Her dress
Did cling
To her in springtime,
Which caused
The poet passing by
To pause,
And compose
A rhyme
To fleeting time.
But do you suppose
That he did not sigh,
And, in his secret heart
Ponder on more than art. ?
A schoolboy
Crush on a girl of similar age.
Imagine his great joy
When she accepted his lemonade.
But he did regret
For her skirt
Got wet
And the game
Of flirt
He played
Ended in shame
And the loss of his lemonade!
Today I passed by
The bush, so green
In the light rain.
‘Tis a thing so often seen
By me,
This tree.
Yet I returned again
And touched both leaf and tree,
For the seas will still roar
Though I shall be,
No more
A young man named Hogg
Owns a very bad dog.
It stole the stocking
Of poor miss Hocking,
And Hogg he stole her clog!
—
A young lady dressed in pink
Gave me a knowing wink
And said to me, “come and see
What lies behind that fine old oaktree”,
And her hair it had a kink.
Continue reading
An attractive young lady named Claire
Is forever washing her hair.
I’ve had a hot date
With her best mate Kate,
But today Kate’s washing her hair!
A beautiful young critic named Nell
Said, “in poetry you must show not tell”.
But, when I showed her mine
Over dinner and the finest of French wine,
My poetry was lauded by Nell!
When an extremely rude young lad
Said, “your poetry ’tis very bad!”,
I said, “I once new a boy
By the name of Roy or Troy,
His demise was so very sad!
I have heard
The tick tock
Of the clock
And thought
That I ought
To become
A better man,
Ere the clock’s word
Is no longer heard
And the sun
Does, forever set
On my regret.
Marvell was right,
For, oft, at night
I fancy I hear
“Time’s Winged chariot hurrying near”.
The year
Will soon close.
No man knows
How many more he has got,
Therefore heed the tick tock
Of the clock
For it’s word
Will, one day
Pass away.
—
The reference to “Time’s Winged chariot”, can be found in Andrew Marvell’s “To His Coy Mistress”, http://www.scottishpoetrylibrary.org.uk/poem/his-coy-mistress/.
When a man whose name is Ted
Found a young lady in his bed,
She said, “I’m your new neighbour,
And I’ve always voted for Labour,
Which is why my nightdress is red!”.
Can kisses, cold as gold
Bring joy
To the sorrowing
Boy?
Can borrowing
A pretend
Friend
For the night
End
In anything other
Than temporary delight?
And can a man
Change his “lover”
As easily as the cover
On his bed
Where a myriad heads
Have been,
Praying for the morning to be seen
So they may depart
Carrying in their heart
The secret of an ancient profession
That, through discretion
Or shame
Few will name?
K Morris - Poet 