There was a young lady of Dunblane
Who was known by many a name.
She walked the streets at night
With a young lady in white.
But the vicar he knew her name …
There Was a Young Lady of Dunblane
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Category Archives: musings
A Professional Young Woman
A professional
Young woman.
No confessional
Just dinner
Then a bar
(Again he pays).
Then its goodbye
And the evening sky
To keep him company.
While she
Being a professional
Goes home alone,
For friendship
Complicates a fee.
Hocking the Bluestocking
I know a young lady named Hocking
Who is famous for being a bluestocking.
She says she knew Shakespeare
Which is really quite queer,
As she’s just turned 18 has Hocking!
Fruit Just Ripened
Fruit just
Ripened.
Half-excited,
Part-frightened
By lust.
Immorality
When a young lady named Miss Coral
Said, “sir, you are wicked and immoral!”.
My good friend Jean
Said, “he’s a libertine!”
As she handed the dictionary to Coral!
The Final Day of August
The final day of August
Brings Autumn’s coming chill.
Perhaps this is the last
Of Summer’s new-mown grass.
The eternal breeze
Rustles the leaves
And my once brown hair.
Regret
He picks up the phone
And texts Louisa or Joan.
Or, whilst browsing the internet
He finds a brief forget
In the arms of Yvette.
When she’s gone away he will say,
“I felt her youthful hand in mine
And to forget regret, poured more wine.
But the tick tock of the clock
Brought to mind, that old voyeur, Time.”
The Tide
Society rides
The tides
Of collectivism
And individualism.
Whilst in Highgate
Spencer and Marx
Continue their decay.
(Note: Karl Marx’s grave in Highgate Cemetery is almost directly opposite to that of the champion of liberal individualism, Herbert Spencer. See https://highgatecemetery.org/visit/cemetery/east#featurephoto71).
Philosophical Miss Page
A most philosophical young lady named Miss Page
Said, “this world is but an unreal stage.
But, let us 2 dance
And perchance find some romance”.
So we did, and crashed through the stage!
Digital
With our digital device
We hear not
The inexorable clock.
But virtue and vice
Heed time’s great knock.
K Morris - Poet 