K. Morris's Blog, page 132
June 27, 2022
The Rain Came Fast
The rain came fast,
But failed to last.
Our great civilisation came.
And rain will remain.
The Tick Tock of the Clock
The tick tock
Of the clock
Says we must
Turn to dust.
And girl’s heels clip clop
In time with the clock.
And Time’s hands measure
Our pain and pleasure.
June 26, 2022
Revising my Selected Poems
In 2019 I published my Selected Poems, https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07WW8WXPP/. Since 2019 I have composed many other poems, some of which are included in book form, whilst others exist solely on this blog.
I have been thinking for some time about producing a revised and expanded second edition of my Selected Poems. I intend to begin work on this project in the near future.
As part of producing a second edition of my Selected Poems, I would be interested to hear from any of my readers. If you ha...
When a Young Lady Who Comes from Dover
When a young lady who comes from Dover
Said, “I want you to bend right over”,
A man named Frank
Said, “do you spank?”,
She said, “just pick up my dropped pullover!”.
June 25, 2022
George Orwell: What’s in a Name?
An interesting post on Orwell. For anyone who has not read “Animal Farm” or “1984”, I would strongly recommend that you give both novels a go.
George Orwell, pseudonym of Eric Arthur Blair, was born on 25 June 1903 in Motihari, Bengal (now Bihar), British India
English novelist, essayist, and critic, his work is characterised by lucid prose, awareness of social injustice, and strong opposition to totalitarianism. His most famous novels are “Animal Farm” a sati...
When a Young Lady Playing at Dice
When a young lady playing at dice
Said, “do join me in my vice!”,
I said, “my dear Rose,
You are wearing no clothes!
Which is distracting me from my dice!”.
June 24, 2022
If I Won the Lottery
If I won the lottery
No doubt I would find,
At the age of 53,
Young women chasing me,
For my great mind
And my fine poetry.
And I would enjoy the charms
Of many a young woman’s arms.
But, strange to say
When all my pay
Had gone away, they would say,
“We have no interest in thee,
And your poor poetry …!”.
The Windblown Tree
I find
This wind
Does bring
To mind
The passing of everything.
The tide
Of lust
Does rise
Then go.
I know
That I am dust.
The windblown trees
Accept the breeze
And entrance
In dance
Of pleasure
In summer weather.
As do we.
June 22, 2022
She is Not Meant
She is not meant
For such as me.
Yet, should she,
In madness, consent,
I would be happy
For a little while.
Smile. And repent.
Gwen’s Clever Old Hen
There was a young lady named Gwen
Who owned a most clever old hen.
It’s name was White,
And it could write,
As it had swallowed Gwen’s fountain pen!
