There was a young man called Rory
Who was a romantic Tory.
He met a Socialist girl
(Her name was Pearl),
But that’s another story!
There Was A Young Man Called Rory
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Category Archives: poems
There Was A Young Lady Called Lou
There was a young lady called Lou
Who said “I am in love with you!”.
So she lent me some money
(That sweet, darling honey)
And now I’m in love with Sue!
Cheap
Cheap
Girls shoes.
I choose
Not to keep.
Oh Would The Night
Oh would the night
Wrap me tight
In her longed for arms,
There I would take
Delight.
In her untried charms.
But she
Would forsake
Me
Come break
Of day
And I
Should sigh
And go dally
With Sally
Or Fay.
Is Poetry Socialist?
A little while back, a friend and I sat enjoying a curry and a bottle of wine. At some point during our conversation my friend remarked on how poetry is, in some sense “socialist” or “left-wing”. At the time I said that I didn’t agree with his perspective, and our conversation moved on to other topics.
Rather than entering into an exposition of my own views on the above question, I would be interested in hearing those of my readers. Is poetry in some sense “Socialist” or “left-wing”? If so why?
Obviously there have been (and remain) Conservative poets (for example Philip Larkin). Likewise men such as W. H. Auden where of the left. However, leaving aside the fact that poets hold different political perspectives, is there some sense in which poetry appeals more to those on the left of politics? Or is the art form, in some sense profoundly Conservative with a big or a small c?
Hot
The sun
Is hot
And my thoughts run
To where they ought not.
Short clothes
And her toes
Bare
To the teasing air
There Was A Young Lady Called Joan
There was a young lady called Joan
Who called me up on her phone.
When I asked, “who are you?”
She replied, “believe me, its true!
I’m Joan, calling you on my phone!”.
There was a young lady called Joan
Who called me up on her phone.
When she said, “is that Lou?”
I replied, “no, but thank you
For calling me up on your phone!”.
A Rake Reflects
Waking up next to another
Lover
Who is not so,
I wish her to go
But the gentleman inside
And my pride
Say no
For it is not yet
Light.
But oh
How I regret
Last night!
The taxis run
Come
Star or sun
So
She could go,
This “friend”
Who’s name or end
I do not know.
Later, the taxi will arrive
And drive
Her somewhere,
As to where
I neither know nor care.
Perchance
The driver will think
(as he suppresses a wink)
“She did dance
But not in romance”,
Or maybe, having taken her before
From door to door
He already knows the score.
Wooden Fruit Bowl
There you stood,
A bowl made of wood.
Your imperfections drew
Me to you
As we shopped long ago.
I know
Not what happened to you.
Though I have the bowl still
On my window sill.
I trace each notch and curve
That do no purpose serve
(Other than to beautify).
As I
Wonder do you
Live or die.
There Was A Young Lady Called Kim
There was a young lady called Kim
Who was both petite and slim.
A man of fashion
Developed a passion
And Kim was no longer slim.
There was a young lady Called Kim
Who was both petite and slim.
Being a girl of fashion
She developed a passion
For a dandy who’s name was Tim.
K Morris - Poet 