K. Morris's Blog, page 374

Armchair

A room bare
Save for an ancient armchair
Where old newspapers encircle
That which was once there.

—

The above poem was inspired by a true story, related to me by my colleague Chris.

Wednesday Morning Humour

There was a young lady named Lou
Who was fond of the high-heel shoe,
But when she wore them in bed
Her mother’s face turned bright red,
And she said, Lou, “this really wont do!”.

—

A young lady named Lou
Is fond of the high-heel shoe.
Her boyfriend called Ted
Sleeps under the bed,
And Lou, she sleeps with her shoe!

—

My friend whose name is Hogg
Lives near an ancient peat bog.
His young wife Moriah
Does my poetry inspire,
Whilst Hogg’s away in that bogg.

Attraction

Men see
A short skirt
And, attracted by legs
Think of beds
And flirt.
And me,
Being blind
What do I find
To attract
And distract
In she?
Is it personality,
Or am I
Just a regular guy,
Your average, he?

Time

I have long been fascinated by clocks and time itself and this is reflected in many of my poems. I am reblogging one such, “Time”, which first appeared here back in 2015. The clock in question still sits, in pride of place, on the bookcase in my living room and adorns the cover of my collection of poems, “My Old Clock I Wind and Other Poems”. Incidentally another clock (which sits on the dresser in my living room) appears on the front cover of my collection, “The Writer’s Pen and Other Poems”...

When A Socialist Named Grub

When a Socialist named Grub
Walked into a Conservative club,
And they asked, “why are you here?”,
He said, “I’ve heard about the beer.
I believe that its very good!”.

I Have No Wish To Leave These Dark Trees

I have no wish to leave
These dark trees.
I drink
The fresh summer air.
For a moment forget my care
And think
On Frost’s poetry,
That o’re shadows me

When A Literary Critic Named Lee

When a literary critic named Lee
Came round to mine for tea,
I offered him some cake,
Which he failed to take,
And then he criticised my tea!

Can the Writing Gene be Inherited?

This is a very interesting question. As a child, my grandfather spent many hours reading to me which did, I believe implant in me a love of the written word. Our walks in the woods close to his home also developed in me a love of nature which does, I think manifest in some of my poetry. Likewise I had a wonderful school teacher, Mr Delacruz who had a store cupboard who’s shelves groaned under the weight of books. My grandfather’s love of literature and Mr Delacruz’s love of the art has been p...

Larkin Said We Think On Death

Larkin said we think
On death when drink
And friends are not around,
As there is nothing To distract
Us from the profound
Truth that you and I
Will die.

As I sit in this pub, alone
Drinking coffee
I reach for my phone
But Larkin stops me
Dead, and, with a clear head
I see
The truth the poet did see.

Blind Publican

Last night, I had a dream in which I had agreed to work in my local pub. Being blind, this would, no doubt have been a very interesting experience for me and the customers of that esteemed establishment.
My peculiar dream led to the composition of the below rhyme.

—

When a blind man whose name is Grub
Got a job in his local pub,
Those wanting brandy
Got lemonade shandy,
But the grub, it was really quite good!