There was a young lady called Kate
Who married my very best mate.
When a girl named Lou
Married him too
I ran away with that young lady Kate …
There Was A Young Lady Called Kate
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Tag Archives: poets
There Was A Young Man Named Neil
There was a young man named Neil
Who borrowed his girlfriend’s high heel.
It suited him so well
That a journalist called Nell
Wrote a story about Neil’s high heel …
Coop
One day the owl will swoop
And I shall be gone
From the coop
Leaving a few fragments of verse.
It is my
Curse
On hearing the owl’s cry
To think on when I
Shall die
Young Women
In short frocks
And with feet bare
They have no care
For clocks
That whir.
My guest post on Cyranny’s Cove
My thanks to Cyranny, of Cyranny’s Cove for hosting me on her blog, https://wp.me/p6RxSt-bU1
Composed More Or Less In Realtime While Sitting In A Liverpool Garden
My poem, “Composed More Or Less In Realtime While Sitting In A Liverpool Garden”, was written while sitting in my mum’s garden in the city of Liverpool.
The poem is a stream of consciousness piece and is one of very few written by me.
To read the poem please follow this link, https://newauthoronline.com/2016/05/30/composed-more-or-less-in-realtime-while-sitting-in-a-garden/
There Was A Young Lady Of Peru
There was a young lady of Peru
Who never would wear a shoe.
When out for a walk
The people would talk
So I lent her my only shoe!
There Was A Young Lady Called Moriah
There was a young lady called Moriah
Who married a Tory squire.
But being a Whig
She gave not a fig
For Toryism or that squire!
There was a young lady called Moriah
Who married a Socialist squire.
They retained a maid
Who was rarely paid
And they kept a roaring fire!
There was a young lady called Moriah
Who married a very old squire.
Their butler Mike
Rode a bike
And fulfilled her every desire …
Wherefore
Her gown
Tossed aside
Without pride.
Her crown
Has fallen down
But there are none to stare
For it is his and her
Affair.
Wherefore
Should you and I care?
When The TV Does Cease
When the TV does cease
Peace
In the hypnotic
Tick tock
Of the clock
Takes hold.
Tel me not
That time is a despot.
True the wise and the fool
Both must obey his rule,
But the wise accept
While many a fool has wept
At the swing of his rod
That reduces all to sod.
The TV
Can make us free
For a while from the thought
That we ought
To heed the pendulum’s swing
That does bring
Our spring
To summer and thence
To autumn when those of little sense
Dye their hair
(Although
They know
That the winter snow
Lets none go.
K Morris - Poet 