Whilst walking in The Forest of Dean
I met a girl by a stream,
Who said, “I’m a nymph”.
I said, “you should rinse,
As your teeth are far from clean!”.
Whilst Walking In The Forest Of Dean
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I Would Rather Die In This Darkening Park
I
Would rather die
In this darkening park,
While
Evening birds sing,
Than in some sterile
Hospital wing,
Where drugs oblivion bring,
And no birds sing.
—
Having written the last line, I am reminded that I owe a huge debt to John Keats, “La Belle Dame sans Merci”, https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/44475/la-belle-dame-sans-merci-a-ballad).
The last 2 lines of the first stanza of Keat’s poem read:
“The sedge has withered from the lake,
And no birds sing”.
While the last stanza of the poem runs thus:
“And this is why I sojourn here,
Alone and palely loitering,
Though the sedge is withered from the lake,
And no birds sing”.
When A Respectable Lady From The Forest Of Dean
When a respectable lady from the Forest of Dean
Said, “sir, your poetry is really obscene,
As its all about newly opened flowers,
And sinful young women’s great erotic powers,
I said, “dear madam, I pay you to clean!”.
A Young Lady Named Lou
A young lady named Lou
Said “I’ve lots to teach you,
Of history, english, and maths,
Of women and of bubble baths.
Well, at least of the latter 2!”.
When A Young Man of Harrow
When a young man of Harrow
Escaped to a place called Jarrow,
And my friend Claire
Followed him to there,
He disguised himself as a marrow!
You May See Beauty in Poetry
You may see
Beauty in poetry,
And smile
While
The thing being described,
Is otherwise …
There Once Was A Poet Named Lou
There once was a poet named Lou
Who said, “one day I’ll break through
With my very quirky verse”.
But it grew steadily worse,
So she turned to making strong glue!
I Have Sat Round the Open Pub Fire
I have sat round the open pub fire
And discussed the rights and wrongs of empire,
And the ends
Of men
With friends.
But when
I walk through fallen leaves,
The ends
Of men
I truly perceive.
Thinking of A Girl He’s Never Met
Thinking of a girl he’s never met,
And perhaps he,
Will never see.
Memories of heels and skirts.
And flirts
(Who where not).
Momentary joy, close followed by regret
And pain,
Maybe he
Will do it all again.
But, If so, for what?
A brief hot
Rush,
A flush
Of pleasure.
Recollections of girl’s scent,
Then repent
At leisure.
When A Religious Young Lady Named Fay
When a religious young lady named Fay
Said, “sir, let us both now pray”.
I said, “we are full of sin,
So let us now both begin,
Then, afterwards, we ought to pray!”.
K Morris - Poet 