There is no need for the confessional
For she is not a professional
And ‘tis such a little thing
To pawn one’s ring,
And you can, I am told
Buy back gold,
But what of other things?
Pawn
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Tag Archives: poets
Dice
When playing Russian Roulette
There can be no denial
That a man may be lucky for a while,
And yet
As the chamber spins
His sins …
Skins against skins.
One may throw the dice
More than thrice
And avoid the shot.
On evenings hot
When the wine flows
Temptation grows
And only a strong man can resist
Perfume on a girl’s wrist.
The Bored Lothario
Different shapes and sizes.
Once there were surprises.
Now whatever he devises
Passion rarely rises.
Black or white?
What does it matter?
Sometimes a brief delight,
But most dreams shatter
There Was A Young Man Called Mack
There was a young man called Mack
Who said “the best form of defence is attack”.
He hit a man
(His name was Dan),
Who promptly whacked Mack back!
Stream
If the stream flows
But the fish die,
Then who am I?
I perceive
That a stream can not grieve,
Nor can it wish
For future fish.
When Inocence Met Desire
When innocence met desire
They say
That the Town Crier
Had a field day.
The populace rose in disgust
And filled with hate
They lynched the reprobate,
While deep inside
Their own lust
They secretly did hide.
I Heard The Thunder
I heard the thunder, neither loud nor proud.
I can not tell
Whether any rain fell,
Yet I know the well
Is dry.
There are no tears to cry
Save for the crocodile
Kind
and I find
That I am sick of the false smile
Coming Storm
I wish that a storm would come.
I can neither run
Nor stay
And pray
For a storm to take
All this away.
Once the lightening has passed
I may feel bereft
At the vast
Nothing left
Behind. But the storm must come
And I must not run
Away,
But face the thunder, and stay.
Who Are You?
“Who are you?” he said
As she lay upon the bed.
“Who me?
I can be
Whoever you want me
To be”
She made reply
With a barely audible sigh.
“And who are you?”
She asked.
“I am masked.
Now let us play a while.
Do bring a smile
To my face
With silk and lace,
For after a will-o’-the-wisp I chase”.
Tether
The question is whether
The beast at the end of his tether
Will make a dash for hope
And break free of the rope
(Which was by him created,
And is now so passionately hated)!
K Morris - Poet 