There was a young man named Guy
Who said “all flesh must die”.
His girlfriend Holly
Was far from Jolly,
Which is not like you or I.
—
There was a young man named Guy
Who said “all flesh must die”.
His girlfriend Holly
Was far from Jolly
But she made a really good pie!
Shall I compose a poem about a blood red
Poppy that I discovered in a book,
And how I took
It dead
From within the grieving leaves?
Shall I say
How, yesterday
I placed that flower
In a carved
Box where it will languish, love starved
For countless hour?
The book I had when we met.
I forget
Why the flower (paper thin)
Was there with it’s sharp pin
Still intact.
I remember the fact
Of you and me
Buying part
Of a once living tree.
Each heart
Is dying or dead
Those who wear their conscience upon their sleve
Are men and women as upright
As the medieval knight
Who would never deceive.
They see the world in black and white
And always do
What is just, true,
And right.
There are (they say)
No shades of gray,
And when the roof falls in
On their sanctimony and sin
I sigh
Shrug, and grin
The girl who was not
(In the orthodox sense)
A lover, got
Some recompense
From Lucre (her master).
They moved ever faster.
There was music and laughter,
But when Lucre ended
Disaster
Descended
“I am very proud, revengeful, ambitious, with more offences at my beck than I have thoughts to put them in, imagination to give them shape, or time to act them in. What should such fellows as I do crawling between earth and heaven? We are arrant knaves, all. Believe none of us”.
(“Hamlet”, Act 3, Scene 1).
I heard a rumour today
That yet another part
Of England’s heart
Is about to pass away.
Wilt
More flats be built
Where once there stood
A pub?
Shall beer and wine
Be replaced by the bottom line?
The drunkards now sing
But profit is king.
I see the open fire as I write
The coals all alight
And almost feel it’s blaze.
Shall profit’s craze
Erase all?
Let us raise a pint to the identikit
World into which we all must fit,
Where the suited and booted
Discuss the bottom line
While sipping their overpriced wine.
Of course it may not be true
In this particular case,
But England’s face
Is changing nonetheless.
My mistress’s green dress
Is frayed.
her lovers have strayed
– And the brewry’s bills must be paid
There was a young milkmaid named Howe
Who owned an extremely large cow.
A young man called Mike
Said “come ride on my bike”.
But the poor girl didn’t know how!
The judge put the black cap upon his head
And looking at the prisoner in the dock said,
“You are guilty of the slaughter
Of mother, son, father and daughter.
Down the years
You have provoked countless tears
And you shall pay
For your crimes today.
We have drugs that will keep you under control.
You have had your final soul.
I sentence you to perpetual irrelevance.
Now go you hence!”.
The Grim Reaper bowed his knee
And said “so shall it be.
I leave you in the hands of my good friend
Tedium Eternal, for death is at an end …”.
The clock
Does mock
His shoes
Her discarded sock.
“Those who in boudoirs stay
Will lose
Time
For they
Being at play
Do not hear
My chime,
Or perhaps out of fear
Turn a deaf ear
To the rhyme
Of time”.
I hear the tide’s roar
In a shell
That I keep near to me.
‘Tis some time since I walked along the shore.
But I know well
That the sea
Yearns to be free.
K Morris - Poet 