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 . . .
A Man May Be
4 Replies
Tag Archives: poets
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!”.
Nostalgia? well perhaps, or maybe . . .
In 2016, I published my poem, Squire and Peasant, https://kmorrispoet.com/2016/05/12/squire-and-peasant/.
The above is one of the poems I am minded to read at a poetry reading on Thursday 4 July. This will be a private event (unfortunately not open to the public), hence I wanted to share this poem here in order that it may be more widely enjoyed.
Kevin
Kevin
“I am the girl with tiny arms”
“I am the girl with tiny arms”
You said. and now I
Sigh, and think on the charms
Of the tiny arms
Of a girl of 20 or so.
Although I know
That it will
Never be so.
Still, a man may,
Fruitlessly, pray.
There Once Was A Wasp With No Sting
There once was a wasp with no sting
Who said, “life is a most unfair thing,
As when I attack
They always come back”,
And he wept at the lack of a sting.
I Know A Young Lady Named Bland
I know a young lady named Bland
Who is fond of the handstand,
But her dress being short
I think that I ought
To warn that young lady Bland!
When A Young Man Named Ed
When a young man named Ed
Read a poem about women and bed,
A few fell asleep
Whilst others did weep,
And the bishop shook his great head.
When A Young Lady Whose Name Is Jane
When a young lady whose name is Jane
Said, “there is much pleasure in pain.
I shall go first
For better or worse,
I said, “just board the blooming train!”.
The Fall
Verdant flowers.
Lovers under a tree
Taste fruit.
Unnoticed, a serpent slithers.
Sometimes I Would That I Could Write About Flowers
Sometimes I would
That I could
Write about flowers,
Yet the night
Hours slowly pass
And my thought
Runs on lass
And ought?
‘Tis strange how interpretations differ.
Some will
Read a poem “as is”,
But what is “as is?”
When all is still
At night
The poet may
Stay away
And write
A verse
Or, with a curse
Taste the apple of Eve
Although he does know
That he should leave
The fruit, once sweet
Untasted, he will eat.
K Morris - Poet 