“Check your privilege”, can not be said
To the dead,
But if it could, Kipling would
Remain the same,
A man of his time,
Who some would like to arraign
For the heinous crime
Of writing rhyme
“Check your Privilege”
2 Replies
Tag Archives: poems
I put my nose out the window and smell the rain
I put my nose out the window
And smell the rain,
But quickly close it again
Why should I
shut out the rain
And sky?
For I
Know not when I shall die.
Death and Taxes
Property makes us free
And to me
And thee
The only thing certain
In life, is death’s final curtain
And taxation,
Which sustains the nation.
Walking Home from the Supermarket
Walking home from the supermarket
I heard
A bird
And thought
I could not have bought
That in store.
Overheard
He spoke about a guy
Who tried to woo
A lady of 22.
And I,
Overheard every word
And wondered what it had to do
With him.
I don’t know,
Is it a sin
For a guy of 52
Or so,
To woo
A girl of 22?
I think
That if a guy
Of 52,
Wishes to buy
A drink
For a lady of 22
That it is nothing to do
With me or you.
“A fool and his money are soon parted”
The moralist will say. But, if that be true
And a man is brokenhearted,
I come back to
my original question, what has that to do
With me or you?
Tuesday Morning Humour
There once was a poet named Kim
Who was both petite and slim.
Her verse it was mediocre
But a critic called Coker,
Loved that young lady Kim!
—
When a pretty young lady named Mable
Said, “I am both willing and able”.
I gave her a smile
And said, “wait a while,
First we must lay this table”.
—
There once was a horologist named Sue
Who said, “any clock will do”.
So she bought an ancient timepiece
From a disreputable old thief,
But that clock it just wouldn’t do!
There Was A Young Lady of Stroud
There was a young lady of Stroud
Whose voice was so horribly loud,
That a librarian named Paul
Said, “you’re driving my readers up the wall,
As your voice its so horribly loud!”.
And then you know . . .
How short her skirt.
No need to flirt.
Just a quick “hello”
And then you know . . .
For ’tis always so
With girls of a certain profession,
Although, some show more discretion . . .
Nothing More
Heels clip clop,
Then stop
At a suburban door.
A doorbell peal.
A grubby deal.
Nothing more.
When My Friend Whose Name is Matt
When my friend whose name is Matt
Asked me to look after his flat,
Young ladies from Ealing
Danced on the ceiling,
And his neighbours they all cursed Matt!
—
When my friend whose name is Matt
Asked me to look after his flat,
A young lady from Ealing
Said, “my senses are reeling,
And who owns that purple cat?”
K Morris - Poet 