A kiss
Paid for
From a whore
May
Some say
Bring bliss.
Whilst the kiss
After dinner and fine wine
From a pretty maid
Is bliss
And you have not paid
For company,
Which is free.
A Cynic Reflects on “Love”
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Tag Archives: blogging
I Perceive The Dead Leaves
I perceive
The dead
Leaves.
It is said
That civilisations die.
I
Have my
Poetry
And am free
To express
That democracy’s dress
May,
so easily, fray.
As I Ascended The Darkened Stair\
As I ascended the darkend stair
I met a young lady called Claire
Who said, “I am with certainty knowing
Where we 2 are now going”.
She’s a naughty young lady is Claire!
When A Beautiful Spy Who Looked Forlorn
When a beautiful spy who looked forlorn
Said, “I must surely die at dawn”,
And I replied, “you are very hot”,
She said, “I thank you a lot,
But I still must die at dawn!”.
Death and the Poet
Back in 2015, I wrote “Epitaph On A Poet”. Looking back at my composition, I detect sadness with, perhaps a touch of humour:
A book of poems upon his grave
Could not the poet save.
The few his words touched
Failed to keep him from the dust.
When A Young Lady Named Lyme
When a young lady named Lyme
Asked, “would you like a good time?”,
I said, “would you take a look
In my newly published poetry book,,
As I’m sure you’re into great rhyme!
Whilst Lazing In My Bath
Whilst lazing in my bath
I heard a knowing laugh,
And said, “is that you Miss Hogg?
But ’twas only a dog,
That laughed at me in my bath!
When A Lady With Expertise In Latin
When a lady with expertise in latin
Dressed in a short dress of satin,
A little known poet called Morris
Read from The Odes of Horace,
But alas, he did lack any latin!
When a lady with expertise in latin
Dressed in a short dress of satin,
A little known poet called Morris
Read from The Odes of Horace,
Whilst dressed in silk and pink satin!
The Extraordinary Shall Become Ordinary
The extraordinary
Soon becomes ordinary.
And man does require
A more extreme
Tingle to kindle
His fire
Of desire.
For when a dream
Becomes reality
Often we see
The banality
Of it all
But, the writing being on the wall
We fall
Into a more extreme dream
And run
After a still hotter sun,
But our fun
Shall become banal
And we shall
Continue to run
After the setting
Sun,
Regretting
The bed
Where love is dead.
Yet it is not so
For, in your heart you know
That love and care
Was never there.
A Young Lady Whose Name Is White
A young lady whose name is White
Visited my website late last night,
And left a message truly shocking
About the loss of shoe and stocking,
Do you think she’ll be back tonight?
K Morris - Poet 