When we die
I wonder where all our lust
Love and hate Goes?
Who knows?
But methinks
That he who drinks
From Hades stream
Is lost in a dreamless dream
With other dust.
When We Die
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Tag Archives: poetry
3
There was no tea
Just those 2 and me
Making 3.
We 3
did play
A game.
One name
I remember, though the day
And date
Is long forgot.
The evening was not hot,
and they left late.
And I remember the game
But not her name.
When A Young Lady Who’s Name Is Lin
When a young lady who’s name is Lin
Went in search of sin
A man most dissolute
Played on his flute
Which pleased that young lady Lin.
When We Undress
When we undress
We must
Perforce lose
Skin. But who will confess
That he does choose
To indulge in lust
And sin?
There Was A Young Lady Called Heather
There was a young lady called Heather
Who, wishing to live forever
Received a brain transplant
From a maiden aunt
Which made her terribly clever!
—
There was a young lady called Heather
Who, wishing to live forever
Received a brain transplant
From a biker aunt,
So now she dresses in leather!
Birthday Balloons
Birthday balloons are here still
Though the cards are no longer on display.
How long will
Balloons stay
Held up by gas
Until, at last
They deflate, and sink to rest?
‘Tis best
To put them away.
Yet they
Remain on display
But the pretend
Will descend
One fine day.
The Wakeful Pleasure Seeker
Lying awake
I take
Stock, as the tick tock
Of the bedside clock
Does measure
all pleasure
And pain.
The joy I gain
From Sue or Lou
Passing through
Pausing only too …
A girl’s discarded shoe
Thrust, carelessly under the bed
Speaks of lust
Long since dead.
The dust
Will have its way
Tomorrow or today.
There Was A Young Lady Called Pearl
There was a young lady called Pearl
Who’s hair refused to curl.
So, in frustration
She emailed the nation,
And set the press in a whirl!
The Lover Who Was Not …
“The lover who
Was not
True?”
“No
It can not
Be so”.
“The girl who was not
Hot?”
“Again, I say no,
For it was not quite so”.
“What was she then
When
She paid a call on him?”
“One who engages in what some name sin
That is what she was to him.
She was true
As she went through
With it,
Though her lip she bit
And left
Feeling bereft
Though richer for it.
She was hot
To him, though ice cold inside.
You decide
Whether she
Be true, or otherwise.
Though you may prefer to avert your eyes …”.
It Is By No Means Unknown
It is by no means unknown
For a middle-aged man to flirt
With a much younger Joan
Who, in her short skirt
And stilettos high
Laughs at the clumsy pass
Of the receeding guy.
Her face in the glass
Is full
Of youthful vigour.
The dull
Tick tock
Of the bedside clock
Does not figure
In her thought, for she is but twenty
And there is plenty
Of time.
K Morris - Poet 