K. Morris's Blog, page 404

Scrabbling Around

Scrabbling around
I found
Seeming meaning,,
But ’twas nothing profound.

Six New Poems by Poet K Morris on Soundcloud

 

I have uploaded six new poems to Soundcloud, all of which can be found below:

History’s Path

I laugh
When they say
That you can discern
History’s path.
Each twist and turn
Of the track
Leads us back
To looking-glass
House where, be it early or late
The fire still burns, in the same old grate
And the king and queen seldom, if ever learn.

The Devil Is Grinning

The devil is grinning
At man’s obsession
With women.
A confession,
I have been there
And looped the loop to please
A Claire
Or Flair.

The devil is grinning
When certain kind of women
On man’s weakness seize
And draw him in
To sin,
Or simply tease
By hinting that the prize may be won.

In search of fun
Men after women run,
Or desirous of the prize
Of that look
In a girl’s eyes
That says “you are mine
Until the end of time”,
Although this may be mistook
For “you are mine
For the night
But, com...

Sunday Evening Humour

When a poet whose name is Lou
Said, “the time it has just gone 2”,
I said, “you have the wrong time,
But at least we can rhyme”,
And then she threw her shoe!

—

When a young lady whose name was Kate
Remarked, “you really do prate!”,
I said, “my pet alligator
Has eaten many a waiter,
But he has never eaten a Kate!”.

Skid Row

When, before 9 am
I hear the clink
Of bottles, I think
On the fine line
Between those who,
Like me
Drink coffee
Or Tea.
And enjoy a pint or 2
(In the afternoon or evening),
And men
Who, before 9 am
Bottles chink
On the quiet street
That does go
Down to Skid Row.

Clock

A chance meet.
2 acquaintences greet
And eat.
That night
They did smile
And make polite
Conversation while,
In the background
Behind each word
Was heard
The tick tock
Of her biological clock

Her flirty conversation.
His anticipation
Grew, whilst through
Each word
Could be heard
Tick tock, tick tock.

A tentative invitation to come in
For coffee or tea.
They did chat
About this and that.
Then, she took her hat
And was gone,
Whilst the tick tock
Of the clock
At the head
Of his bed
Continued on...

On the empty woodland path

On the empty
Woodland path
The birds sing,
But not for me
This spring.

As I pass
Along this desolate path
I laugh
At the idea
That the birds I hear
Could sing
For me in spring.

There Are Many Ointments

There are many ointments
For stings
And similar things.
And, for life’s disappointments
There is art,
Which, though it may not cause the heart
To sing
May, perchance, ease the sting
Of the she
Who rejects thee.

On Going To Bed Last Night

On going to bed last night
I saw a young lady with a kite.
When I asked, “what are you doing here?”
She said, “the night being drear
And your window so near,
I flew in here with this kite!”.