There was a young lady called Claire
Who’s feet where always bare.
She went for an interview
Without any shoe.
I know as I was there!
—
I knew a young lady called Claire
Who’s feet where invariably bare.
She walked on hot coals
While playing at bowls.
I know as I was there!
—
There was a young lady called Claire
Who’s feet where always bare.
She was a dancer by profession
And I must make a confession
For I am that young lady Claire!
Many who are given
What they have striven
For
Find in the experience a poor
Shadow of the ideal they so adore.
If the longed for kiss
Brings no bliss
Then off they lurch
In search
Of their extreme
Dream
And in the supreme
Moment of joy
They do themselves destroy
A drunken young lady called Mable
Danced on a rickety old table.
We all gave a roar
And called out “en core”,
But that table was really unstable …
Birds
Render words
About poetic craft
Dull.
Am I daft
To seek
For knowledge in a book
When I could upon nature look
And hear the birds speak?
At the start
A heart
I sought.
I thought
That I caught
Delicious fish,
A dainty dish
For a sorrowing king,
But the thing
Was an eel.
The first deal
Being done
I continued to run
After fun.
The sun
Sometimes shone
(As it does today)
As I half-heartedly did play
At romance.
I still dance
From time to time
And, perchance
The false
Waltz
Is set down in rhyme.
There was a young man named Nile
Who kept a crocodile.
Nile vanished last December
O how well I remember
The smile of that crocodile …
Nameless numbers,
And unquiet slumbers
His heart
Encumbers.
So he does set
Each regret
Down in art.
Each forgotten face.
The silk,
The lace.
He does hide
Inside
A rhyme,
Where the good time
Girl who
Never was … Lost her shoe
The afternoon sun
Will soon be done
And each bird that does sing
Will fold it’s wing
In sleep.
Why do I keep
Indoors and maintain
This sad refrain?
All will pass,
Lad and lass,
But until then
There is ink in my pen
And I trust sufficient time
For more than mere rhyme.
There was a young lady named Claire
Who had caveat emptor written on her.
A man named Jim,
Who was somewhat dim
Went and married Claire!
(Note: Caveat Emptor translates as “let the buyer beware”).
In the desert of the heart
Any touch may start
A flame
Any hand
May command
A hot
Flush
(Wanted or not),
But who are we to rush
To blame?
Is this thing called shame
A social construct that keeps us low?
Many prefer not to go
Down that path
Of enquiry. They laugh,
Make a smutty joke
And on their own hypocrisy choke.
K Morris - Poet 