When I said to a girl called Lou
“Let us pretend that I’m married to you”.
And she said, you are always out drinking!
And at my girlfriends you are forever winking!”.
I said, “Lou, when did I marry you!”
The Bliss of Married Life
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My November Guest by Robert Frost, Read by Robert Frost
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m-2AWegHHqc
It being the first of November, I thought that I would post one of my favourite poems, my November Guest by Robert Frost.
Frost was a New England poet. However, given that he spent some time in England and was friends with the English poet Edward Thomas, I think we English can also lay claim to Frost’s wonderful poetry. No brickbats from my American readers for laying claim to Robert Frost please!
You can find My November Guest in Frost’s A Boy’s Will.
On a Damp and Dark Halloween
On a damp and dark Halloween
I observed a most interesting scene.
The Devil did romance
A demon from France
As the banshee did loudly scream!
I Do Not Fear Another Dying Year
I do not fear
Another dying year
But simply pass
Along the churchyard path
Observing these fallen leaves.
Autumn does not deceive.
But lust
Does, I find
Distract the mind
From dust,
While autumn time reminds
Us that we all
As autumn leaves
Must fall.
All Taped Up
A young woman in a dark cape
Wrapped me up with very thick tape
And posted me
To sunny Dundee,
Where I made a most daring escape!
I Once Met a Man Named Charles Dickens
I once met a man named Charles Dickens
Who was known for his love of chickens.
When I said, “do you write?”,
He said, “yes throughout the night.
But my writing is all eaten by chickens!”
As I Walked the Streets Very Late
As I walked the streets very late
I met a young lady named Kate
Who said, “there are many women
Who earn their living through sinning!”.
Then she winked at me did Kate …!
I Once Met a Friendly Old Ghost
I once met a friendly old ghost
Who plied me with tea and toast.
When I asked for some jam
He gave me boiled ham.
That ghost was deaf as a post!
Dust
In my bedroom
Your Perfume
Mingles with the dust
Of books.
Your scent lingers
On fingers.
But all I’ve touched
Will be dust.
Graces
I could call
On 2 young graces.
Silks and laces
So easily fall away.
I find charms
In a girl’s arms.
But they go with day
And my love of solitude
May love exclude.
I am glad
For I have
A kind of friend.
But all our graces
Must end
In the hard churchyard
For below
There is no pretend.
K Morris - Poet 