On going to bed last night
I met a young woman in white.
When I said, “please leave!”.
She said, “can’t you perceive
That you are in the wrong room tonight …?!”.
—
On going to bed last night
I met a young lady in white.
When I asked, “who are you?”
She said, “have you seen my left shoe?
And this dress it is far too tight!”.
I have lost my soul
In a hole
Of pleasure and pain.
A brief absence of thought,
I am forever caught
On the wheel of no gain.
Fantasies come out in dreams
When consciousness streams
Unopposed.
Her clothes
Are lost
At no cost
To the dreamer or to her.
And, come the morn
The dreamer is from his fantasy torn
And the wolf returns to his lair.
But, have a care
Lest in sleep
You her name speak
For respectability is a thin veil
And friends would turn pale
Where they to know
Where you go
In sleep
A naughty young lady called Bright
Keeps me awake at night
By playing on the violin
In my kitchen bin
As the cats they yowl and fight!
There was a young lady of Madrid
Who in my bedroom hid.
When my wife Jane
Returned from Spain
I hid with that young lady of Madrid.
A good article entitled “What Makes a Good Poem”. I agree with most of what is written, particularly the below,
“Economy of language: In most cases, if you can express something clearly and fully in a hundred words, you shouldn’t use a thousand. Language that is concise
is more memorable and resonates more deeply than verbiage, which tends to feel messy”.
I have often read a poem and thought that, had it been shorter, the work in question would have possessed greater impact.
To read the article please visit, https://www.writingforward.com/poetry-writing/what-makes-a-good-poem.
50 soon.
The moon
Will wax and wane
As it must.
And the sun will rise and set
On my joy and regret.
Everything will remain
The same.
And the dust
Laughs at my lust
There was a young lady called Lou
Who, at Christmas lost a shoe.
Her mother, Jane
Did bitterly complain
As she lost a stocking too!
There once was a poet who, at Christmastime
Began to compose a rhyme.
He started drinking at ten
And I don’t know when
He will get round to finishing that rhyme …
There was a young lady called Holly
Who wrote a rhyme far from jolly.
But when a handsome stranger named Mow
Kissed her under the mistletoe
She composed a rhyme most jolly!
K Morris - Poet 