Whilst walking by a very deep lake
A young lady met with a rake.
When he said to her,
“How about it young Claire?”.
She said, “beware that very deep lake!”.
Whilst Walking By A Very Deep Lake
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Tag Archives: rhyming poetry
Miss Doyle
My friend whose name is Miss Doyle
Is a fan of dressing in tinfoil.
Of a hot summer night
When the moon shines brighght,
I have oft seen Miss doyle boil!
When A Young Lady with Morals Most Sordid
When a young lady with morals most sordid
Said, “your poetry it is really quite morbid!”.
I said, “my dear Miss Grace
You have a truly beautiful face.
But your morals they are so very sordid!”.
Poet Kevin Morris Reading his Poem “Lonely Train” on Youtube
A recording of my poem “Lonely Train”, which I recorded yesterday (Sunday 4 October),
Joan the Poet
A poet whose name is Joan
Just refuses to leave me alone!
She is extremely pretty
And really quite witty.
But her poetry makes me groan!
Interpretations
During the time of Covid
The liberal hid
Himself away.
And took refuge in poetry
Where he could be free
To say
In enigmatic rhyme
How he spent his time.
Some thought
That he ought
To take greater care
For one has got
(Has one not)
To beware
Of those who see sin in
What is merely, a poet’s poetry?
Unbrollied
The pleasure
Of hot
Weather.
Knowing not
Whether
The rain will come.
A cloud burst.
Relieves a thirst.
The rain does run.
But the pleasure
Of hot, wet weather
Soon is done.
And the wise,
Gazing into a stranger’s eyes,
Know that ’tis folly
To forget a brolly.
Yet, they still thirst
For the cloud to burst.
And the pleasure
Of hot wet weather
On unbrollied skin.
So take the rain in.
When A Young Lady Named Miss Lou
When a young lady named Miss Lou
Said, “sir, I really do like you!”.
I said, “that’s real nice.
But you’ve told me twice!
And with Sue it’s more than 2!”.
Lonely Train
I have no resistance
To the lonely train
Which calls
From the distance.
Nor to the rain
Which falls,
In this dark park.
Pleasure and Pain
A young lady whose name is Jane
Is an expert in pleasure and pain.
She is tall and thin
And fond of her gin.
And they say Jane owns a cane!
K Morris - Poet 