Shall I confess?
She wore not a dress
But standard issue jeans.
The scenes
Enacted
Impacted
And she
And me
Played our bit part
In this drama of sin.
No words of love were spoken
And the heart
Was unbroken.
Yet one may still regret
Or not as the case may be.
Philosophers disagree
On what it is to be free.
And I think on she
And me.
“By a free country I mean a country where people are allowed, so long as they do not hurt their neighbours, to do as they like. I do not mean a country where six men may make five men do exactly as they like.
That is not my notion of freedom”.
“A gram of experience is worth a ton of theory”.
“The days and weeks of screwed-up smiles and laboured courtesy, the mock geniality, the hearty shake of the filthy hand, the chuckling reply that must be made to the coarse joke, the loathsome, choking compliment that must be paid to the grimy wife and sluttish daughter, the indispensable flattery of the vilest religious prejudices, the wholesale deglutition of hypocritical pledges”. (Lord Salisbury on electoral canvasing. No politician would, I feel sure venture to publicly express such views as regards the electorate of the United Kingdom today).
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Robert_Gascoyne-Cecil,_3rd_Marquess_of_Salisbury
There was a young lady called Nell
Who cast a powerful spell.
Waking at dawn
I felt forlorn
At the loss of my wallet and Nell …
Sometimes I think on men of great estate
Who would, of an evening late
Gaze over the countryside
And wonder whether democracy’s rising tide
Would bring civilisation to an end.
I can not pretend
That there was not in such men
A desire for their privilege to survive
Democracy’s rising tide.
Yet I regret
The idea that any fool
May rule
And I feel in my heart
That democracy and mobocracy
Are sometimes not that far apart
A recording of my poem “The Girl Who Wasn’t There”, read by my friend Shanele,
There was a young man called Guy
Who stole a large apple pie.
A baker named Jim
Ran after him
But he couldn’t catch up with Guy!
Some go down the primrose path to hell
With a song in their heart.
The wise well
Know that those who go
Down that path
Oft produce great art.
Some do so
With a bitter laugh
And others with a sigh,
And I
Wonder why
Devils can make angels cry
There was a young lady called Lou
Who hit me with her shoe.
When I ran away
I’m sorry to say
That she hit me with her other shoe!
There was a young lady called Lou
Who hit me with her shoe.
When I ran away
I regret to say
That I stole her other shoe
There was a young lady called Lou
Who hit me with her shoe.
I ran away
That very day
And left Lou stuck in glue!
Her arm bare under my hand.
I have no command
And shee
Is not Of me.
I wonder does she understand
The fact
Of her impact
On men?
When she
Laughs it is with me
(But with others to)
So I know
That it can not be true.
Does she
See through me
As we walk
And talk?
Yet there is no
Harm in enjoying the charm
Of a soft, bare arm
Of a girl who happened to be free
And offered it to me.
There was a young man called Standish
Who’s behaviour was rather offhandish.
When I said “you are most rude”.
He replied “you dare to intrude,
Your conduct is truly outlandish!”
K Morris - Poet 