Its raining out there.
I swear
That I will go out later,
But, seeing an alligator
I shall continue to reside
Safely Inside!
Perhaps I am in denial
And it is a crocodile
That lurks below.
Maybe I should my resolution harden
And go out into my garden
With my dog
And admit that that fearsome creature is, in fact a log …!
I maintain
That despite the rain
Crocodile and alligator
That I will go
Below
But let it be later …!
There was a young man called Baccus
Who caused a bit of a fraccus
By getting drunk one day
And leading his colleagues astray.
Our employer he threatened to sackus!
There was a young man called Marcello
Who loved to play on the cello.
He wasn’t very good
And his neighbours would
Bang on the walls and bellow!
—
There was a young man called Marcello
Who loved to play on the cello.
He played at night,
Giving his neighbours a fright.
They would bellow, “stop that racket Marcello”!
There was a young god called Ra
Who borrowed his girlfriend’s bra,
To use as a duster.
It was all he could muster.
There relationship didn’t go very far!
There was a young lady called May
Who spent all her time in play.
Her boss said,
As he shook his head,
“In this job you can not stay”!
There was a young man called Bert
Who was never very alert.
When they found him dead
The undertaker said,
“Now he is truly inert”!
There was a young man called Guy
Who, like Icarus, wanted to fly.
He jumped off Big Ben
At a quarter to ten.
I really don’t understand why!
The below poem was inspired by a comment overheard by me while enjoying a drink in a pub last weekend (Saturday 29 October).
—
“This beer tastes like lady’s knickers”, says an elderly man at a table.
Standing at the bar, I am scarcely able
To contain my laughter, and idly think
As I enjoy my drink
“what about a bra
And are
There knickers for the male kind?”
I find
In pubs much amusement
And bemusement.
“How would he know?”
Better not to go
There I think
As I sink
My drink.
“Lady’s Knickers” beer
Would taste most queer.
I shall be boring and stick to a well known brew
Although ‘tis true
I am curious to know.
But better not to go …
Finishing my second pint, I leave.
I perceive
This incident will stay with me.
I shall with glee
Write it down
Though it be
Nothing profound.
All was still in the church.
No lurch
Of sudden fear
To chill
My heart
As I passed the stones where the dead sleep.
Should I create, for the sake of art
A devil with horn?
No, I am forlorn
For this year
Neither scheming demon
Nor the obscene
Fingers of the dead
Troubled my boring Halloween!
There was a young lady called Gale
Whose look made hardened criminals quail.
She met a thug one night
Who, to her delight
Began to weep and wail!
K Morris - Poet 