I have chased the chaste
Through nights of delight,
For we can be free
In our secret fantasy.
In my head
I have said
That which I ought
Not to have thought.
And in my dream
It often does seem
That fantasy
Becomes reality.
And in her head
What thoughts of bed
And fantasy
Has she?
For even the chaste
May, in secret fantasy
Relish the chase
And lover’s embrace.
Is it just
An antiquated rule
That keeps fools
Away from play?
I am dust,
As is she
Yet this lust
May not be
A young lady whose name is Lou
Likes to spank me with her shoe.
She says, “your verse
It grows steadily worse!
So I’ll spank you with my shoe!”
A moderate patriotism is good
And I raise a glass
To my queen and country.
While, in the ancient wood
The eternal wind does pass
Over tree
And grass.
There once was a fiction writer named Mark
Who wrote about his date in the park.
A young lady named Lou
Said, “I shall sue you!
As I didn’t do that in the park!”
There once was a clever old ghost
Who spent all his days stealing toast.
When they covered it in glue
He said, “I’ll start stealing stew!”.
That clever and most enterprising old ghost!
At some point
We all disjoint
And go below
To must
And dust.
Transhumanists may deny
That I
Must surely die.
Yet below
I must go.
Rain falls hard
In the churchyard.
But those below
Do not know.
On another day
Some other may,
Passing me by,
Think as I.
There once was a most poetical old squire
Who composed a poem to his housemaid Moriah.
As she knelt on the floor
She said, “do give me more!”.
So he did, which delighted his housemaid Moriah!
With my joyful balloon
I found the sky.
But find in middle-age
That the balloon soon
Deflates. And of late
My thoughts engage
With Raleigh’s stage.
(Note: the reference to “Raleigh’s stage” is to his poem “All the Worlds a Stage”, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MMuWT1iLn3w
K Morris - Poet 