Dark horses.
Overstretched police forces.
Unenforceable measures.
Household’s secret pleasures.
Criminals run amok.
Police on doors knock
(Probably not),
To enforce
What,
Of course
Can not
Be enforced.
Sometimes I see
You in front of me,
Or imagine you at
My side. I
Go to pat
You under the table,
Where you so often sat.
I am not able.
You are not coming back.
I am delighted to announce that my poem “England On The Eve of World War I”, has been included in “WORLD POETRY PEACEATHON : WORLD POETRY ANTHOLOGY”. Many thanks to Ariadne Sawyer and all those involved in Vancouver Co-Op Radio’s The World Poetry Reading Series.
To read a sample, or to purchase the book, please visit this link, https://www.amazon.ca/dp/B08FZWKY94.
In a dream she undresses.
Gives absent caresses.
There is no right or wrong,
Just the most ancient of song.
And man’s fear of dust,
Unsatiated by lust.
A young lady of some considerable discretion
Works in the most ancient of profession.
Just the other evening,
The vicar was leaving.
But no, I must show more discretion!
Last night I met 2 young women
Who said, “we love to go sinning”.
But, my hair being grey
They found some other play.
Those wicked, and most unfeeling young women!
Pick your fights wisely my friend.
You may pretend
That you can stop the clock.
Of course, you may
The clock’s hands stay,
Or mock time
In a rhyme.
But, in the end
Your inner clock
Will stop,
My friend.
When my friend, whose name is Guy
Said, “I never will tell a lie!”
A lady called Miss Nell
Said, “that’s all very well,
But we’re employing you as a spy!”.
One hot night, as I sat drinking,
A young lady, who just couldn’t stop winking,
Said, “you remember a boudoir
And a little black bra?”.
Dear readers, it’s not what you’re thinking!
I straightened your bed
No tears I shed.
Then I found
Your toy that squeaks
On the ground.
It still squeaks.
K Morris - Poet 