There was a young man named Connor
Who had a strong sense of honour.
He married a girl called Bess
But he refused to undress
So strong was his sense of honour!
There Was A Young Man Named Connor
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Tag Archives: poetry
In The Desert Of The Heart
In the desert of the heart
Any touch may start
A flame
Any hand
May command
A hot
Flush
(Wanted or not),
But who are we to rush
To blame?
Is this thing called shame
A social construct that keeps us low?
Many prefer not to go
Down that path
Of enquiry. They laugh,
Make a smutty joke
And on their own hypocrisy choke.
There Was A Young Author Named White
There was a young author named White
Who stayed up late to write.
He went on Facebook
For a quick look
And remained there until the morning light!
In The Early Morning
In the early morning,
Stretching, yawning
I see
The world drear
With all it’s fear.
Or is it me
I see?
There Was A Young Lady Named Holly
There was a young lady named Holly
Who stole my favourite brolly.
I met an au pair
Upon the stair.
Her name was Louise or Molly.
—
There was a young lady named Holly
Who stole my favourite brolly.
My wife found me with an au pair
Who’s name was Flair
And whacked me with a trolley!
Conscience Uncontrolled Screams In Dreams
Conscience uncontrolled screams
In dreams.
In the lair
Of nightmare
The pretence of day
Is stripped away.
If you would discern
Me, then turn
And look behind
My smile to find
What lies within my heart.
But you do not possess the art
To traverse the curse of another’s dreams
There Was A Young Lady Named Flow
There was a young lady named Flow
Who’s morals where rather low.
We sat down together
In the scented heather
And the rest you shall not know …
The Game Of Fame
Far and near
Oft I hear
The echo chamber resound
With the sweet sound
Of those who play,
Day after day
The game
Of fame.
Sometimes I join in
With the happy din,
Or with a cynical grin
Stay away.
But o how tempting it is to play
The game
Of fame.
There Was A Young Journalist Named Lou
There was a young journalist named Lou
Who wrote a story that wasn’t true.
A lawyer called Moat
Composed a strong note
In which he threatened to sue!
Cryogenics
A recent article in “The Daily Mail, entitled “Humans Frozen by Cryogenics Could Be Revived Using Stem Cells” http://www.dailymail.co.uk/sciencetech/article-5462963/Humans-frozen-cryogenics-revived-using-stem-cells.html, reminded me of my poem, “Cryonics which is reproduced below:
“It is a will-o’-the-wisp, followed by the frightened or blind,
Who themselves bind
To the delusion, that the mist does not forever close
Over mouth and nose.
There are few posies for the departed,
Just an idea started
In the mind
Of those who would salvation find
In a deep freeze,
Designed to please
The ego
Of people who fear to go
Down that dark track
From whence none come back”.
“Cryonics” can be found in my collection of poetry, “My Old Clock I Wind” http://moyhill.com/clock/.
K Morris - Poet 