I recall the nesting box
On my grandfather’s shed.
Blue Tits laid their eggs.
Some grew, and flew
Away.
January seems dead.
Yet, in the churchyard birds
Sing.
And, come the spring
Birds will lay in boxes
To the delight
Of young children.
And foxes bark
In the depths of night.
A most forgetful young lady named Lou
Has a habit of losing a shoe.
My dear old wife
Is waving a knife,
And my dog he’s found Lou’s shoe …
There once was a short sighted hairdresser
Who confessed to the great Father Confessor.
He said to her, “Bess,
It is right to confess.
But you are addressing my Welsh dresser!
I know a young lady named Heart
Who poses nude for all my art.
She is petite and pretty
And lives in the city,
And the vicar he loves my art …
When young men find delight
Under a red bedspread
With girls who pass through
How many of them
Consider how cold
Is the hold of gold?
Time runs on
And youth turns to age.
Some still engage
With girls who pass through,
But all age,
And in time, are gone.
A young lady named Ling
Likes to dance and sing.
In the depths of the dark
The dogs howl and bark
And neighbours throw things at Ling!
I’ve just met a very old monk
Who stood in the pub getting drunk.
He said, “sweet barmaid Claire
Let us have an affair!”.
Have you seen a black eyed monk …?
In dreams
It sometimes seems
That dark
Fantasy is reality.
In art we see
A kind of reality.
While inside the dreaming mind
Hides the truth of art.
My great friend the late Lord Kettle
Said, “I am quite unable to settle”.
Then he made some tea,
Which he shared with me,
In a place that’s known as Settle.
You praised polyamory.
As for me
I am not polyamorous
But you, being glamorous,
I found time
To rhyme
And discuss polyamory
With thee …
K Morris - Poet 