Said the sweet nymph unto the satyr
“Sir, surely you can’t grow any fatter!”.
Said the satyr
Unto the nymph
“Come you down from your high plinth
And let us make great sport together
In yonder heather!”.
But the nymph did gently smile
And said “I have been had
By many a rich handsome lad.
But sir, ‘tis not my style
To grace with my pretty face
And my fine silks and lace,
An ugly old satyr’s poor platter!”.
There once was an anarchist named Paul
Who said, “all governments they must fall!”.
So he huffed and he puffed,
And he wrote lots of stuff.
And governments took no notice of Paul.
—
There once was an anarchist named Paul
Who said, “all governments they must fall!”.
So he huffed and he puffed,
Until governments said, “that’s enough!
You have bored us into submission, Paul!”.
Lonely at night?
You can delight
In the company
Of beautiful me!
There are no strings to tie.
You to me.
I
Can be
Whatever you wish me to be,
And I’ve uniforms galore
(and more),
so come visit me!
Or, if you prefer
My friend Claire
Can make it 3.
She has long blonde hair,
While I’m a brunette.
Please, come and see me,
And don’t forget,
The little matter of the fee …
While
Out shopping, sometimes I smile
At shop girls, and think
A thought,
That I ought
Not to think,
And the devil does wink
And whispers low,
“you know
That, one day,
They may See through thee”.
In September, I was honoured to appear on Chris the Story Reading Ape’s blog to talk about my love of nonsense verse, https://thestoryreadingapeblog.com/2018/09/29/nonsense-verse-guest-post-by-kevin-morris/.
For some time now I have been mulling over the idea of producing a selection of my own limericks, humorous and satirical verse, (you can find links to several of such poems below). I have now decided to go-ahead with compiling such a collection and will post updates here.
—
Miss White – https://newauthoronline.com/2018/07/28/there-was-a-young-lady-called-white/
Holly – https://newauthoronline.com/2017/12/31/there-was-a-young-lady-named-holly-2/
Everyone Has their Thing – https://newauthoronline.com/2018/05/22/everyone-has-there-thing/
Lou – https://newauthoronline.com/2018/10/17/there-was-a-young-lady-called-lou-14/
There Was a Young Man Called Kirt – https://newauthoronline.com/2018/06/22/there-was-a-young-man-called-kirt/
“Conservative, n. A statesman who is enamored of existing evils, as
distinguished from the Liberal, who wishes to replace them with
others”.
(Ambrose Bierce, “The Devil’s Dictionary”, https://www.gutenberg.org/files/972/972-h/972-h.htm
Shall I write a poem risqué
About a girl called Fay?
As you know
I am not that way
At all,
Being pure as the snow
That does fall
On an inner city street
Where Fay’s feet
Clip clop
In heels high,
Causing a passing guy
To stop
And give Fay the eye …
I am very excited to be here, on the wonderful blog of poet extraordinaire Kevin Morris, to share with you the news that the third book in the PorterGirl series is here! Sinister Dexter takes us once again to Old College, where things are never quite as they seem, even when they are.
After avoiding the murderous intentions of The Vicious Circle in First Lady Of The Keys and risking life and limb to find a priceless missing painting in The Vanishing Lord, our heroine Deputy Head Porter finds herself once again at the centre of strange and macabre goings-on in the notorious Old College.
One of the oldest and most illustrious educational establishments in the country, Old College boats a bloody and turbulent 400 year old history and the arrival of its first female Deputy Head Porter has done little to calm matters. If anything, it’s made them worse.
We join Deputy Head Porter at the beginning of a new academic year where the induction of a new Bursar – the enigmatic Professor Dexter Sinistrov – causes ructions. With his first act of office being to cut the tea and biscuit budget for the Porters’ Lodge, he makes himself instantly unpopular with the bowler-hatted staff within. But it is more his penchant for poisoning people that really concerns Deputy Head Porter.
Meanwhile, Head Porter appears to be leading a secret double life and The Dean is convinced that Russian spies are after his job. When two dead bodies turn up at the bottom of the College gardens, Deputy Head Porter is determined that there will not be another College cover-up, even if that does mean begrudgingly working alongside unwelcome outsiders DCI Thompson and DS Kirby. Add to that a wayward College drinking society and an ageing Lothario of a professor and Deputy Head Porter really does have her hands full.
Sometimes the opposite of right isn’t wrong. It’s left.
Tragedy strikes once more at Old College… The Porters’ Lodge is down to its last tea bag and no one has seen a biscuit for over a week. Almost as troubling are the two dead bodies at the bottom of the College gardens and a woman has gone missing. The Dean is convinced that occult machinations are to blame, Deputy Head Porter suspects something closer to home.
The formidable DCI Thompson refuses to be sidelined and a rather unpleasant Professor gets his comeuppance.
As the body count rises, Head Porter tries to live a secret double life and The Dean believes his job is under threat from the Russian Secret Service.
Deputy Head Porter finds herself with her hands full keeping Old College running smoothly as well as defending herself against the sinister intentions of the new Bursar.
Spies, poisoning, murder – and none of this would be any problem at all, if only someone would get the biscuits out and put the kettle on…
This is the third instalment of the world-renowned PorterGirl series set in the ancient and esoteric Old College. Author Lucy Brazier opens the lid on a world which has sinister overtones in this cozy, BritLit mystery.
I am no poet, for when,
At 10 AM
Men
Of letters drink beer
You will see
A sight most queer,
Namely me
Drinking tea
Or coffee,
So how can I a poet be?!
At 3 AM
When
Men
Of poetry are kept awake
By young ladies of ill repute,
There can be
No dispute
That you will find me
(Unbound)
Locked In the arms of sleep
Profound,
‘Tis enough to make me weep!
So while others get drunk
As the proverbial scunk
I shall sip my coffee
Or tea
And studiously avoid poetry …
I have played around, (purely for my own amusement), with the English nursery rhyme “Doctor Foster”. The first rendering is the traditional rendering, followed by my reinterpretations:
Doctor Foster went to
Gloucester,
In a shower of rain;
He stepped in a puddle,
Right up to his middle,
And never went there again.
—
Doctor Foster went to
Gloucester,
In a shower of rain;
He got in a muddle,
When he fell in a puddle,
And never went there again.
—
Doctor Foster went to
Gloucester,
In a shower of rain;
He indulged in a cuddle,
In the midst of a puddle,
With a lady whose name was Jane.
—
Doctor Foster went to
Gloucester,
In a shower of rain;
He stepped in a puddle,
Which did befuddle
His poor overtaxed brain.
K Morris - Poet 