We maintain
The urbane
And are witty
In the city.
But those who hark
To the fox’s bark
In the suburban dark
Find the urbane
Hard to maintain
And their wit
Begins to slip.
(Note: the above poem appears in my collection “Leaving and Other Poems”, which is available in Kindle and paperback from Amazon https://www.amazon.co.uk/Leaving-other-poems-Kevin-Morris/dp/B09R3HR9KG).
When a young lady known as Miss Lee
Said, “I know that you don’t like me!”.
And I said, “you are nice,
But I have never liked vice!”,
She said, “what if I wave the fee …!
I long for the wet woods
Where the rainy breeze
Is full of flowers and leaves
And the damp earth
Speaks of death and rebirth.
I love the wood
When birds sing after rain.
I will surely die,
And Mother Nature will remain.
But we are forever part
Of nature’s great heart.
Her vital cycle of birth,
Death and good earth.
The sound of children playing ball.
A Blackbird’s call.
Sunlight on green grass.
I know all this must pass,
Yet take delight
On this spring day
In the call of the blackbird
And children’s play.
There once was a girl named Meg
Who hid in a giant Easter egg.
But the sun shone down
And she turned chocolate brown,
And got eaten along with that egg!
I’ve just met a lady called Honey
Who was dressed as the Easter bunny.
When I offered her some lettuce
She said, “that’s not my fetish!
But sir, this bunny does love money!”
I know a young lady named Purvis
Who is known for her special service.
When the lights go down
I’ve seen the vicar frown
When the bishop disappears with Miss Purvis …
The clock shows the wrong time.
Sometimes a poem doesn’t rhyme.
I’ve heard people curse
At free verse,
But rhymes
Divine.
On a spring day
Our shadows passed
Over the woodland grass.
We discussed logs
And how they decay.
As our dogs
Lost themselves in play
I envied them
And pitied we men.
K Morris - Poet 