K. Morris's Blog, page 634
November 17, 2016
The Gods Have Left Mount Olympus
The gods have left Mount
Olympus. Zeus grits his teeth
At the lack of belief,
While Venus haggles over a discount
On second hand clothes.
And Heaven only knows
Where the world goes.
Night Duty
The click clack of stilettos.
Girls from ghettos
Feet are lost
In carpets they could never afford,
While a discreet board
Shows the cost
Of most things.
The lift bell pings.
What goes up must go down.
The receptionist, eyes lost in her book
Gives a slight frown.
Why bother to look?
For of course
A nod is as good as a wink
To a blind horse.
November 16, 2016
Moonlight
This is beautiful.
Diamond black
Rain shines
On shadowed rock.
Moonlight sings
Above the lake
And dreams play
Languidly
In the mist.
We swim together
And the goddess watches.
The Ancient Greeks and the Terracotta Army
Its fascinating to learn that the ancient Greeks may have reached China long before Marco Polo did.
One of the things on my bucket list is going to see the Terracotta Army, 8,000 extraordinarily life-like terracotta figures found buried close to the massive tomb of China’s First Emperor, Qin Shi Huang, who unified the country in 221BC. I’ve always loved Chinese art, especially the scrolls, ink landscapes and clay sculptures of people, horses and other animals.
But an army...
Newark Abbey, by Thomas Love Peacock
Newark Abbey
August, 1842
with a remembrance of August, 1807
I gaze, where August’s sunbeam falls
Along these grey and lonely walls,
Till in its light absorbed appears
The lapse of five-and-thirty years.
If change there be, I trace it not
In all this consecrated spot:
No new imprint of Ruin’s march
On roofless wall and frameless arch:
The hilss, the woods, the fields, the stream,
Are basking in the self-same beam:
The fall, that turns the unseen mill
As then it murmured, murmurs still:
It s...
There Was A Young Lady Called Gay
There was a young lady called Gay
Who ate apple pie every single day.
She preferred it with mustard
And refused to eat custard.
As to why? She refused to say!
There Was A Young Lady Called Claire
There was a young lady called Claire
Who fell asleep while climbing the stair.
Should you ask me why
I shall make reply,
“How would I know, I wasn’t there!”
A Man Can Not Always Be Serious
I was recently reminded of Sleary’s words, to Mr Gradgrind, in “Hard Times”:
“People mutht be amuthed. They can’t be alwayth a learning, nor yet they can’t
be alwayth a working, they an’t made for it”.
It happened in this manner. I fell into conversation with an acquaintance in the pub, who mentioned that a friend had said words to the following effect:
“Poetry should be serious. Proper poetry isn’t humorous”.
I am the first one to defend serious poetry. The expression of heartfelt melancholy...
Inner Peace
Sitting here
My mind is almost clear
Of old junk.
For now the detritus has slunk
Away to hide
Inside
The maze of my calculating brain.
The stain
Of a thing overthought
Frequently leaves me overrought.
This room is still and full of peace
So why can not my mind for long cease
In it’s whirring motion?
Must I forever be tossed upon this restless ocean?
I long for a lack of motion.
Yet there is no magic potion
To achieve a quiet soul,
A goal
Pursued by men of every nation
And station.
Though ‘t...
November 15, 2016
Making Hay
The young man makes hay
And little heed does pay
To the odd grey
Hair.
With desire he does stare
At maidens fair
While the hay turns bad
And the lustful lad,
With expression sad
Sees that the grey
Has chased the brown away.
The man strays still
But the rill
Of joy is almost dry.
Try
As he might
To lose himself in sensual delight
Man does hear
With fear
Night’s footsteps, creeping near.
