K. Morris's Blog, page 663

Stripping Bare

How easy to perceive the bear
In his lair,
Waiting for the girl who, having tentatively climbed the stair
Enters there.
He doesn’t care
And will have his way
The wagging fingers say.

Wine is opened
And trite
Words at night
Are spoken,
But there is no force.
The evening runs it’s course.
More trite words are said
Then, bed.

Morning breaks.
Her leave she takes
With a kiss on the cheek, not lips
That strips
The situation bare
Yet there
Is in that peck, perhaps a kind of care.

I am working on a further collection of my poetry

I am in the process of compiling a further collection of my poetry. This is, on the face of it an easy task. There are many poems, consequently it’s simply a question of pulling them together in a single volume. Well not quite, for there are a number of issues which I need to address prior to pressing that “publish button:

1. What criteria ought I to employ when choosing poems for inclusion? I could (as mentioned above) simply include all the poems written since the publication of my previou...

Guest Post: Jennie Ensor and Blind Side

This novel sounds like a fascinating read and I look forward to reading Jenny’s book when it is published.

The Last Word-Book Review

I am delighted to welcome Jennie Ensor as a guest on my review page as a guest blog talking about her forthcoming debut book Blind Side to be published on 23 July 2016. I will be reviewing Blind Side on 27 July.

How Blind Side came into being: inspiration, research, titles and more

First, I’ll tell you a little about who my story and who everyone is.

The ma...

Dont Call Me Hon

Please
Don’t call me “hon”.
Save it for the bees,
Who tease
The flowers on this beautiful July day.

I pray
Do not say
“Hon”
Or I will run
Away!

—

http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=hon

When Panties Fly

Deidra Alexander's Blog

It was early one spring when I found myself on a French highway between Normandy and Paris with my panties strung on a line across the back window of a silver sports car. French truck drivers, not unlike American truck drivers were quick to express their approval of my delicates flapping in the breeze as I zoomed back to Paris.

This would never have happened if I hadn’t decide liquor was more important than panties. You see I worked in Europe three weeks of every mon...

Telling a good poem from a bad one

An interesting post about “Telling a good poem from a bad one”, (http://www.dailywritingtips.com/telling-a-good-poem-from-a-bad-one/). The comments following on from the article are, on the whole also well worth reading with (in my opinion) the following exception:
“amhi,as far as i am concerned poetry is for one person and that person is the person that wrote it and to be honest that
is where it should be left. I have tried many times to read poetry which has been sent to newspapers and to m...

There Was A Young Lady Called Lucinda

There was a young lady called Lucinda
Who met a hot man on Tinder.
He said, “with you I will level,
I am the devil
And my gift to you is a cinder”!

No Need for Roses

No need for roses to impress
The girl in the short summer dress,
Though there is wine a plenty
To fill the empty
Cup.

A man may sup
And not be filled
Though wine be spilled
Upon the sheet
Where nectar sweet
Runs
And the great tide comes
In once more
To sigh
And die
On barren shore.

There Was A Young Man Called Lefroy

There was a young man called Lefroy
Who thought every girl was his toy.
He met a lady called Kate
And learned too late
How a girl can a man’s ego destroy

There Was A Young Man Called Strange

There was a young man called Strange
Who lived in a moated grange.
The moat dried out
And his neighbours did shout,
“You must your affairs rearrange”!