When a cultured young lady named Ann
Went and dated a white van man,
She spoke of great Shakespeare,
Which he found quite queer –
But they had fun in his van …
White Van Man
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Tag Archives: kevin morris poet
Feisty Miss White
When a pretty young lady named White
Said, “I will turn out the light”.
And I said, “then get into bed?”,
She smacked me hard on the head.
Those nurses can get feisty at night!
Those nurses they
Terrible Old Bore
When a rude young man named Moore
Said, “you are a terrible old bore!”.
I gave him a smile
And then, with great style,
I kicked Moore out of the door!
Too Much Partying!
When I met a young lady in Soho
Who told me her name it was Flow,
I bought her and Jane
Lots of overpriced fake champagne
And awoke with a bloke in old Soho!
Let Children Learn our Best Verse
A good and interesting article in the Spectator, entitled Let Children Learn our Best Verse, Let children learn our best verse | The Spectator
Thoughts of a Middle-Aged Man
In early August
Leaves on the ground
Are blown around.
Autumn must
Come in with September.
I remember
Barefoot girls in summertime
And lust
Only half understood.
In woods
Autumn leaves become dust.
My blood
Still runs hot.
And the graveyard plot
Calls us all.
The Vicar’s Sermon
When the noble and erudite vicar Winning
Gave a fine sermon condemning all sinning,
Rose and Miss Spink
Gave him a wink.
And the congregation all fell about grinning!
Grace the Magician
A magician who is known as Grace
Has made many men vanish without trace.
There’s a magic spade
And a secluded glade.
And the police are looking for Grace …
Browning
Today,
Waking early, I reached for Elizabeth.
But, finding Robert, I read of death
And how the May
Left him bereft.
I am drowning in envy of Browning
For he so well caught
How short
Is our May.
For all things must fade away.
Death leaves friends bereft.
Yet poetry remains
To soothe our pain.
Shadows and Birdsong
Lost in thought
I walk
Through the evening wood.
Then I see
My shadow beside me.
In inner talk
I failed to see
The wood’s beauty
And my whirling words
Drowned out the birds.
My tomorrow may not come.
Yet the sun
Shines through the trees
And there is beauty
In these shadows and birdsong.
K Morris - Poet 