There was a young model named Louise
Who liked her audience to please.
When she appeared on the catwalk,
The judges reached for a fawk,
As her dress it was made of peas!
There was a young model named Louise
Leave a reply
Tag Archives: poetry
Why do I strive, for that which I can not possess?
Why do I strive, for that which I can not possess?
Is the sun’s caress
Not enough
That I must grasp at other stuff?
Caught
On the wheel
Of thought
I feel
That I aught …
Be done
With useless thinking.
I shall at life’s fountain be drinking,
For existence doth run
Away,
And I can not reclaim a single day
Spent,
In thinking on a nymph’s unknowable scent.
Lothario Growing Old
As I grow older, my blood cools.
I shall leave fools
To kick against the rules
And retire
From desire,
For the fire
Has burned me to the core.
The flames roar
On occasions still entices.
But no, I will not haggle over prices!
Fools may pursue their own devices
While I drink
The water that cools
And think
On half-forgotten spices.
Plates
Once he would wait
In a state
Of needing,
To begin his feeding.
The plate
Would arrive.
Man felt alive
As he ate.
But no,
It was not always so,
For on occasions he would feed
And reluctant to retire,
His greed
Did more desire
Breed.
A wise man did once remark
On this truth stark,
“There is enough for every man’s need,
But not his greed”.
With indifference or hate
Man comes to regard the plate.
But what of the wish
Of the dish?
For do not plates
Have states
Of being?
A dish, itself seeing
Reflected back, in glass
Thinks “alas”,
And wishes for all this to pass.
There Was A Computer Program Named Spot
There was a computer program named Spot
Who knew an awful lot.
He wrote a book
Which the critics mistook,
As a work by a man called Mott!
Struggle
After a while
The smile
Becomes set
In stone,
And yet
Were we not always alone
Waiting for the telephone to ring?
Or, indeed
Anything
To prevent
The descent
Into looking inside
(for woe betide
That we
Should be faced with me).
Or perhaps we call
For the writing on the wall
Says there is no choice,
But conscience’s voice
Whispers “No
You should not go
There”.
The devil in his lair
Replies “you may be gone tomorrow,
Drown your sorrow
And forget
Regret
In desire’s
Never ending fire”.
We awake
And take
A look inside,
For man can not hide
From himself
In the arms of elf.
“Never again
Will we have such pain”
We say
(and perhaps believe
As ‘tis easy oneself to deceive),
But tomorrow is another day
And the primrose way
Leads gently down to hell
Where dammed souls dwell.
There Was A Young Man Named Moat
There was a young man named Moat
Who said “no woman should vote”.
His girlfriend Jill
Replied “You will
Go and collect your coat”!
We Dance In A Ring
We dance in a ring
In spring
When the roses bloom
And little think on winter’s tomb.
We cavort
In the summer sun
With unstaid maid
And give but little thought
To how the deer does run
Towards the setting sun.
In autumn, when leaves fall
We recall
Life’s joys and gall
Ere winter makes a bed
For lover’s head.
There Was A Young Lady Named Lou
There was a young lady named Lou
Who wrote a poem about you.
It was extremely salacious
And very vexacious,
But there was nothing I could do!
There Was A Young Poet Called Kevin
There was a young poet called Kevin
Who said “I may not get to heaven.
But I shall write
Throughout the night,
And get drunk by half-past seven”!
K Morris - Poet 