When a young lady of a philosophical bent
Invited me into her leaky old tent,
And she said, “men are full of lust,
And we are all but whirling dust”.
I said, “you should fix this leaking tent!”.
Physicists say
That all this
Will, one day,
Fade away.
”Tis
A sobering thought,
So perhaps I ought
To stay
In bed today?
But the universe
Is still here
And, I fear
That verse
Does not pay.
Therefore I must
Put aside thoughts of whirling dust,
And go about my mundane day.
In the latter part of this week, London was visited by some heavy downpours.
I have always been a lover of the rain. And the recent heavy showers reminded me of my poem “Raining”, which is reproduced below:
“I awoke to the rain
Drumming on my window pane.
Opening my lattice, I let it in:
The purifying water that washes away sin.
The hypnotic sound
Of rain falling all around.
All my life, I have listened to the rain.
The same drumming
Of water coming
From the sky
Falling on you and I.
The rain has no end;
But you and I, my friend,
May listen for a while,
Smile,
Then pass on by”.
For a recording of me reading “Raining”, please visit, https://soundcloud.com/kevin-stephen-morris/raining-1.
“Raining” can be found in my “Selected Poems”, which is available as a Kindle download and in paperback, and is accessible here, https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07WW8WXPP/.
When a young lady named May
Said, “’tis a beautiful spring day.
I’m feeling real sporty.
Let us be naughty”,
The vicar knelt down to pray!
A cold day in May.
Where has the spring gone?
Yet, the flowers live on.
He confessed:
“She has hair extensions,
And other things best
Not to mention.
And the lays
She plays
Are as old as humanity.
You wouldn’t take her to meet mother
For tea,
For she
Is not that kind of a lover.
And the song she sings,
And other things,
Would cause disention.
She takes cabs everywhere.
And her hair
Has extentions
(As I have already mentioned).
She can never stay for long
And her song
I shall not mention
Lest it cause contention
Amongst those who would object
To, and reject,
Girls with hair extensions”.
I drink my wine,
As evening gently falls.
And listen to bird calls.
Their poetry, far surpasses mine.
When a young lady hiding in a bush
Said, “look, is that a blackbird or thrush!”,
An elderly gentleman passing by
Said, “oh my, oh my,
That is a talking bush!”.
At a time meant for dolls
A boy, almost twice her age . . .
Her texts lack many LOLS.
Now they engage
Beneath the quilt.
Should he feel guilt?
She is no girl now,
But a woman of legal age.
He wonders how
And why?
Inwardly heaves a sigh,
And pays.
Whilst strolling in the hot summer weather
I met a young lady of pleasure.
She stole my wallet and coat
Then rode away on a goat,
Whilst dressed in stilettos and leather!
K Morris - Poet 