A young lady drunk on Hock
Walked around wearing only 1 sock.
When they said, “you’re nude!,
Which is so very rude!”
She said, “I’m wearing a sock!”
A Young Lady’s Sock
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Tag Archives: upper norwood poets
Celebrity
A celebrity who appears on my TV
Is looking for a date with me.
Her name is Miss Spink
And I’ve seen her wink,
And I know that winks for me!
A Young Lady’s Hat
When a young lady wearing only a hat
Went and invited me back to her flat,
And I said, “Rose!
Where are your clothes!”,
She said, “You’re silly! They’re at my flat!”
A Patch of Sunlight
A patch of sunlight on the hall floor.
I close the living room door
And the light is seen no more.
I know the night kills the light
And the ferryman waits to take
Me to the final gate
Where there is no Cerberus
To prevent our escape.
Just what was us
And implacable fate.
My Literary Estate
I am marrying a young lady named Kate
Who will inherit all of my literary estate.
She says, “writers have money”,
Which I find really funny –
As she’ll inherit all of my literary estate …
The Last of the Summer Grass
The last
Of the summer grass
Is mown.
The future is unknown.
The past
May be a guide.
But we decide
What seed is sown.
But does grass
In the mower’s grasp
Feel itself free …
Jacinta’s Splinter
When a young lady named Jacinta
Went and trod on a splinter,
She hopped all around
And said something profound.
And then she cursed that splinter!
Early October Thoughts
The wind is fresh
Carrying the scents of life and death.
While from a tree
The autumn leaves are falling on me.
I lose myself in rhymes
Of passing time
And others who once stood
In autumn’s wood.
My friend collects acorns from leaf-strewn lawns
Hoping that Oaks may grow.
Others may see the fully grown tree.
While we will not know.
Reading in Bed
When I met a young lady in red
Who said, “do you read when in bed?”,
I said, “dear Miss Ling
Do you fancy a fling?”,
She said, “I only read in my bed!”
A Visitation
Hearing you cry twice
I thought of rats and mice.
You live in my heart
Inspiring my art.
In Shakespeare’s Macbeth
Your cry portended death.
When I hear your cry
I know I too must die.
But perhaps you and I
Will find in rhyme a kind
Of immortality –
Though, in the graveyard plot
It matters not.
K Morris - Poet 