K. Morris's Blog, page 546

There Was A Young Man Named Steve

There was a young man named Steve
Who married a girl called Eve.
I attended their wedding
Which took place in Reading,
And while there I eloped with Eve!

The Clocks Have Gone Back

At 2 am today (Sunday 29 October), the clocks went back one hour. This does, of course mean that I get an extra hour in bed. However, during the week it means that I leave in the dark for work and return home in the darkness (lucky old me)!

The clocks going back reminded me of my poem “The Clocks Have Gone Back”, which is reproduced below. Incidentally, in today’s technology dominated society, I only had to adjust the ancient battery operated talking alarm clock (purchased many years ago from...

A Disreputable Old Writer Named Howl

A disreputable old writer named Howl
Did the streets prowl
In search of inspiration,
Which led to dissipation
And caused the bishop to scowl!

The Role Of The Literary Agent

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This week “The Bottom Line”, on BBC Radio 4 examines the role of agents (literary and otherwise). The information on the BBC’s website reads as follows:

“This week the programme looks at the business of agents. What exactly do they do and are they adding value to their clients’ careers? Evan Davis discusses their role with three agents from the worlds of showbusiness, football and books. …”.

To listen to the programme please visit, http://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/b09b0wbl.

I Sing The Song Of Wrong And Right

I sing
The song
Of wrong
And right
At night
Heels bring
A fleeting joy
To some poor boy.

The morrow
May sorrow bring,
But tonight
I sing
Of what some call wrong,
And others right,
And of the light that glows
And shows
The road to heaven
And to hell
That many a poor wretch knows
All to well.

Curtains twitch
And gossips itch
To tell,
While the poet continues to sing of heaven,
And passion hot as hell

The Woodland Path

As I in melancholy thought stood
In yonder wood
My attention was caught
By a path of light.
Oh to take flight
Down that track
Without looking back.
But as I neared
That path disappeared,
And I do lack
The will to go forward or back.

Vampire

A girl sat upon the shoulders of a vampire.
Human form he took
And did in no way look
Like a ghoul.
With a smile benign
His design
He executed in full view
Of the fool
Who thought him a gentleman through and through.

Her desire
For the vampire
Turned to despair,
And today
Men pay
For what she once gave away.

Come Halloween

Come Halloween, I shall hide behind gravestones
And rattle artificial bones,
And should anyone ask
Why I perform this task
I shall with a blood curdling groan
Confess That I have no bones of my own …

How to Fill Your Day with Poetry

A Writer's Path

by Cassandra Key 

The easiest way to fill your day with poetry is to notice what poetry is and then surround yourself with it.

Poetry is a lot of things and goes beyond words on paper. It is nature and love and pain. It is Mary Cassatt’s “Summertime” and dancing to Chopin. It is dreams and prayers and moonlight. It is all of these things coming together to create something that stirs the heart.

Or as Emily Dickinson said:

If I feel physically as if the top of my head were...

There Was A Young Lady Named Mable

There was a young lady named Mable
Who danced on a rickety old table.
The furniture gave way
And I heard her say,
“I was willing, but that table is unstable!”.

—

There was a young lady named Mable
Who danced on a rickety old table.
The furniture gave way,
But some do say
That my story is nought but a fable!