There was a young lady called Michelle
Who had a friend named Nell.
They lived on my street
And we would meet
By the local wishing well.
—
There was a young lady called Michelle
Who decided her soul to sell.
Having run out of money
The devil paid her in honey,
Or so her friends do tell.
When young
His blood was hot.
He flung
Himself into expense
And many a wench
Did smile
A crocodile smile
As with each python hug
He dug
His own trench.
As he grew older, his blood cooled somewhat
Though heaven knows
That passion hot
Still arose
From time to time
And manifested itself in
What some call sin …
Though to rhyme
Is no crime …
There was a man who lived in the gloom
As he would allow no light in his room.
Many say that he was a vampire
And very few had any desire
To meet that man who dwelt in the gloom!
I find it strange when those who have more than me
Defend Marx’s ideology,
While I, who am admittedly possessed of a sufficiency
Argue for a free society
Silence enfolds,
Holds
Me.
In her soothing arms.
How well I know her charms.
I abhore
The crowd’s inane roar
Where those who shout loudest are too often heard
And the liar’s honeyed word
Is sweet
In the ears of those who long to eat.
The crowd will crucify
Those who are found to lie.
But tis a truth most drear
That tis the lie they long to hear.
The multitude hate
The silence for it makes them think,
So turn to drink
And prate
Of matters they only half comprehend.
I shall defend
The freedom of silence
Against the violence
Of the crowd who sway
First this way
Then that.
I shall stand aloof
From the man in the bowler hat
(and he who wears the cloth cap),
And hap
I shall find truth
For the crowd’s roar
Can not penetrate my front door.
There was a young lady called Christine
Whose writing was always pristine.
Noone understood a word
But I have heard
That her life was squeaky clean!
I can not escape
This constant tape
Running in my head.
When I am dead
The words said
Will go
I know
Not where,
Other than those
That from paper stare
At my readers from the printed page.
I shall be beyond rage
Or any other emotion,
Lost in a great ocean
Of what?
Shall I know it not?
Methinks
The tape will, finally, stop
I stood apart
My heart
Full of the organ’s sound.
Looking around
He asked “do you want to play?”
“No, just came to listen today”,
I replied.
Then, the music died
And I, (who stood apart
And knowing not where to start
Went my way).
There was a young lady called Flair
Who met me on her stair.
She invited me to stay
Until break of day
When her husband found me there …
Women of a certain profession
Draw up at nail bars
In their boyfriend’s fast cars.
While priests hear the confession
Of those impaled
On nails.
K Morris - Poet 