K. Morris's Blog, page 329

A Beautiful Young Lady Named White

A beautiful young lady named White
Keeps me awake at night,
By playing on her violin,
Which causes quite a din,
But the rests such sweet delight!

Happy Christmas

A very happy Christmas to you all.

I hope that whether you are with family and friends during this festive season, or if you are spending the period alone, that your heart will be full of the joy of living.

All the very best to you all, Kevin

On Hearing The Tick Tock Of The Clock

On hearing the tick tock
Of the clock,
On the wall,
I know not
What to write,
For the clock
Says it all.

When A Young Lady Named Leigh

When a young lady named Leigh
Said, “do you like my poetry?”,
I said, “its very nice,
But its full of vice,
So I really like it Leigh!”.

My Hands Are Cold

My hands are cold
And I am growing old.
The wall clock measures time
As I rhyme
Of young women
And sinning.
But I am growing old
And my hands are cold.

Passing

Thinking of a young woman I met,
I enter my bathroom.
No scent of perfume,
Just cars, in the distance passing by.
There is nothing to regret
So why do I
Think on a young woman I met
And cars passing me by?

Great Feedback On My “Selected Poems”

I was delighted to receive the following email earlier today:

“Dear Mr Morris,
I am writing to tell you that your poems in “The Collected Poems of K Morris” that you gave me on the train on my way to college are exceptional. You might not remember me but I am the girl doing politics and history that you met on the train and gifted your amazing book to. I have always been interested in writing poems and therefore you have really inspired me to carry on my interest and write some poems of my...

A Young Man Named Lake

A young man named Lake
Said, “your poems are very opaque”.
So I wrote one in latin,
About girls in pink satin,
Who keep wicked old poets awake.

Shy Girl

As the vicar spoke of hell fire, and how the wicked are condemned to eternal torment, the sexton gazed sideways at his youngest daughter – a girl with the figure of a dancer. A real heart breaker he thought, and yet she was pure as the newly fallen snow on the nearby moors, before the cattle had trampelled through the drifts, leaving their footprints and dung behind.

Alice, (his 18-year-old daughter) sat, her eyes half closed in the pew, a dreamy expression on her face. Her prayer book lay...

Gulls

I
Hear the seagulls cry,
In Liverpool,
And recall my grandfather, who said,
“They warn of a storm
out at sea”.
Am I a fool
To believe what he said?
I know that the ocean’s comotion
Will long outlast me,
And the waves will still roar
When man is no more.