You see them,
Ghosts, standing under lamp posts,
Waiting for men.
And judge them (or not),
As the case may be).
Yet you hear not
The knock
On anonymous door
Of She
You call “whore”.
And, when she
In her heels steals away
Few have anything to say.
And her clientele,
They rarely tell.
Those who would deny
That we are all hypocrites to some extent,
Should repent
Of their lie!
A few,
Its true
Maybe naive,
And themselves deceive.
Yet I
Say that most men, deliberately lie.
So I
Will try
Not to condemn
Other men
Lest they should find me out
And, from the church rooftops shout,
“Sir, you also, lie!”.
Some possess the art
To conceal, within their heart,
Their own hypocrisy. But conscience or fear
Does, in their nightmares shout,
“Your fellow man may find you out!”.
Beautiful women
For your pleasure.
You may browse at your leisure.
There will be no sinning
For we
Only offer company,
But, what goes on behind closed doors . . .
We break no laws
But, discerning gentleman will understand
that money may command
a girlfriend
For the night
If the price is right,
But we must both pretend . . .
You do understand that we
Only provide company . . .
If all our dreams could
Be known
Who then would
Throw the first stone?
Alone in our head
We dread
That one day our dreams will be known.
So tell me my friend will
You still
Be the one to throw the first stone?
If everyone were locked up for their fantasies
The prisons would be full
And the dull
Fool
Would rule
Over a land
Where hypocrisy held command
When innocence met desire
They say
That the Town Crier
Had a field day.
The populace rose in disgust
And filled with hate
They lynched the reprobate,
While deep inside
Their own lust
They secretly did hide.
“This internet thing
Can only immorality bring.
I mean,
Imagine the scene
Where Jack can be Jill
(and almost certainly will),
For who can see behind the screen
Of this new fangled computer machine?”
In my day we had top shelf magazines
And watched scenes
On video
(on second thoughts best not go
There)!
Anyway I swear
That society is going to pot,
(have you got
Any by the way? …)”.
What the neighbours see
Need not concern you and me,
For our lives are so boring
We will have them snoring.
So lets continue ignoring
The twitching curtain
For it is certain
They can only perceive
The milkman leave
The milk,
As we wave him goodbye in our dressinggown of silk …
What the neighbours spy
Need not concern you and I
For walls are thin
And we can not help but hear the din
Of the squeaking bed
When Mrs Ed
Is away.
So we say
“Hi”
As we pass by
But do not catch our neighbour’s eye …
I am not a huge fan of the pop group Madness. However there recently released song, “Mr Apples” (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aWUisvmZRiw) caught my attention. The song deals with hypocrisy as does my poem “The Hypocrite”, (https://newauthoronline.com/2015/07/26/the-hypocrite/). Madness’s song does, I think make the point with humour and (possibly) a touch of compassion for Mr Apples.
You choke on your cornflakes over stories of vicars and hoares,
And when the death sentence is imposed you give loud applause.
When they call for moral regeneration your first in the queue,
Oh my friend what if they knew what you do.
Behind closed doors the lamplight is low,
To the girl, barely legal, you are “Mr So and So”.
When the deed’s done homewards you go,
To the wife, and the kids – fine, upstanding Mr So and So.
K Morris - Poet 