There was a young lady called Leigh
Who tied me up at 3.
At half-past four
I said, “no more,
Tis time for the vicar’s tea!”.
There was a young lady called Leigh
Who tied me up at 3.
At half-past 4
I said, “no more!”.
But she did not agree!
Tired.
Undesired.
Would I do it again?
This chain
I make
I can not shake
(Though it causes me pain)
So I return again
And again …
Regret is yet
Another she
Who can not love me.
And, you see
I knew it was so all along
But the strong chain
I made bound
And I found
Myself there again
With a shame
I will not name.
I know a young lady called Heather
Who being light as a feather
Wears not
A lot
When the weather
Is hot
As we walk together
Through the heather …
Ought
I to consort
With the hot
Thought?
Perhaps not
But there is no harm
In a thought …
The charm
Of her
Bare
Arm …
A mere thought.
Ought I?
Ought I not?
On this hot
Day.
The way
Is full of roses, and who will roses spurn
But roses to weeds may turn
And the heart is ofte times torn
By many a lethal thorn.
Lucifer came for a potentate bold.
He said “you have had power and wealth untold,
Now you must render me your immortal soul”.
The potentate sighed,
And made reply,
“My soul it died,
you will find nothing inside.
It perished long ago,
And vanished like the summer snow.
Once I had ideals,
and yearned to build utopia in green fields.
I have waded in much blood,
And sacrificed the weak for the common good.
My soul you had long ago.
I take your hand,
Now let us go”.
—
When writing the above poem, I had in mind the famous quote of Lord Acton:
“Power tends to corrupt, and absolute power corrupts absolutely. Great men are almost always bad men.”
“The Potentate” can be found in my collection entitled “Lost In The Labyrinth Of My Mind”, http://moyhill.com/lost/. “Lost” can also be found in the Amazon Kindle store, https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01AF5EPVY/
There was a young lady called Lin
Who was wholly free of sin.
I knew her well
And strange to tell
I could never make her sin!
There was a young man called Mick
Who carried a very big stick.
At dead of night
We had a fight
And Mick he lost his stick!
There was a young man called Mick
Who carried a very big stick.
A policewoman named Jane
Said “It gives me great pain
To confiscate that stick!”.
As I grow older
Father Time
Taps me on my shoulder
With his scythe
And says “this rhyme
May survive,
Or perchance another one
After you are gone”.
There was a young lady called Ling
With whom I had a fling.
My girlfriend Kate
Joined our date
In the midst of the budding spring.
There was a young lady called Ling
With whom I had a fling.
My girlfriend Kate
Whacked me with a plate.
Oh love, tis a painful thing!
A wiff
Of cheap scent
On bedclothes
For him to sniff
When she goes.
How easy it is to repent
Of the money spent
But, he knows
That when the wine flows
The weak
Will seek
For a she of a certain profession.
Had he belief
He would make his confession
To the priest who knows
Where the lost soul goes
To find a temporary relief
On the Siren’s reef.
K Morris - Poet 