K. Morris's Blog, page 323
January 9, 2020
He thought her what she was
He
Thought her what she
Was,
And acted accordingly,
Because
That is what she
Was.
What made her so
He
Did not know,
But because
That is what she
Was,
Both He
And she
Acted accordingly.
What makes for
“Because”?
“Was”?
And “acted accordingly”?
There is no iron law
To explain he
And she.
And circles may,
One Day,
Break.
Whilst Drinking In My Local Wetherspoon
Whilst drinking in my local Wetherspoon
I met the Man in the Moon.
When he said, “you are drunk!”,
I called him a no-good punk,
And chased him back to the moon!
An Earnest Young Man In A Cape
An earnest young man in a cape
Said, “I shall contribute to the cultural landscape”.
He wrote a great tome
About a girl called Joan,
But he just couldn’t carry the weight!
The Kent and Sussex Poetry Society open poetry competition 2020, closes on 31 January
The Kent and Sussex Poetry Society are running their 2020 Open Poetry Competition.
Anyone can enter, either online or by post, and submit a poem and/or poems on any subject.
The closing date for entries is 31 January 2020. For details please visit, https://kentandsussexpoetry.com/the-kent-sussex-poetry-society-open-competition/.
When A Barmaid Who Is More Than Divine
When a barmaid who is more than divine
Said, “sir, you have had to much wine!”,
And I said, “only a fool
Could possibly fall off this stool!”,
She said, “you are lying in the wine!”.
January 8, 2020
Why Instagram means that poetry is going from bad to verse
An interesting article in The Times, which is, on the whole not very complimentary about Instapoets (I.E. those poets who post on Instagram), https://www.thetimes.co.uk/article/why-instagram-means-poetry-is-going-from-bad-to-verse-d25rc9h3s.
The article ends with a list of the 10 leading poets on Instagram.
I do (occasionally) post some of my poetry on Instagram and you can find my page here, https://www.instagram.com/kmorrispoet/.
(Please note, The Times is protected by a paywall, which...
With this ring I promise you – Gabriela M.
with this ring
I promise you
I will erase the shadows of the slave trade
locked in the heat of samba in the nights of carnival
coins put on the eyes of dead at funerals
-forgotten tickets of the unforgotten underworld- will shine like stars
with stolen leaves from the old olive tree
I’ll wash your temple covered by the sand and blood of the bullfights
and mend the bones of sugar skulls spread on the Aztec lands
I will return your boat to shore with one single I love you...
January 7, 2020
When A Young Lady Named Leigh
When a young lady named Leigh
Said, “I really like your poetry!”,
And I said, “thank you very much!
Would it be okay to go Dutch?”,
She said, “no, pay for me!”.
(to “go Dutch”, is to share the cost of something, for example a meal in a restaurant).
The Rain Patters Amongst These Leaves
The rain
Patters Amongst these leaves.
I listen again
And ascertain,
That its the breeze
Midst these trees.
Yet it sounds the same
As rain.
Mix
A mix
Of limbs
And diverse sins.
Some get their kicks
From rhyme.
Time
Passes
For lads and lasses.
Bodies intertwine
Genes travel on
Though we are gone,
Whilst others leave a rhyme
Behind, for posterity to find.
