Mermaids on the beach
Out of reach
Save in dreams
Where all seems
Fair In love and war
Withdraw, as the tide
Inside is let go
In a flow
Of Oh!
He awakes
And takes
Stock of a human day
Where no mermaids stay
For him. So, at night,
He retreats to the delight
Of the seashore
For all seems
Possible in dreams.
I remember abandoned stilettos,
Left, bereft under my bed.
The ghettos
Are cruel it is said,
But you
Knew nothing of them,
(Though much of men
And their desire
To play with fire).
What drew
We 2
Diverse birds of a feather
Together?
Dare I say
That you where
A professional and I an amateur,
Or was it the other way?
I can not say.
When I said to my good friend Nell
“I really like your expensive shower gel,
As your scent is so very nice”,
And she replied, “its my only vice!”,
I said, I was talking about the gel!”.
A young person whose name is Dan
Is a very political man.
In the dark of the night
He leans to the right,
And by dawn he’s a socialist man!
When a young lady whose name is Lin
Said, “I want to give in to sin”,
I replied, “I am moral!”,
Which caused a huge quarrel,
So at last, I gave in to Lin!
Friends discuss politics in a pub garden.
Opinions harden.
The sun sets
Over the UK
As the day
Ends, and friends
Depart, Some with regrets
In their heart,
For a day
That may
Soon be done.
Civilisations rise and fall.
History’s story
Is a yearning for glory,
And the sand covers all.
There was a young lady with a cucumber
Who said,”by the great god of thunder
I shall bring down rain
And block up this drain,
But first I must chop up this cucumber!”.
Your black
Soft hair in my hand.
You lack
The capacity to understand
As you lie in the sun
After your run,
That I shall find dog hair
When you are no longer there,
For hairs to carpets stick
And tears will, one day, prick
The eyes of he
Who loves thee.
(Note: my dog, Trigger is healthy and happy. But, on picking up some of his hair from my living room carpet, I was reminded of his mortality, and indeed that of all flesh).
The green through my window
Pane I see,
Should I go
Down, like the rain,
And be free
Amidst the greenery below?
‘Tis a passing show
I see:
This rain,
This tree
In the garden below,
And me
K Morris - Poet 