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!”.
When A Religious Young Lady Named Fay
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Tag Archives: blogging
Dark Heart
I love
The dark heart
Of the wood.
But the black
Has been cut back
Allowing me
To see
Where the mystery
Should be.
Yet the dark
And the light
Fight
Within me,
Still, and will
Do so
Until I go
Into the night,
And become forever part
Of the dark,
And the light.
Politics and Poetry
I met a young lady named Ling
Who said, “you poets are all left-wing!”.
I said, “between you and I,
Eliot was a Conservative kind of guy,
Whilst Philip Larkin was really right-wing!”.
The Ad
Lonely at night?
You can delight
In the company
Of beautiful me!
There are no strings to tie.
You to me.
I
Can be
Whatever you wish me to be,
And I’ve uniforms galore
(and more),
so come visit me!
Or, if you prefer
My friend Claire
Can make it 3.
She has long blonde hair,
While I’m a brunette.
Please, come and see me,
And don’t forget,
The little matter of the fee …
I Met A Young Man of Harrow
I met a young man of Harrow
Wheeling his wife in a wheelbarrow.
When I said, “you are cruel!”,
He called me a stupid old fool,
And threw at me a marrow!
Words On A January Day
There is something about the song
Of birds, on a cold, January day,
That makes me wish to stay,
Out in this wood,
Where
The air
Is good.
There song
Is long
As joy, or grief.
Although, we know
That joy is, too often brief.
The smile
Oft flits across the face, then is gone
While
Grief
Lives on
In the hearts of men
Who, when
They hear the birds
Pour out words,
To our feathered friends,
Who comprehend
Not our ends).
My dog revels in the sscents of grass,
Whilst I
Look up to the sky
And think “all this will pass”,
(A thought that he can not grasp).
Yet he, and the birds that fly,
Are happier than I.
I Met A Young Lady in Victoria
I met a young lady in Victoria
Whose name was Louise or Gloria.
We went to a hotel,
That I know quite well.
‘Its in Clapham, or maybe Victoria!
I Met A Pretty Young Maid
I met a pretty young maid
Who said, “I’m far from staid!”.
I said, “my violin,
It speaks of sin,
And many a time I’ve played!”.
My Dog, Who I’ve Named Hegel
My dog, who I’ve named Hegel
Is extremely fond of a bagel.
Whilst my neighbour’s cat, called Marx,
Spends his days chasing fiery sparks,
And discussing dialectical materialism with Hegel!
The Point of Poetry
Why must I
Attempt to capture
Every rapture,
Or simple pleasure?
The weather
Is there to be enjoyed,
Be it fine or wet,
Yet
The joy of a beautiful day
May
So easily be destroyed
By a poor rhyme.
Time
Will not stay
For the poet who,
In rhyme
Describes her black stiletto shoe
And oh so short skirt,
(although they
Did nothing do,
But flirt).
The beauty of a Christine,
Or a Claire,
With their luxuriant hair
Survives, pristine,
On the page,
Whilst they,
And the poet
Age,
Turn grey.
Then, fade away.
In rhyme, we leave something behind.
A part of the mind
Lives on,
Although we are gone.
Perhaps that is why
I
Spend so much of my time
In rhyme.
K Morris - Poet 