There was a fireman called Jim
Who sang many a hymn.
He got a hose
Stuck up his nose
And that was the end of him!
There Was A Fireman Called Jim
Leave a reply
Tag Archives: k morris poet
Excess Heat
This excess heat
Will defeat
My erratic thought.
Me caught
Between the desire
For fire
And water.
Yet Poseidon’s daughter
Does cavort
Killing all thought.
Desire
Fire
Water
Daughter.
Forgetfulness in arms
‘Ere the alarms
Of morn
Warn
Of another sultry day
Where man must work, not play.
There Was A Young Lady Called Flow
There was a young lady called flow
Who said,”you reap what you so”.
She made a dress,
Her friends to impress,
Then found she had nowhere to go!
The Camera Never Lies …
A photograph says
He who sends pays.
A photograph implies
He who attaches does not lie.
A photograph states this is me
And not some other he.
A photograph says all that you need to know is here,
You need not fear.
A photograph says
There are many ways
To skin a cat
And I will eat my hat
If the camera never lies.
“Whose eyes
Are those?”
“Only heaven knows”.
There Was A Young Lady Called Claire
There was a young lady called Claire
Who liked to go here and there,
By train or bus.
Oh how the officials did fuss
As she never paid her fare!
There Was A Young Man Called Roary
There was a young man called Roary
Who was a traditional high Tory.
His girlfriend Mel
Said “I love you well,
Though I am no hidebound Tory”!
There Was A Young Lady Called Jill
There was a young lady called Jill
Who never would pick up the bill.
Her friends did say,
“you must pay your way”.
I fear they are waiting still!
There Was A Young Mann Called Max
There was a young man called Max
Who liked to play on the Sax.
He played for his girl,
Who did a twirl.
It made her really relax!
There Was A Young Lady Called Nell
There was a young lady called Nell
Who worked in a hotel.
The guests where crude,
But she was no prude
And Nell would never tell …
Shorn
Does the grandfather clock’s pendulum
Still, with measured swing
A sense of order bring
To that country place
Where a mantion’s stately grace,
Brought peace,
For a while at least.
I would resile
This urban life
Of strife,
And solace take
In the birds who awake
At morn.
We are from tradition torn,
And shorn
Of a sense of the past
Wander in a vast
Whirlpool
Where the sleepless screen does rule
And institutions are thrown away
For they belong to yesterday.
