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!
A young lady who works in the city
Said, “you are neither witty nor pretty”,
But, when she found I had money
She called me sweet and her honey,
And moved in with me in the city!
In youth
I played
And little thought on the truth
That ’twas a passing stage.
Now, in middle-age
Compliments are still paid
To me by young women,
Though my hair is thinning,
And I spend most of my time
In rhyme.
When a morbid young man named Matt
Wrote a sad poem about his cat,
The feline gave a great yawn
And said, “this is too forlorn”,
And ran in pursuit of a bat!
When a disreputable young man named Warner
Entered a darkened Sauna,
The receptionist called Paul
Said, “all men fall,
And today the girl working is Lorna!”.
I met a young lady named Ling
Who says she likes to swing.
But when we attended a swingers party
With the great and the literati,
I saw not 1 single swing!
When a young lady named Leigh
Said, I have a degree!”,
And I asked, “where did you study?”,
She said, “in fields very muddy,
As my degree’s in archaeology!”.
—
A young man named Mole
Being possessed of a poetic soul,
Recites dark and mournful poetry
To a young lady called Leigh,
Whilst wearing a washing up bowl!
—
A young lady named Megg
Says she’s layed an egg.
The tabloids have gone wild
And a patents been filed,
But Megg is pulling their leg!
Last night I was somewhere
Called nowhere
For there
I stood
In the dark wood
Of dreams,
Wherein
Virtue and sin
Are merely seeming,
For we are dreaming.
‘Tis a fine
Line
Twixt the living and the dead.
The head,
So full of thought
Is, suddenly, nought
And many
Men
Creep
Away In sleep.
To some death is the final despair,
The never ending nightmare
For None can escape
Death’s suffocating cape.
Yet, if we know not that we are dead
Why dread
The final dreamless sleep,
The dust,
Into which we all must
One day, creep?
When a young lady named Rose
Said, “I shall a poem compose!”,
A police constable called Kate
Said, “that really is great,
But please, put on some clothes!”.
Whilst speaking with a young lady
My imagination has roamed free,
And I have thought how slim
Is she,
And how thin
The dress
Twixt her and me.
I walk the line
‘Twixt virtue and sin
And sometimes stray
For the line
Is gosamer fine,
And to sin,
Can be divine.
K Morris - Poet 