The alarm warns me
That my tea
Is ready for me
In the microwave.
There is nothing profound
In It’s sound
Which will not save
Me from the grave
Where no bird
Is ever heard
And worms make tea
Of you and me.
Alarm
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Tag Archives: rhyming poetry
Lust
Lonely men
Engage in deals
With women in heels
Who dance through dust.
And the dance,
As all dances must
Ends in dust.
But, perchance
Some men dance
For fear of dust.
Phlegmatic Matt
There was a phlegmatic young man named Matt
Who was fond of stroking his cat.
When a ghoul appeared
And most wickedly sneered,
He said, “its always a pleasure to chat”.
A Walk in the Rain
As I pass by
These churchyard trees
In the spring rain,
I know I
Must one day die
And these trees outlast me.
But the rain will remain
When they and me
Are one in eternity.
Sally Who Liked to Loiter in an Alley
There was a young lady named Sally
Who liked to loiter in an alley.
When a man called Ted
Said, “is that dress red?”,
She said, “I live near this alley …”.
Blossoming Time
Your hair, long and dark
Brushed my fingers.
In the blossom scented park
My thoughts lingered
On a girl unaware
Of fingers longing to linger
In long soft hair.
I can not induce
Old Time with my rhyme
To return my youth.
Now your hair is dark.
How soon blossom
Falls in the park
And is forgotten.
My Dog and the Clock
My dog delights in sunlight.
His tail responds to my hand.
The old clock’s pendulum chops.
He and I can not command
Its inexorable chop, chop.
Yet we can take delight
In this fleeting light.
But my friend knows not
The clock must stop.
When a Lady High in a Tree
When a lady high in a tree
Said. “come here and sit with me”.
And I feared I would fall
She said, “o! don’t you recall,
That you fell long ago with me …!”
The Oldest Game
She ends each text with an x,
While he, with a world weary smile
Does the same.
It’s the oldest game
Around they say.
Some Feminists may frown
But the men still pay.
The women pay to,
But in a different way.
Some girls play a part
And retain their heart.
But each party pays,
And all loves and lusts
Are but endless dust.
The Divine Poetic Line
A young lady composing a poetic line
Said, “I’ll have another glass of wine
As the more I drink
The more I do think
That my poetic line is truly divine …!.
K Morris - Poet 