Details |
Ed Morris Poem
(A parody of the Modern Major-General's Song from "The Pirates of Penzance" by Gilbert and Sullivan.)
I am the very model of a very stable genius.
Compared to mine all others’ ...brains... are positively weeny; yes,
My grasp of science, history, and law is astronomical.
No need to read; I go by feel! (It’s highly economical.)
My sober tweets would make a truly fine encyclopedia
For fighting lies of traitors in the damn elitist media.
It’s sad how badly haters hate and treat me like a meanie; yes,
And all because I am, in fact, a very stable genius.
I see the world in black and white; hooray for monochromacy!
It shows the unnecessity of nuance and diplomacy.
No matter what I do, my fans consider me adorable;
Their loyalty to how I roll is not the least deplorable.
A win like mine (I surely could have had a clear majority!)
By common wisdom should confer a little more authority.
In short, I envy autocrats like Kim and Mussolini; yes,
I am the very model of a very stable genius.
Copyright © Ed Morris | Year Posted 2018
|
Details |
Ed Morris Poem
I missed a blind corner one grim stormy night,
On a dark forest road, with no phone.
The crash was severe, but what gave me more fright
Was I had to walk out all alone.
A mile, maybe two, and there loomed into view
An imposing stone manor, quite old.
I felt somewhat spooked, but I guessed it would do
For relief from the drizzle and cold.
Despite my loud knocking I heard no reply,
Though some embers from somewhere glowed red.
The door opened wide when I gave it a try,
And its groan somehow filled me with dread.
I crept toward the flickering warmth where I found
A mere wisp of a man in a chair,
So pale in appearance he hardly seemed sound—
Like a shadow that’s only half-there.
I saw he was napping and hadn’t a clue,
So decided to give him a tap,
But to my amazement, my fingers went through
His left arm and right down to his lap!
I gasped in sheer horror and rushed out the door,
Though I never before had believed
In spirits or hauntings or vampiric lore,
So I wondered if I’d been deceived.
This mystery troubled me long years ago,
But I now understand it: you see,
That car wreck I mentioned was fatal, and so...
The ghost wasn’t him; it was me.
---
Date Written: January 16, 2019
Contest: One Night in a Haunted Manor, sponsored by Tania Kitchin
Copyright © Ed Morris | Year Posted 2019
|
Details |
Ed Morris Poem
Though we hail Albert E.’s creativity
For his grand tour de force, relativity,
It remains a tough climb
To imagine space-time
With its axes not fixed but all pivoty.
Copyright © Ed Morris | Year Posted 2019
|
Details |
Ed Morris Poem
This form repeats too much, I say.
It’s hard to write a villanelle—
I’ll try again some other day.
My rhyme begins without delay;
It’s going fine, then—what the hell?
This form repeats too much, I say.
Doggone it! This is not okay!
I’m under some nefarious spell.
I’ll try again some other day.
But no, I cannot stay away.
I breathe, then smell that same old smell:
This form repeats too much, I say.
I took the bait; I’ve fallen prey;
The crude result I cannot tell—
I’ll try again some other day.
And thus I end this odd ballet.
(I’ve really never danced too well.)
This form repeats too much, I say;
I’ll try again some other day.
Copyright © Ed Morris | Year Posted 2019
|
Details |
Ed Morris Poem
When Toby removed to Paree
The people all called him Tobee.
“That’s not me,” he’d plead,
Then finally concede
To be, not to be not, Tobee.
Copyright © Ed Morris | Year Posted 2019
|
Details |
Ed Morris Poem
An apple a day, so they say,
But some folk get carried away.
Consumer advice:
Don’t be imprecise—
Eat ten, and the doctor you’ll pay.
---
Date Written: January 9, 2019
Contest: Limerick II, sponsored by Joseph May
Copyright © Ed Morris | Year Posted 2019
|
Details |
Ed Morris Poem
I still savor the thought of the zest that I caught
When you joined us that night after school.
Tara figured out why, since she’s so sage and sly;
She left early to show it was cool.
With her sis Tara-gon, Ginger sighed with a yawn,
“My, it’s late!” to clue in that nut-Meg.
“Would you look at the thyme!” came the reechoed chime,
With a wink from Corey-ander pal Peg.
Well, I felt like a god, though it seemed somewhat odd
That they all should jus’ curry, but hey,
When you gave me a smile as we two walked a while,
It dissolved my perplexed caraway.
In this teenagey bliss, I leaned in for a kiss,
Little knowing what I was against:
You demurred in a trice, “Though hot pepper is nice,
I insist that it’s parsley dispensed.”
With a panicky cast, I apologized fast
In my chili confusion and dread,
But I saw your eyes light, and we had a nice night
Holding hands at the cinnamon stead.
---
Credit where credit is due: I got the idea for this from Michael Wise's very original poem "A Spicy Story," posted here:
https://www.poetrysoup.com/poem/a_spicy_story_1100057
Copyright © Ed Morris | Year Posted 2019
|
Details |
Ed Morris Poem
The ancient anguish of a hurting heart
Bequeaths no beauteous scene to me today.
It’s just a jagged chasm gashed apart,
A stream with boulders strewn in disarray.
Like rusted leaves that bleakly canvas fall
Or barren trees that bear the winter snow,
Its listlessness conceals a stonework wall
That bars the beggar from his bungalow.
A long-abandoned barn where pigeons flock
Beside three worn-out crosses marking graves,
It’s lonely as a lighthouse on a rock
Forever battered by the crashing waves.
Their ceaseless song may soothe a sleepless soul,
But how, I sigh, can sad be beautiful?
---
Date Written: January 3, 2019
Contest: Beautiful Sadness, sponsored by John Hamilton
Copyright © Ed Morris | Year Posted 2019
|
Details |
Ed Morris Poem
She didn’t play poker so well.
Her bluff was as clear as a bell.
Her insides would quaver
So much that they gave her
A hell of a smell of a tell.
Copyright © Ed Morris | Year Posted 2019
|
Details |
Ed Morris Poem
A hopelessly poetic guy met
A scientist studying climate.
Nearly all that she said
Went right over his head,
But at least he was able to rhyme it.
---
Date Written: January 3, 2019
Contest: Limericks, sponsored by Joseph May
Copyright © Ed Morris | Year Posted 2019
|