Having her headphones on
And being far gone
In music’s sound
She perceives nothing profound.
But there is nothing profound
To see
In the pound, pound, pound
Of he.
It being over
She retrieves her pullover
And other things.
She sings
Her feet
Tap to a discordant beat
And with headphones still in place
She departs leaving a slight trace
Of perfume
And a discarded hairband
In the bedroom.
The latter he does not understand.
There was a young lady called Moriah
Who married a country squire.
While her husband shot grouse
She would remain in the house
And stoke the parson’s fire
Passionless kisses,
Abysses
Of sandpaper, but one must be polite
And feign delight
For that is what a gentleman must do,
Whether or not it be true.
Whether there be the expense of a meal or no
Round and round I go
Gathering the fruit that is seeming sweet to eat,
Then awake, and wash the bitter juice
That did so seduce
From the once innocent sheet.
Standing at my window
Reluctant to go
For I know
Not how long I shall be here.
Not quite half-way through the year.
May is love and birds
And erratic words
That fall
As the passing sunlight upon my wall.
Tomorrow will come (probably for me)
And I shall see
The sun’s rays fall
Upon this wall
But I know not
What tomorrow has in store …
A girl, early twenties perhaps
Sits drinking her second glass
Of wine.
A sign,
Screwed to our table warns of bag thieves,
While the CCTV sees
A girl (and us at our table close by).
Idly I wonder why
She is there. Waiting for a brother?
A lover?
Or something other?
The first table, being dirty we move
To another.
Brother?
Lover?
Or something other?
Customers enter and depart.
We will not return to this place.
CCTV can see
The face
But man has not the art
To look into the human heart.
As we go
I pray that it may always be so.
So many broken rings
That I forget
And regret
The number
That does encumber
Not.
So many strings
Have I
Undone
In fun.
Yet there were none to tie.
Oh how the clock’s hands run
Away
Ushering in the end of day.
A fox
In my garden, and me
In this elaborate box.
We call down a pox
On the hapless fox
For he
Is free
To kill
At will
The domestic rabbit.
While our own habit
Is to preserve the life of all
Is it not? Although
I recall
That twas man who did fall
From Paradise.
Adam and Eve
Grieve
Over the loss of their pet
And forget
That vice
Is a purely human quality.
Colours converge
And the black does merge
With the white.
The night
Is sweet
And colours greet
In starlight.
Today (May 12th) is National Limerick Day, which is celebrated in honour of the English writer of limericks and nonsense verse, Edward Lear. You can learn about National Limerick Day here https://nationaldaycalendar.com/days-2/national-limerick-day-may-12/. In honour of National Limerick Day I have composed 2 limericks in honour of Lear:
There was an elderly man called Lear
Who drank 10 pints of beer.
“To drink is such a bore”,
He said with a snore.
“And I’ve been dead for many a year!”.
There once was a poet called Lear
For whom I shed a tear.
‘Twas his curse
To write nonsense verse
But he made the world less drear!
There was a young lady called Rose
Who never wore any clothes.
A policeman called Jim
Went for a swim
But not with that young lady Rose
K Morris - Poet 