There once was an old squire named Ray
Who liked to go shooting all day.
His handsome butler called Morgan
Was good on the organ,
And the squire’s wife she loved to play!
Squire Ray
3 Replies
Tag Archives: kevin morris poet
The Forbidden Garden
Perfume in a forbidden garden.
Desires hidden behind friendly smiles.
Paradise held no inhibitions.
Society celebrates the variety
Of nearly all.
But some falls
Can not be forgiven.
So Adam waits
Though the Devil prates
Of outdated convention.
But the fruit
Is not quite ripe.
A 4 Star Review of My Collection “The Churchyard Yew and Other Poems”
I was delighted to receive the following 4 star review of my collection of poetry, “The Churchyard Yew and Other Poems” on Goodreads:
“This is a collection of almost 70 short poems. Most are reflections on mortality and the inevitability of death. Many compare human life to physical phenomena that do not experience death, or to nature, which transcends it. Weather and seasons are mentioned often, both as background and symbol …”.
(The full review can be found here Audrey Driscoll’s review of The Churchyard Yew and Other Poems (goodreads.com) The review is also on Amazon here Contemplations of Mortality (amazon.ca)
Lost Bras
I know a young lady named Marr
Who is always losing her bra.
She is known to be sporty
And I’ve heard that she’s naughty
And the vicar he’s wearing a bra …!
Something Happened
Something happened in her childhood, she said.
Now, at 20, she feels empty.
But makes money in bed.
On Being Stung by a Large Bumblebee
On being stung by a large Bumblebee
On a part you will never see!
I jumped in the water
With the vicar’s pretty daughter,
Who was nude as nude can be!
Kevin Morris reading his poems at The Royal Albert Pub Crystal Palace on TikTok
I recently did a reading of my poetry at The Royal Albert Pub in Crystal Palace. You don’t need a TikTok account to watch the reading.
PART ONE:
PART TWO:
Engrossed in their Flirtatious Play
Engrossed in their flirtatious play
They stand behind the bar.
The place is quiet for a summer’s evening.
I am near, and yet so far away.
Soon I will be leaving
Him and her together.
I finish my pint and leave alone.
Later, at home, I think on Larkin,
And whether they sleep together.
Its not my affair
But the poet’s indelicate question
Intrudes into my rhyme
Of lost youth and passing time.
Kidnapped
When a vampire whose name is Kate
Kidnapped me on an evening very late,
I found myself in the gloom
Of a musty old tomb,
With the actor who was dating Kate!
Were I to Die Under a Bus
Were I to die under a bus
Family and friends would cry.
There would be little fuss
Over my literary legacy.
Those few who read my rhyme
Of women and wine
and passing time
May fancy they hear
Skeletons prattle in cupboards
And clocks stop.
But I will not reply
K Morris - Poet 