“Poets are the unacknowledged legislators
Of the world” Shelley said.
But all praters
Must go to that night
Where none write,
For what use are words to the dead?
Of Poets And Legislators
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Tag Archives: poetry
There Was A Young Lady Called Ruth
There was a young lady called Ruth
Who said “there is no proof.
But you may find,
If you look behind,
Something approaching the truth!
To Rhyme Or Not?
It will not do
To force one’s foot into an ill fitting shoe.
Likewise it is a mistake
To make
Poems rhyme
Where no rhyme properly should be.
Tick Tock
The steady tick tock
Of the clock.
I am here,
You are not.
All my human pride.
I can not hide
From the inexorable tick tock
Of the clock.
Now I am here,
Then I am not.
There Was A Young Lady Called Honey
There was a young lady called Honey
Who had the brain of a bunny.
She got a job
With a man named Bob,
But he never paid any money!
Your assistance in choosing a book cover for “My Old Clock I Wind and Other Poems” would be much appreciated
As many of you are aware, I am in the process of publishing a further collection of poetry, “My Old Clock I Wind and Other Poems”.
The collection derives it’s title from the first poem, which is entitled (appropriately enough) “My Old Clock I Wind”.
I am in the midst of choosing a photograph for the book cover and would greatly appreciate your views on the photographs featured here, which show the clock from which the book derives it’s title.
Comments concerning the quality of the images, which picture you prefer and why (together with any other input) would be much appreciated.
Version 1: Clock Close-up
Version 2: Clock
Version 3: Clock and Picture
Please leave your comments below or, if you prefer send an email to newauthoronline (at) gmail dot com (please note, the address is rendered in this manner to avoid spam)!
There Was A Young Man Called Holmes
There was a young man called Holmes
Who investigated some missing gnomes.
But if one takes a look
In Watson’s enthralling book,
There is no case of “The Missing Gnomes!”
Kipling May Regret
In the restaurant its just the waiter and I,
While outside the window Vehicles speed by.
“There are a lot of beautiful women outside today”,
He remarks by way
Of conversation.
I drink
My wine and think
About this nation
On who’s empire the sun would never set.
Kipling may regret,
Yet
The sun continues to shine
And there is curry and wine,
While in the street
Multiracial feet
Hurry
Along,
Beating out a more or less harmonious song.
There Was A Ghost Called Frank
There was a ghost called Frank,
Who liked his chains to clank
In a manner most foul,
(Which caused the dogs to howl)!
And his stare was cold and blank.
—
A disreputable old ghost called Frank
Liked his chains to clank.
He stole a young lady’s towel,
In a manner most foul
As she lazed on the river bank.
Mums The Word
An interesting expression
Is “the world’s oldest profession”.
Many a confession
Has the priest heard.
Mums the word.
He knows the flesh is weak
And will not speak
Of the desire
Burning in peasant and squire,
For discretion
Is his profession.
K Morris - Poet 