There was a young lady named Goose
Who’s morals where rather loose.
It was her delight
Of a summer’s night
To tease the bishop, who was somewhat obtuse …
There Was A Young Lady Named Goose
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Tag Archives: poetry
The Bored Lothario
Different shapes and sizes.
Once there were surprises.
Now whatever he devises
Passion rarely rises.
Black or white?
What does it matter?
Sometimes a brief delight,
But most dreams shatter
Pending
Delivery not completed.
Number deleted.
It is foretold
That all that glitters
Is not gold.
There Was A Young Man Called Mack
There was a young man called Mack
Who said “the best form of defence is attack”.
He hit a man
(His name was Dan),
Who promptly whacked Mack back!
Stream
If the stream flows
But the fish die,
Then who am I?
I perceive
That a stream can not grieve,
Nor can it wish
For future fish.
There Was A Young Futurist Named Page
There was a young Futurist named Page
Who was in love with the industrial age.
When the music played loud
She would dance for the crowd,
On the cold and empty stage.
(The above limerick was prompted by this post by Paul Andrus, http://www.paul-andruss.com/futurist-manifesto/).
When Inocence Met Desire
When innocence met desire
They say
That the Town Crier
Had a field day.
The populace rose in disgust
And filled with hate
They lynched the reprobate,
While deep inside
Their own lust
They secretly did hide.
I Heard The Thunder
I heard the thunder, neither loud nor proud.
I can not tell
Whether any rain fell,
Yet I know the well
Is dry.
There are no tears to cry
Save for the crocodile
Kind
and I find
That I am sick of the false smile
Coming Storm
I wish that a storm would come.
I can neither run
Nor stay
And pray
For a storm to take
All this away.
Once the lightening has passed
I may feel bereft
At the vast
Nothing left
Behind. But the storm must come
And I must not run
Away,
But face the thunder, and stay.
Who Are You?
“Who are you?” he said
As she lay upon the bed.
“Who me?
I can be
Whoever you want me
To be”
She made reply
With a barely audible sigh.
“And who are you?”
She asked.
“I am masked.
Now let us play a while.
Do bring a smile
To my face
With silk and lace,
For after a will-o’-the-wisp I chase”.
K Morris - Poet 