Look into my heart,
Do you possess the art
To reveal
That which I would conceal?
Like an eel
I am hard to grasp.
‘Tis perhaps
An impossible task,
So tell me my friend can you reveal
That which I would conceal?
It is said that “every man has his price”.
We decry vice,
For the nice
Guy or gal
Shal
Not get caught
Doing what they ought
Not to do.
But who
Save the saint
In narratives quaint
Can with honesty say
There has never been a day
(An admission truly shocking),
When temptation came aknocking.
Some may not fall
Yet recall
The devil on their shoulder
Who whispered “you are getting older.
Only the fool
Adheres to the rule
That keeps him poor”.
That door
They may refuse to open,
Yet the devil’s words are spoken
And every word
is heard
By man and child.
Many, like Wilde,
Do persist
And resist
Anything accept temptation.
There was a young man called Paul
Who wrote on the classroom wall.
His teacher Matt
Objected to that,
So he scrawled all over Paul!
There was a young man called Di
Who’s poetry made the critics cry.
His verse was so sad,
It drove them half mad.
They truly wished to die!
The tabloids say
“They slunk away
As the grey
Dawn
Did warn
Of another dismal day
For old London Town”.
The clergyman does frown
And putting the newspaper down
Remarks “I see,
The papers have poets in their fee.
All I can say
Is there will be hell to pay
When she reads that, later today …
There was a young philosopher called Neil
Who said, “all we perceive is not real”.
It was his bad luck,
To get hit by a truck,
Which knocked some sense into Neil.
There was a young man called Coker
Who was extremely good at poker.
He took a wife,
(She was the love of his life),
But her card playing, it was mediocre.
There was a young lady called Honey
Who believed there was lots of money
In the writing life,
So she became the wife
Of a writer who thought her idea was terribly funny!
There was a young poet called Matt
Who composed a poem about his cat.
The feline scratched himself
And remarked, “come the twelth,
I shall write one better than that!”.
There was a young aristocrat called Tim
Who was extremely nice but dim.
His father, Lord More,
Said “let your gun roar”,
So he shot their gamekeeper Jim!”
K Morris - Poet 