The women come and go.
But talk not of Michaelangelo.
One drunk on booze
Leaves her stiletto shoes
Behind for Prufrock to find.
No mermaids sing for him.
But the girl was slim
And provided some delight
To a poet’s night.
When he turns to write
He finds that Miss Follett
Has taken his wallet,
And ponders on the Wasteland
Which a few understand!
A young lady who calls herself Honey
Likes to dress as the Easter bunny.
After food and wine
We crossed that line –
Then that bunny she stole my money!
Happy Easter to all of my readers!
I know a young lady named Amanda
Who says that I don’t understand her.
She is slim and petite
And lives on my street
And I’ve seen her walking her panda!
I met a young lady named Amanda
Who comes from a place called Uganda.
She called me sweet honey
And spent all my money,
Then escaped whilst dressed as a panda!
When a young lady brandishing whips and chains
Said, “do you like a girl with brains?”,
I said, “dear Lou,
I most certainly do!
But please can you stop brandishing those chains!”
When I went to a swingers bar
With a girl who calls herself Marr
A police constable named Flair
Danced nude on a chair –
But you should have seen Miss Marr …!
There was a young lady named Polly
Who was known for her love of melancholy.
Her verse was so sad
It drove us all mad
So we exiled that girl to a folly
There once was a young lady in slippers
Who was famous for her custard and kippers.
Her food was real nice
But that girl’s only vice
Was serving kippers whilst dressed in just slippers …!
There once was a writer named Hatch
Who was fond of having a scratch.
He liked to write
With his dog White
Whose fleas would cause Hatch to scratch!
There was a phlegmatic young man named Matt
Who was fond of stroking his cat.
When a ghoul appeared
And most wickedly sneered,
He said, “its always a pleasure to chat”.
K Morris - Poet 