There once was a poet named Kim
Who was both petite and slim.
Her verse it was mediocre
But a critic called Coker,
Loved that young lady Kim!
—
When a pretty young lady named Mable
Said, “I am both willing and able”.
I gave her a smile
And said, “wait a while,
First we must lay this table”.
—
There once was a horologist named Sue
Who said, “any clock will do”.
So she bought an ancient timepiece
From a disreputable old thief,
But that clock it just wouldn’t do!
Sunlight on gravestones
Reminds me
That we
Are but bones.
But, with my soul on the line
I should, perhaps back the communion wine . . .
There was a young lady of Stroud
Whose voice was so horribly loud,
That a librarian named Paul
Said, “you’re driving my readers up the wall,
As your voice its so horribly loud!”.
How short her skirt.
No need to flirt.
Just a quick “hello”
And then you know . . .
For ’tis always so
With girls of a certain profession,
Although, some show more discretion . . .
Heels clip clop,
Then stop
At a suburban door.
A doorbell peal.
A grubby deal.
Nothing more.
When my friend whose name is Matt
Asked me to look after his flat,
Young ladies from Ealing
Danced on the ceiling,
And his neighbours they all cursed Matt!
—
When my friend whose name is Matt
Asked me to look after his flat,
A young lady from Ealing
Said, “my senses are reeling,
And who owns that purple cat?”
What do the bells of All Saints say
On this cold spring day?
Is it “repent?”
Or a lament,
A sighing
For a civilisation that is dying?
I can not say.
—
The above poem was inspired by me hearing the bells of All Saints Church, as I passed through the churchyard on the morning of Sunday 5th May 2019). You can find All Saints Upper Norwood here, http://www.allsaintsuppernorwood.co.uk/).
You cleaned your teeth
And came to bed.
I remember not
What was said.
But talk is cheap
Though not so diamond rings
And other things
Of which we shall not speak.
When a young person named Dan
Threatened me with a frying Pan,
And said, “you will die!”,
I offered him some pie,
Which mollified that young man named Dan.
You and me
Drinking wine on my settee,
Both of us knowing
Where this was going
For we had nowhere at all
Left to fall
K Morris - Poet 