Sometimes I would
That I could
Write about flowers,
Yet the night
Hours slowly pass
And my thought
Runs on lass
And ought?
‘Tis strange how interpretations differ.
Some will
Read a poem “as is”,
But what is “as is?”
When all is still
At night
The poet may
Stay away
And write
A verse
Or, with a curse
Taste the apple of Eve
Although he does know
That he should leave
The fruit, once sweet
Untasted, he will eat.
Under the sterile
Sheet they meet
For a while,
And smile
The smile
Of the crocodile.
When a young lady whose name is Ria
Wore a dress both short and sheer,
A cyclist called Mike
Fell off his bike,
And they married the very next year.
When a young lady named Rose
Bought a set of completely clear clothes,
The people, being rude
Said, “you are nude!”,
Why they said that, nobody knows!
When a waitress whose name is Fay
Said, “your bill you must certainly pay”,
I asked her to dance,
But, when she looked askance,
I ran like the clappers away!
Some girls dance
For the love of the thing,
And others For the security that a ring
does bring.
While others, with a fixed smile
Dance in bed
For they have bills to pay
Although it has been said
That some would rather be dead
Than go down that way.
Be that as it may
Will you condemn
Those who with men
Consort for pay
When the wolf
is baying at the door
And call them, “Whore”?
Or will you
Metaphorically flay
The lonely men
Who pay
For company,
And more
With a girl you label “Whore”?
Tell me
Who will you condemn?
A young lady whose name is Lou
Has an obsession involving strong glue.
She is extremely posh
And has lots of dosh,
And she’s rather stuck up is Lou!
—
A young lady whose name is Lou
Has an obsession involving strong glue.
She is extremely posh
And has lots of dosh,
But she’s not as stuck up as you!
A naughty young lady named Louise
Has stolen my spare set of keys.
She enters my home
When I’m all alone,
And she wont give back my keys!
I know a young lady named Claire
Who has beautiful, long blonde hair.
My friend Yvette
Is a brunette,
And she doesn’t dye her hair!
I long for
A knock
At my door
And for
Passion to unlock
In loss of shoe and sock,
But please, let it not
Be as before,
A girl, half there, longing for
The door,
And me
Wishing that she
Where more . . .
K Morris - Poet 