There once was a poet named Spink
Who wrote love poems in invisible ink
To young women of pleasure
Until his dear wife Heather
Heated up that invisible ink of Spink!
(Messages written in invisible ink can be read either by heating up the paper or setting it on fire).
When a young lady named Lou
Said, “have you seen my shoe?”,
I replied, “tut tut,
A goat called Butt
Has eaten up your shoe Lou!”.
When a young man named Lot
Said, “I have been shot!”,
I said, “oh my good lord,
I’ve run you through with my sword,
But don’t worry, you haven’t been shot!”.
Is the young woman who knocks on the door
At just gone midnight
In heels, and oh so
Short dress, (and we all know what she is there for),
A slave
Even if she be paid?
And what of the lady who cleans the floor?
The well paid “whore”
Receives much more.
If both be paid,
Who then is the slave?
The midnight visitor may
Have a pimp to pay
But ’tis by no
Means always so.
Yet, if the man has no idea
Whether she comes out of fear
Is he a slave master
Complicit in a disaster?
But what of the cleaner brutalised by a boyfriend
Who all her money does spend
On drink,
Although she be paid
Do you not think
That she also is a slave?
Last night
I went to bed with Emily Brontë.
What can a modest man say?
We scaled passions great heights,
And, in the midst of our delight
She lost her tights.
Then, on my way
Back over the moor
I saw
Nelly Dean
Who said, with a gleam
In her eye
“Thrushcross Grange is nigh.
Will you come back with me
For tea?”.
But I made reply,
“No, not I
For, if you take a look
None of this is in Emily’s book …!”.
When a young man named Dave
Tripped over a freshly dug grave,
A corpse lying within
Said, with a grin,
“Its not your time yet Dave!”.
Walking home
Alone
At night
I see the passing street light.
I find
Neither fear nor delight
In the churchyard just
Left behind,
Merely dust
And fallen leaves.
I was humbled and honoured to receive this Certificate of Honour Appreciation and Gratitude from World Poetry International Canada.
My thanks to Ariadne Sawyer and the other directors for the honour they have done me.
When an ambitious young journalist named Nell
Said, “I have a story to tell,
But it isn’t true.
Does that bother you?”,
Her editor said, “will it sell, Nell?”.
A middle-aged lady whose name is Ria
Is a fervent Brexiteer,
Whilst her daughter Jane
Is all for remain,
And Jane’s boyfriend he likes his beer!
—
A middle-aged lady whose name is Ria
Is a fervent Brexiteer,
Whilst her daughter Jane
Is all for remain,
And some say that Brexit is near!
—
A young lady named Miss Lou
Is coming round at 2
And I just can’t explain
To my dear wife Elane,
How Lou she left her shoe!
K Morris - Poet 