K. Morris's Blog, page 47

Lust

Behind all lust

Lurks  fear of dust.

For in war

Children and hate proliferate.

Shy Guy

I met a group of young women

Who spoke of the joys of sinning.

But I, being shy

Hid in a pie

With the beautiful and talented Miss Winning!

Mowing

I passed by men mowing the churchyard grass.

When I came that way again

The men had passed, to go and mow

Some other grass perhaps.

 

I have walked the churchyard path

So oft , and passing by graves have coughed

Due to the hay.

 

 

One day the mower will pass,

And I will lie under the churchyard grass.

Sunset

Being blind

Should I regret

The lack of a sunset?

I find

In my heart

The sunset speak to me.

And hear church bells tell

Of man’s mortality.

So I make art

Through my poetry.

Passing Time

I have heard the tick tock

Of my old clock

And listened to young women’s feet

Beating out a rhyme

Of passing time

On the indifferent street

Where loneliness meets,

For a little while,

With a smile

Cold as gold.

Poetry Reading at the Royal Albert Pub in Upper Norwood, London SE19, at 7 pm on Tuesday 13 August

A poetry reading will be taking place at the Royal Albert pub, Upper Norwood, London  SE19, at 7 pm on Tuesday 13 August. There are 10 minute slots available.

 

For information on the Royal Albert pub please follow this link https://www1.camra.org.uk/pubs/royal-albert-upper-norwood-141485. Please feel free to turn up on the evening. However, should you have any queries regarding the event please contact Kevin at kmorrispoet (at) gmail .com. The email address is rendered thus in order to prevent ...

A Young Lady of Kampala

When I met a young lady of Kampala

Who said, “I worked in a massage parlour”.

And I said, “but Coral!

You are so very moral!”.

She said, “they sacked me from that parlour …!”

In the Doctors Surgery

Through the open door of the surgery

Comes the summer breeze.

Often the wind sings in the tree

Or plays with leaves

Fallen on the path. And in these leaves

And the windswept tree

I know we are bound for the ground.

Bad Poetry

When a rude and unfeeling young lad

Said, “your poems are so very bad!”.

I wept full sore

And said, “tell me more!”,

As I soundly thrashed that lad!

Whilst Singing a Very Old Hymn

Whilst singing a very old hymn

I spied that sinful Miss Lin.

She spoke of pleasure

In the sweet heather,

And I stopped singing that hymn …