When a wicked young lady named White
Rang my doorbell at just after midnight,
And I said, “that’s really not acceptable!”,
And she said, “but you’re not respectable!”,
I had to agree with Miss White
I have dreamed many a dream
Where fantasy
Did seem
To be reality.
And I have thought, that I ought
To take care
Lest my dream, turn to nightmare.
For in dreams
All is not what it seems,
And who can fathom
The chasm
That may or may not be
Between a dream,
And reality?
When a young lady named Leigh
Invited me round for tea,
And she and Miss Hocking
Lost more than a stocking,
They made me spill my tea!
When I met young women at dice
Who said, “sir, are you into vice?”,
And I said, “i’m not into betting”,
They said, “but, surely you’re not forgetting,
That there are many forms of vice!”.
Sometimes I think we poets obsess
Too much on grim death.
We hear the blackbird sing
And say “the flowers that bloom
In spring,
And this bird, so full of joy,
Time will destroy,
All too soon”.
We obsess
Over the maid
In her white
dress,
And say, “she will fade
Into the eternal night”.
Yet there is much delight
In the maid,
And when, into the night
Poet and maid
fade,
They may leave to posterity,
More than poetry.
I can imagine you
Minus sock
And shoe.
That would certainly shock.
But you
Are too
Prim and proper
To come a cropper
In that interview!
I see
Me,
Indistinct,
As a shadow,
And think,
This sunny day
And my shadow,
Must fade away
I think on feet
I wish to meet.
And on girls who lose
Stiletto shoes,
Or maybe,
Keep them on for me.
I think on the dance of feet
Beneath the sheet,
And on scattered clothes,
And a rose, that was once a rose.
Yet not all girls lose, their precious shoes.
Lust
Makes the strong
Weak with desire,
But passion’s song
Must
End in dust.
A police constable whose name is Ling
Tried to catch me in a sting,
With a young lady named Louise
And a large hunk of cheese,
It was such a close run thing!
K Morris - Poet 