In the beginning
Sinning
Is like touching a live wire.
You know
That you mustn’t go
There But desire
Twitches
And reputation, riches,
Are for a moment forgot
In pleasure’s hot
Flush
And rush.
Later sinning
Becomes habit forming.
The devil is grinning
And there is no chance of reforming.
You fight
At night
Under sweated sheet.
When the morn breaks
The bird takes Flight
Leaving you in defeat.
Come the morn
I shall yawn,
Or not.
In the graveyard plot
Tombs stand.
Now my hand
Is hot.
Who
Left
Her shoe?
What should I do?
For a foot bereft
Of shoe
Is a sorrowful sight to view.
I grieve
As I perceive
That she lost her stocking
Too.
Tis a thing most shocking
To lose both stocking
And shoe …
The below first appeared here on 15th August 2015:
“The passage of time muddles the brain, I don’t recall your name.
Perhaps Marie or Melisa, no matter its all the same.
Though some would consider it shocking, it meant absolutely nothing,
You kept on your stockings,
I feared my neighbours knocking.
It signified everything and nothing,
A girl in suspenders and stockings”.
There was a young man named More.
Who was extremely poor.
He wed an elderly billionaire
By the name of Claire.
It was her wealth he did adore!
It is frequently said
That one should not speak ill of the dead.
It is a notion most quaint
That in death, a devil becomes a saint,
Yet we cross ourselves and say
“He has passed away.
May god have mercy on his soul”.
While inwardly we smile
For well we know
Where his soul did go …
Thursday 28th September is National Poetry Day here in the United Kingdom. To find out about National Poetry Day, including the events taking place, please visit https://nationalpoetryday.co.uk/.
I do not care
For this must
And dust
That thickens
The air.
The scent sickens
Me,
Yet I must
Agree
(as is so often foretold),
That we end our days in dust
And mould.
He delighted
In unrequited love.
A kiss uninvited
(With no desire by a girl to return)
May go unspurned
Where advantage To her is concerned.
For a facsimile is easily made
And homage to Mammon paid.
—
Note: I am aware that the word “unspurned” does not appear in the dictionary. I have, none the less chosen to use it, and by so doing (possibly) coined a new word.
Money oils the wheels of love.
Hand in glove
They go,
But no
Tis not true love. Tis a pale imitation,
A desolation, an invitation
For mocking laughter.
But after
The mirth dies,
The mocker secretly sighs
Over a girls’s perfect thighs
As he curses a rich guys luck
And thinks “I shall forever be stuck
In this rut
Where it is easy to be judgmental,
While the unsentimental
Rich man can
Buy the eye
Of many a wench.
Money’s stench
Is foul in my nose
But who knows,
Had I the cash
What actions rash
I might take
For the sake
Of a girl’s passing blue eyes
And her empty thighs”.
K Morris - Poet 