Shall I write a poem risqué
About a girl called Fay?
As you know
I am not that way
At all,
Being pure as the snow
That does fall
On an inner city street
Where Fay’s feet
Clip clop
In heels high,
Causing a passing guy
To stop
And give Fay the eye …
There was a young lady from France
Who liked to sing and dance
Her looks were exotic
And she was very erotic
So I didn’t stand a chance …
There was a young lady called Ming
With whom I had a fling.
Our affair twas brief
And ended in grief
When I eloped with her sister Ling …
Shall I confess?
She wore not a dress
But standard issue jeans.
The scenes
Enacted
Impacted
And she
And me
Played our bit part
In this drama of sin.
No words of love were spoken
And the heart
Was unbroken.
Yet one may still regret
Or not as the case may be.
Philosophers disagree
On what it is to be free.
And I think on she
And me.
There was a young lady called Nell
Who cast a powerful spell.
Waking at dawn
I felt forlorn
At the loss of my wallet and Nell …
Sometimes I think on men of great estate
Who would, of an evening late
Gaze over the countryside
And wonder whether democracy’s rising tide
Would bring civilisation to an end.
I can not pretend
That there was not in such men
A desire for their privilege to survive
Democracy’s rising tide.
Yet I regret
The idea that any fool
May rule
And I feel in my heart
That democracy and mobocracy
Are sometimes not that far apart
A recording of my poem “The Girl Who Wasn’t There”, read by my friend Shanele,
There was a young man called Guy
Who stole a large apple pie.
A baker named Jim
Ran after him
But he couldn’t catch up with Guy!
Some go down the primrose path to hell
With a song in their heart.
The wise well
Know that those who go
Down that path
Oft produce great art.
Some do so
With a bitter laugh
And others with a sigh,
And I
Wonder why
Devils can make angels cry
There was a young lady called Lou
Who hit me with her shoe.
When I ran away
I’m sorry to say
That she hit me with her other shoe!
There was a young lady called Lou
Who hit me with her shoe.
When I ran away
I regret to say
That I stole her other shoe
There was a young lady called Lou
Who hit me with her shoe.
I ran away
That very day
And left Lou stuck in glue!
K Morris - Poet 