Michael Morris

Michael Morris Poems

There was a young lady called Grace
And she had a beautiful face
When she went for a run
In the park for some fun

On Saturday we all baked bread,
Gracie and Maddy and me.

An Abandoned Church

'Do you think I should get a motor-bike? '
said Gracie to her Mum.
'Not this year, dear, ' her Mum replied,
'Some books might be more fun'

To lie with you and love you
To caress you only
With my eyes
Whilst beside me,

Passion not spent but changed now,
Into the gold of trust.
Moving together as one how,
True dancing partners must.

To ring a friend we know is sad
To share good news when we are glad
These things we do without a thought

His sleep had been deep and restful.
He awoke in the still, dark night.
All traces of fever had left him
And soon it would be light.

Last night grey Winter made his first foray
And stole away kind Autumn’s russet cloak.
Where on the grass where tumbling leaves did play

Tongue in cheek
My hands are red and chapped and sore
Because the winter wind doth blow.
My body, frozen to the core,

I've never really liked cold apple pie.
I hate it when the crust is hard and dry,
And the apples sliced and baked within
Drip sticky syrup down your chin,

When I was small I thought my Gran
Was there just for my sake

A sentinel stands at the edge of the curb
In a coat of the brightest yellow

Her stance alert, in her gaudy garb

A meal prepared by loving hands,
Feeds more than bodies, it feeds souls.
And binds us closer with those bands

In morning's early hours
When books pall
And reverie drifts in,
I think, at times,

I know you don’t like candied peel, Bill, and can’t abide the taste
But see things from my point of view, Bill, what about the waste?
If I should pick all candied peel from packs of my mixed fruit
Should I just add more sultanas, or raisins, would that suit?

To cruel, hard hands,
The willow will not yield.
To force it is to break it.
It must be lead, gently,

'Let's make some salt-dough! ' Gracie cried.
And Grandad sighed, 'O.K.'
(Her Mum and Dad had left the child

As if within a gallery
Of sculptures made of bone and skin,

A chink of light from a curtained room,
When all without seems dark and drear.
An opening door with a welcoming creak
And eyes that have known no hate or fear.

The Best Poem Of Michael Morris

Silly Limericks

There was a young lady called Grace
And she had a beautiful face
When she went for a run
In the park for some fun
She always came first in the race.

There was a young lady called Maddy
Who hid her cash in a tea caddy
But when Christmas came round
She’d not even a pound
‘Cause she’d lent all her dough to her Daddy

There was a young fellow called Louis
Who would never eat anything chewy
When he went for a take out
In spots he would break out
Unless he could have some chop suey

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