K. Morris's Blog, page 594

The Introspective Rake

So many
Have I known.
Penny after penny
Spent
In the lone
Play
Of cloying scent.

Toying with love of a kind,
I find
Myself destroying
What little I had
In a sad
Fake dance
Of romance.

Some names I remember
(Their May to my December).
But can winter cold
Hold
The summer sun?

May will, for a while
Smile
Through fixed teeth,
Then, ere winter’s fun
Is done
Resile
Ushering in his brief
Grief.

May is gone
And December flirts with June,
But she is soon
Away
To play
With another one,
Though Cupid...

Why do bloggers take their blogs down?

A good question and some interesting responses following on from the post. Nothing is, of course ever truly deleted. For example if one removes a blog/website, its possible that it may have been archived by archive.org (or similar archiving services). Try going to archive.org and typing in the url of an existing (or deleted) site and see what comes up. You may well be surprised. In the case of archive.org one can request that material you own is deleted from their servers, however there is no...

There was a young Health Inspector called Bell

There was a young health inspector called Bell
Who carried out an inspection of Hell.
She said, with a frown,
“I must close this place down,
Due to the terrible smell!”

Unstuck

I want to be left alone to cultivate my garden,
But outside ideas harden.
And pigs wallow in muck.
It will all, all come horribly unstuck.

Your Assistance In Choosing A Book Cover (Follow-up Post)

On 11 April, I published a post in which I asked for your assistance in choosing an image, for the book cover which will adorn my forthcoming collection of poetry, “My Old Clock I Wind and Other Poems”. Many thanks to everyone who took the time to comment on the photographs, your input is very much appreciated.

Having considered all your comments, I have decided to use the below image, which shows the clock in it’s entirety. Several of those who commented mentioned the glare in the original i...

Acquiescence

As stiff as the headboard
That has seen so much
She shrinks from his touch.

The cord
Of a reward
Ties.

She sighs,
Acquiesces
And undresses.

There Was A Young Lady Called Gale

There was a young lady called Gale
Who came from a place named Sale.
Wanting advice on buying a pet,
She went to the vet
Who recommended purchasing a whale!

The Thing He Hates

The devil patiently waits
As the fool prates.
For Lucifer knows
History shows
That Man learns too late,
He has become the thing he hates.

Shall I

Shall I, like the Lady of Shalot
Look beyond this mirrored spot,
And turn and see
What lover or demon pursues me?

I think I know.
But should I go
And see
What lover or demon pursues me?

She is neither goblin nor elf
Nor Satan in nymph’s guise.
‘Tis no surprise to see,
It is my own self
That pursues me.

Indefinable

The traffick noise momentarily fades.
No words,
Just the singing of birds
And a yearning for woodland glades