There was a young lady called Lorraine
Who boarded a London bound train.
When informed “this is an Express”,
She said “I must confess
That I meant to board a plane …!”
There Was A Young Lady Called Lorraine
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Tag Archives: poems
Birthday
My hair is silver-grey
And it is my birthday tomorrow.
We all borrow time
But, when young tend not to think
On such things as we drink
The wine.
I will be forty-eight.
Sometimes I glimpse a gate
That opens into a peaceful wood,
Where the blood
Ceases to run
And the sun
Is as one with the dark.
My heart
Beats strong
And I will lose myself in friends, wine and song,
So smile enigmatically and say
“tomorrow is my birthday”.
Death and Rebirth.3.
These dry
Leaves do not die.
They become one with the earth.
A derth
Of green
Is seen,
Then a rebirth,
The old, in the new
Takes root
And does heavenwards shute.
The past, present and future one may see
In the mighty tree,
While you and me
Pass by
With a sigh
As we ponder on our mortality.
There Was A Young Lady Called Jane
There was a young lady called Jane
Who always did maintain
That she could eat a horse
But, of course
The saddle she would retain …!
January
The bedclothes
Are neatly made
And the lone head laid
On pillows replete
With the scent of soap powder.
The portrait is complete
For nothing in January grows.
There Was A Young Lady Called Lin
There was a young lady called Lin
Who liked to bang on a tin.
She banged it every Sunday morn,
Which caused the bishop to warn
That Lin was committing a sin …!
Limericks
There was a young lady called Rose
Who had an accident while using a hose.
She got very wet
And said with regret,
“I can not master this hose!”
—
There was a young lady called Lin
Who owned a violin.
She played it at night,
Which was much to the delight
Of the fox who raided her bin!
—
There was a young lady called Hester
Who was a bit of a jester.
In the midst of telling a joke
The poor girl did choke,
And they buried her in Chester!
—
There was a young lady called Rose
Who lost all her clothes
While out for a walk.
When her friends did talk
She said,”that’s just the way it goes …!”
There Was A Young Lady Called Rose
There was a young lady called Rose
Who counted her fingers and toes.
To make quite sure,
She counted them once more,
Then for good measure, she added her nose.
Twenty-Seventeen
The weather is drear
And none save my dog is near.
The new year
Beccons
As seconds
Are here then gone.
The clock’s hands move on
Towards twenty-seventeen.
I have no magic screen
To gaze into the future, but stupidity
And that age-old vice cupidity
Will, I venture to maintain
Continue to reign.
The human race
Has a face
Half devil and part divine.
There is a fine
Line
Between the two.
Looking through
History one finds dreams of utopia turning to hell,
Yet one can not tell
The idealist that he is wrong,
For he will answer you with the same old song,
“If everyone did such and such then all would be well”!
But we are saints with feet of clay
And the utopian’s way
Leads many to stray
Down the path to the ever lasting bonfire
Where the desire
To do good ends in the Gulag and the stamp
Of the fanatic’s boot in the concentration camp.
Small acts of kindness matter
And oft times achieve more than the chatter
Of those
Who would dragoon
Humanity into neat little rows.
And believe there is a man in the moon.
There Was A Young Lady Called Gay
There was a young lady called Gay
Who composed limericks throughout the day.
She read them aloud at night,
Which was much to the delight
Of the owl who lived down her way.
K Morris - Poet 