The tree
By the graveyard plot
Has stood, impassively
For years.
Many tears
Have been shed
Over the dead.
This old tree
Will outlast me.
Yet, it to must fall
For the churchyard plot
Calls us all
To dust
All to Dust
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Tag Archives: upper norwood poets
Dom
Have you heard of a dominatrix named Nicks
Who is known for her love of sticks?
If you ask how I know,
I heard it from Vicar Joe;
Who is known for his love of sticks …
Cold Birds
Standing in the cold park
I heard the birds
Sing in early January.
I will hear them in spring.
And think I see
Cold birds.
Yet I know that the winter
Lives in me
And poets sing
Of what is true.
Dodgy
Whilst browsing a dodgy website
I encountered a young lady named White.
She came round to mine
And after much wine
I kissed that young lady good night …
More wine
When a young lady drinking my wine
Said, “your rhyme it is truly divine!”
I said to her, “miss,
Do give me a kiss!”
She said, “first give me more wine!”
A Gossipy Young Lady Known as Cook
A gossipy young lady known as Cook
Has published a fast selling book.
An erotic dancer called Lou
Says we must sue!
But all Cook says is true …!
My Poetic Muse
The desk is cold to my hand.
I can not command
My poetic muse.
So think of girls who lose their shoes,
And poets who
Say more than they ought to
Of women and wine
And men who may seem
To spend their time
In fleeting dreams.
But it is no crime
For a poetic muse
To lose
Her ethereal shoes.
Yet what can be said
Should she lay her fickle head
Upon the poet’s empty bed
Where love sleeps.
Or is dead.
Being Blind
Being blind I find
I can read and write in the dark.
I have some small sight
So turn on the light at night
To prevent the stubbing of toes
And avoid
The stairs.
For, if I fall
All dreams and nightmares
May end
And eternal dark descend.
But the night
Will shut out the light
For us all
In the end
Whether we have blind eyes
Or otherwise.
My Muse
The desk is cold to my hand.
I can not command
My poetic muse.
So think of girls who lose their shoes,
And poets who
Say more than they ought to
Of women and wine
And men who may seem
To spend their time
In fleeting dreams.
But it is no crime
For a poetic muse
To lose
Her ethereal shoes.
Yet what can be said
Should she lay her fickle head
Upon the poet’s empty bed
Where love sleeps.
Or is dead.
A Young Lady of Peru
There was a young lady of Peru
Who was famous for losing a shoe.
One hot day in May
They found it in Bombay,
Which was strange as she’d never left Peru!
K Morris - Poet 