K. Morris's Blog, page 229

Happy New Year!

A very happy new year to you all. May 2021 be a much better year than the previous one!

Very best wishes. Kevin

The Dead May Speak, Through The Poet’s Art

The dead may speak,

Through the poet’s art.

His readers may weep.

Yet, some things run so deep,

They can not be expressed in art.

When A Young Lady Wearing Pink Slippers

When a young lady wearing pink slippers

Offered me some very old kippers,

And I said, “are they safe?”,

She enfolded me in her embrace.

And gave me slippers with those kippers!

I Face My Darkening Window

I face my darkening window.

My curtain

Will shut out the night.

I know

Morning’s light

Must come.

But who can be certain

That he

Will see

The sun?

Takeaway

You can find

Any kind

Of takeaway.

Thai or Chinese.

Or whatever you please

Is online.

But, you must pay

A fee

For your takeaway.

As to dine

Does not come free

And, after

the wine

And laughter,

Your delivery will depart,

Leaving no broken heart.

Miss Bond

I know a young lady named Bond

Of whom I’m extremely fond.

She has very petite feet.

But that girl knows how to eat!

And this song is far too long!

When A Naughty Young Lady Named Miss Michelle

When a naughty young lady named Miss Michelle

Said, “I have a sinful tale to tell”.

The good vicar Paul

Said, “all mortals fall”.

And he winked at that young lady Michelle …

Kisses

Her kiss (so desired),

My body fired

By lust.

And after

The kisses, and laughter,

Thoughts of dust.

There Is Snow On The Lawn

A couple of weeks ago, I composed a poem entitled “December Snow”, which was subsequently read by me on Vancouver Co-Op Radio’s The World Poetry Reading Series.

Today I awoke to find the lawn covered in late December snow, so thought I would re-post my reading of the poem, http://www.coopradio.org/content/world-poetry-caf%C3%A9-120.

December Snow:

A typical, December day.

The sun has stopped

Away,

And the temperature has dropped.

The forecasters say

There may

Be snow.

I well remember the Dece...

Waking, Much Later Than Intended

Waking, much later than intended

I see

The pretended,

And rush to make tea.

For my fun

is ended

And we must run.

I to my desk

And she

Home, to her rest.

Delight for a night

Maybe mine,

Again, for a time.

To rhyme

Is free

And tea

Is cheap.

While her smile

Will beguile

For a while