Oh churchyard tree
You will outlast me
And your branches provide shade
To lad and maid,
Though I go below.
Yet, in the end,
My churchyard friend,
Thee and me
Having our lives run
Must both succumb
To mortality.
Leaves creep in
And grin
At me, from the floor.
There are more
Outside, piled high
by The wind.
They can be cleared away
But, there can be no denial
That, one day
I to, shall be swept away
Along with these, fallen, leaves.
A gorgeous young lady named Honey
Is dating me for my money.
I’m having so much hot fun,
And I’m learning how to professionally run,
For when she finds I’ve no money!
On an early winter evening,
In the darkening park,
I thought on beginnings,
And leaving.
Then, on my way home,
Alone,
I heard a couple behind.
They passed, out of sight,
Into a cold, December night,
Leaving me behind.
I saw a portrait
Of Lord Salisbury smile,
And heard the late
Bevan turn in his grave.
Corbynites are in denial,
While
One-nation Tories say,
“Disraeli will save
The day”.
Salisbury continues to smile,
While
The bereft,
Left
Remain, in denial.
When
Young women say,
In a conversational sort of way,
“I wasn’t born
When
You did such and such”,
Then
My heart does warn
Of dust.
Though I
Suspect, ’tis lust,
Which is last to die.
Today is general election day.
The sun must
Rise on Johnson or Corbyn.
Soon, manifestos will gather dust,
Or be re-read with a cynical grin
By people who will say,
“You promised such and such
On election day”.
Then, in disgust
They will throw the thing away.
Oh the joy
For girl and boy
Of yet, another, election day!
A young man named Mo,
Having read every manifesto,
Decided to cast his vote
For a very large goat,
Although it had no manifesto!
An elderly gentleman named Frank
Being fond of a spank,
Visits a young lady called Jane,
Who wields a mean old cane,
But that’s between Jane and Frank!
A young man named Lee
Composes lots of concrete poetry.
His poem about an urban pavement
Has led to much critical engagement,
But his poetry’s to hard for me!
K Morris - Poet 