I prefer
My comfortable old armchair;
And the tick tock
Of my clock
With it’s traditional chime;
And poetry that rhymes.
To a world where
My old armchair
Is replaced
By minimalist furniture;
Clocks have a digital face
(And do not chime);
And I am told, that rhyme
Is out with the present time.
when a gorgeous young lady named Fay
Said, “see how the lambs they play.
Come with me to yonder field,
Where all maidens must surely yield,
I said, “but Fay, its raining today!”.
—
A young lady named Jane
Sang a most mournful refrain.
I could repeat her song,
As it wouldn’t take long,
But its copyright of Jane!
—
A very ugly and most ancient squire
Said, “I must sire
Lots of healthy offspring
To please my king,
But my young wife has no desire!”.
I saw a child
In a pram
And smiled
For I am
Always glad
To see
A happy
Child.
Then, I was half-sad
That I have
No children to leave behind.
But then my mind
Turned to climate change, and I
Was half-glad
That when I die,
I will have
None to leave behind.
I gave a young lady
A copy of my poetry.
She likes my verse
And, for better or worse,
Having read my poetry
Knows something of me.
For, through my art
I reveal
A part
Of my heart.
Maybe,
‘Tis the better part
That she
Does see.
Conservatives speak of radical change,
Whilst Socialists say
Everything will stay
The same,
For that is the Conservative way.
And perhaps some long dead Tory squire,
bemused and confused,
By this desire
For change,
Turns in his sleep
And mutters,
“I thought Conservatives where there To keep
Things the same”.
But, no one hears the words he utters.
My liberated young friend, whose named Dawn
Works in the field of porn.
She has lots of silk stockings,
And I’ve heard late night knockings,
From that pawnbrokers shop owned by Dawn!
When a careless young lady named Louise
Sat on a hive of bees,
And said, with a terrible scream
“Please, cool me down with icecream!”,
I said, “but bees make honey, Louise!”.
When a young lady who is divine
Said, “do you like women and wine?”,
I said, with a smile,
“You have such great style,
And will you pay for the wine?”.
This solitary park.
This winter sky
And I.
Soon, it will be dark.
Is there shame
In not knowing a girl’s name?
Maybe it is so
When you go
To the place
Wherein
Grace
Gives way to sin.
And what if her name
Be false,
But you waltz,
Just the same.
Is there shame
In a waltz
With a girl with a false,
Or no name?
She has agency,
But is free,
Is she not?
And in your hot
Passion,
A name
(and compassion),
Is soon forgot,
Is it not?
K Morris - Poet 