My aristocratic friend, who likes to doodle
Maintains ideas that are almost feudal,
And lives on a great estate
With my young mistress called Kate,
And an anarchistic, fat old poodle!
My Aristocratic Friend, Who Likes To Doodle
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Tag Archives: poets
Progress
The hands trace
The clock’s face
Then
, Go round again.
Progress. Yes?
Or no?
The hands go
round, and round
Nymphs On Pedestals
Nymphs on pedestals
Are worshipped by fools
Who place
A pretty face
On high,
Then cry
When they
See that she
Is as he,
Merely, imperfect, clay
Bathwater
A young woman of 20
Sells water from her bath
For £24, and there are plenty
Who buy.
I laugh
And wonder why I
Spend my
Valuable time
In rhyme . . .!
(Yesterday I read this article http://mylifestylemax.com/lifestyle/influencer-charges-fans-24-to-buy-bathwater-shes-played-in-and-it-sells-out/ about an”influencer” on Instagram who sells her bath water to any of her followers who are happy to pay £24 for the privelege of possessing a bottle of, err bath water. This caused me to ponder on how people value things, whether that be the water in which a young woman has soaked, or the rhymes poets such as I pen).
When A Young Lady Named White
When a young lady named White
Developed a ladder in her tight,
At just gone 10
A window cleaner called Ken,
Borrowed that ladder in her tight!
—
When a young lady whose name is White
Developed a ladder in her tight,
A window cleaner called Ken
Swapped her a pen,
In exchange for that ladder in her tight.
Rose
When a young lady whose name is Rose
Said, “your views I shall oppose!”,
And I replied, “but you don’t know my view!”,
She said, “that’s perfectly true,
But I really don’t like your clothes!”.
—
When a young lady whose name is Rose
Jumped up and down on my toes,
And I said, “that really does hurt!”,
She tore off my shirt.
As to why? only Rose knows.
—
There was a young lady named Rose
Who composed a poem all about toes.
When they said, “its incomplete
As there aren’t any feet”,
She hit them right on the nose!
On Going To Bed Last Night
On going to bed last night
I met a young lady named White.
I admired her see through nightdress,
But she asked me to stress
That nothing happened last night . . .
Dark Imaginings
When I heard
A bird
In a tree
Sing to me
In a park,
I thought that the dark
Imaginings I see,
May not come to be
A Man May Be
A man may be
A Tory
Of the deepest blue
Or a Socialist of the strongest hue
Of red,
Yet with sadness shake his head
At what
His own lot
Do when
The legislative pen
Falls to them . . .
When A Young Lady Whose Name Is White
When a young lady whose name is White
Got into a bit of a fight
Over her missing left shoe,
With a girl called Lou,
I went and hid her right!
—
When a young lady whose name is White
Got into a bit of a fight
With a girl called Lou,
Over her missing left shoe,
I wished them both “good night!”.
—
When a young lady whose name is White
Said, “I like Wuthering Height”,
And I asked, “do you mean Heights?”
She took off her tights
And said, “lets not discuss literature tonight!”.
K Morris - Poet 