There once was a young person of Woking
Who had a very bad habit of poking,
Until they poked an old man
Who said, “I’ve got a plan,
To kick you around the town of Woking!”.
There Once Was a Young Person of Woking
Leave a reply
Tag Archives: rhyming poetry
Ambiguity
I dreamed a dream of delight
On a warm spring night
And when I awoke
My conscience spoke.
It said, “dreams are not crimes,
But when a poet rhymes
In his art
You see his heart”.
As for me
I must practice ambiguity
In my poetry
Lest my art
Reveal my secret heart.
When I go away
Perchance my verse will stay
And some will upbraid me
For my poor poetry
And the crime
Of ambiguous rhyme …
Seals and High-Heels
A young lady who wore only high-heels
Had a fondness for swimming with seals.
An old vicar called Glass
Said, “we are but grass.
But I’m fond of seals and high-heels!”
There Once Was a Bishop Known as Ted
There once was a bishop known as Ted
Who, being found with his mistress in bed
Said, “if I had time
I would most certainly resign!
But its so very comfortable in this bed!”
Temptation
Sometimes when loneliness or aching lust
Becomes too much
I crave a woman’s touch,
For in her arms I forget
All my regret,
And that I am dust.
At other times
I take refuge in rhymes
From poets long gone.
Books have charms
But a girl’s soft arms
And her scent often tempts
Me – sometimes into poetry …
Gwen Who Works in a Dodgy Gambling Den
I know a young lady named Gwen
Who works in a dodgy gambling den.
When she spins the wheel
All the money she steals,
So she’s loaded is my girlfriend Gwen …!
So I’m dating that young lady Gwen!
Lost Youth
On a spring day
Girls in short dresses
Progress by.
Old men sigh
Finding their mind
Turn to past progress
And the truth
That youth
Is fleeting as flowers.
Daisy Chains
I saw daisies in spring grass
And thought of the past
When I first made my chains
Unaware of coming care.
Our acts forge a chain
For good or bad.
When I was a lad
I took daisies freely
Innocent of what would come to be.
I have picked so many spring flowers.
And I have learned
That youthful hours
Can never return
And the chain I made
May grow heavier with age.
The Beauty of Dawn
There was a young lady named Dawn
Who danced nude on the vicarage lawn.
The vicar’s wife Hocking
Found it most shocking
And the vicar he studied Dawn’s form.
In Our Youth
In our youth
We search for fairies.
Then when we reach maturity
We see the truth.
There are no fairies
Or white knights
To ride to our rescue.
There is love and lust
And the Reaper
Who sweeps.
K Morris - Poet 