canal
My first fall
Was just banal.
Shal I write
Of other nights?
Of fake flirts in skirts,
And the odd passing delight?
No, I shall pass
Over the mirrored glass
Where many a stranger does comb
Her hair, ere leaving me alone.
He deals with girls in heels.
Behind the pretty eyes he buys
You may find a tortured mind,
Or a girl who thinks
Of dishes in her sink
As she pleases and teases
A man who worships her shoe.
Or, as he gets his thrills
Perchance she thinks on unpaid bills
Which his night of delight
Will pay the following day
And what of John
When she is gone?
What will his conscience say? …
Why do I try
To cage
A blackbird in my paper cage?
In spring he sings
And makes for me
Sublime poetry.
That I can not cage
Within my poor poetic cage.
On hearing the same clock
On the same kitchen wall,
I recall, another blackbird’s call,
And that old Time Knocks,
1 day, for us all.
There once was a young man named Lyme
Who said, “my clock it refuses to chime!”.
The great Professor Ridge
Said, “it’s a fridge!
And fridges they are not known to chime!”
On Wednesday 30th March I read my poetry at The Upper Norwood Library Hub. For links to those readings and other TikTok videos please follow this link:
I know a young lady named Ann
Who likes to date the older man.
My good friend Miss Claire
Says I have grey hair.
And Ann, she likes the older man …
There once was a very precocious housefly
Who said, “all men must surely die”.
A man named Ray
Aimed the fly spray,
And wept as he sprayed that housefly!
When a young man whose name is Cook
Said, “please will you look at my book?”,
An old lady called Yvette
Said, “its not written yet!”.
So I haven’t yet looked at Cook’s book!
As the light
Slowly dimmed
I took delight
In birds.
“Oh my god!”.
But words
Are not birds.
K Morris - Poet 