Below are three humourous poems, and a couple of photographs taken by my friend Shanelle of my guide dog Trigger following a walk in the park.
Trigger smiling at the camera
Trigger beaming after his walk in the park
A very happy dog!
A young lady named Pam
Is well known on webcam.
My dear friend Jess
Wears a see through dress,
And she’s also known as Pam …
For the walk that was never taken,
For the talk that was never talked,
For the ball never played,
For the one who stayed
Alone,
At home
Forsaken,
Who was to blame?
Love is a game
To some
And perhaps it matters not
For the sun
Is still hot
And the sky does remain
Suspended above
This game
Of love.
When a beautiful young lady named Liver
Said, “my sweet come hither.
I am not to blame
For my strange name”,
She set my heart aquiver!
My good friend whose name is Moriah
Has a most natural desire,
But being a gentleman of discretion
I shall make no confession,
Concerning me and my good friend Moriah …
When the chips
Are down and order slips,
Who will stand, one with the other?
“You are my brother”,
(Tis so easy to say),
But when the chips
Are down and order slips,
Will I be your brother
Or something other
– A man who when order slips
And there are no chips
Says, through trembling lips,
“I am for
Whoever can restore
A semblance of law
Be he
Ever so cruel,
For when the chips
Are down and order slips,
Most men will grin
And save their own skin
For Hobbes’s rule
Applies when there are no chips
And order slips”.
A young lady by the name of Claire
Said, “life it just isn’t fair.
You say I’m your muse
But you continue to confuse,
Me with that girl with the messed up hair!”.
I know a young lady named Dawn
Who is a goddess in human form.
When I asked her out
You should have heard her shout,
“Stop trampling my father’s corn!”.
On my way
Home today
I met
A budding rose
And did a poem compose
To love, lust,
Dust, and regret.
Who knows
Whether the rose
Be closed
Still.
All flesh is grass
And I will
Into the dark forest pass
While the rose
Is blooming still
Some girls fold
With great care
Their clothes on a chair
Ere they go
To bed.
While others throw
Their dress,
In a mess
On the ground.
I have found
That a few will hang
From the door
For the floor
Is a mess
And a girl must not soil
Or spoil
Her dress.
But what can be said
Of her head?
K Morris - Poet 