My hair is barely wet
At all
And yet
The rain did fall
As I stood
In yonder wood.
The yammer
Of a hammer
Reached my ear,
While the birds free
Sang to me
As I touched the flowers
That know not hours.
Wood in the Rain
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Tag Archives: poetry
Supermarket Aisles
No trumpets play,
‘Just the same musak as yesterday,
Sounds down supermarket aisles
Where rictus smiles
Tally the cost
Of loves bought and lost,
And there is no sun
Behind the frost,
Merely a kind of fun,
Wherein shopper and purveyor are soon done.
There Was An Elderly Lady Called Kate
There was an elderly lady called Kate
Who got in a terrible state,
Over her gardener Stan,
(A most careless young man),
As he never would close the gate!
May Day
The May Queen
Is in her finery seen,
And many a staid
Maid
Will today
Discover another way
Through the dance, as Baccus and Cupid combine
In love and wine.
Is it rude
To call Cupid
Stupid?
How many girls brood
On such things
As they lose themselves in rings?
The Morning After
The morning after the night before
Alice closed a door.
“Drink me” the potion said.
She drank without emotion
And now a possibility is dead.
There Was A Young Man Called Locke
There was a young man called Locke
Who wished to stop the clock.
He broke the machine,
But I did glean
That time outlasted Locke.
This Rhyme
This rhyme
May, for a time
Survive. While I
Shall surely die.
On Dark Nights
On dark nights the fawn
does the wolf engulf
In such exquisite delights
But come the dawn
Both wolf and fawn
Are left,
Bereft
Listening to silence’s interminable yawn
There Was A Young Lady Called Ellie
There was a young lady called Ellie
Who was overly fond of jelly.
She ate it for breakfast, lunch and tea
And it was plain to see,
That Ellie had a very large belly!
Come the 1st of May
“Say,
Come the 1st of May,
Will you stay?
Shall we make romance
Our goal
As we dance around the Maypole?
And demonstrate to God above
Our abiding love?”
“My darling I will stay,
Come the 1st of May.
But you must pay
For my new dress
So as to impress.
Each girl
As I around the Maypole twirl.
Why dearest one, your face shows such distress …”.
K Morris - Poet 