K. Morris's Blog, page 129

July 19, 2022

Children Make Waves

Children make waves
In paddling pools.
The present heatwave
Will not stay.
And sceptic fools
Continue their play
While home burns.

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Published on July 19, 2022 06:48

July 18, 2022

Is a Poem a Nothing?

Is a poem a nothing?
We end in a coffin.
No pleasure is found
In the cold ground.

We see what is true
So pursue Lou and Sue.
For no pleasure is found
When we enter cold ground.

We lust to forget
Our pain and regret.
For only dust is found
When we enter cold ground.

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Published on July 18, 2022 09:37

July 17, 2022

My Favourite Room

My favourite room
Is my bedroom.
A quiet place
With a bookcase
Full of books.

And a glass
Where girls look
As they pass
By. And I
Return to books.

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Published on July 17, 2022 05:26

July 16, 2022

10 of the Best Robert Frost Quotations

Robert Frost is one of my favourite poets, so I was pleased to see this post on the site Interesting Literature, https://interestingliterature.com/2022/07/best-robert-frost-quotes/

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Published on July 16, 2022 05:11

July 15, 2022

When I Found that Gorgeous Miss Rose

When I found that gorgeous Miss Rose
Tangled up in all of my bedclothes,
I said to my dear wife,
“you’re the love of my life,
But please let go of my nose!”.

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Published on July 15, 2022 04:21

There Was a Young Man Named Bert

There was a young man named Bert
Who liked to dress in a skirt.
A girl called Lou
Lent him 1 shoe
So he hopped along in that skirt!

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Published on July 15, 2022 03:54

There was a young man named Cambell

There was a young man named Cambell
Who got caught on a sharp bramble.
When he loudly swore
They said, “we implore
You not to abuse that defenceless bramble!”.

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Published on July 15, 2022 03:31

July 12, 2022

Heather Who Would Never Take off Her Leather

There was a young lady named Heather
Who would never take off her leather.
When her lover Ted Said,
“You are hot in bed!”,
Heather said, “its because I’m wearing leather!”.

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Published on July 12, 2022 22:55

We Met in the Wood

We met in the wood
Where the wild flowers bud
And the ageing poet rhymes
Of his long lost springtime.

Buds turn to flowers
On the woodland path.
Our hours are finite
And pass into night.

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Published on July 12, 2022 01:33

July 11, 2022

Lost

One of my earlier poems.

K Morris - Poet

My thoughts lost on the damp air

Going who knows where.

The sodden grass

I pass

Where children play

but not today.

No ball

or bird call.

Only the rain’s incessant fall.

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Published on July 11, 2022 22:22