K. Morris's Blog, page 491

There Was A Young Lady Called Sky

There was a young lady called Sky
Who’s heels where extremely high.
Her sister Louise
Being a terrible tease
Lent them to my good friend Guy.

There Was A Young Lady Called Moriah

There was a young lady called Moriah
Who married a country squire.
While her husband shot grouse
She would remain in the house
And stoke the parson’s fire

The General Data Protection Regulation (GDPR) and Authors

On 25 May, the EU General Data Protection Regulation (GDPR) comes into effect. “What has this to do with authors?” I hear you ask.

In essence, the GDPR gives individuals much greater rights to have access to any information held on them and to have it provided (free of charge) on request. There is also a right to be forgotten/for data to be destroyed at the request of the person to whom the data relates.

My understanding is that anyone who has a blog to which people subscribe via WordPress...

The disillusioned Rake

Passionless kisses,
Abysses
Of sandpaper, but one must be polite
And feign delight
For that is what a gentleman must do,
Whether or not it be true.

Whether there be the expense of a meal or no
Round and round I go
Gathering the fruit that is seeming sweet to eat,
Then awake, and wash the bitter juice
That did so seduce
From the once innocent sheet.

Standing At My Window

Standing at my window
Reluctant to go
For I know
Not how long I shall be here.

Not quite half-way through the year.
May is love and birds
And erratic words
That fall
As the passing sunlight upon my wall.

Tomorrow will come (probably for me)
And I shall see
The sun’s rays fall
Upon this wall
But I know not
What tomorrow has in store …

There Was A Young Lady Called Irene

There was a young lady called Irene
Who I have never seen.
She has a tattoo in a hidden place
And a very pretty face,
But I’ve never seen Irene.

Something

A girl, early twenties perhaps
Sits drinking her second glass
Of wine.

A sign,
Screwed to our table warns of bag thieves,
While the CCTV sees
A girl (and us at our table close by).

Idly I wonder why
She is there. Waiting for a brother?
A lover?
Or something other?

The first table, being dirty we move
To another.
Brother?
Lover?
Or something other?

Customers enter and depart.
We will not return to this place.
CCTV can see
The face
But man has not the art
To look into the human heart.
As we...

So Many Broken Rings

So many broken rings
That I forget
And regret
The number
That does encumber
Not.

So many strings
Have I
Undone
In fun.
Yet there were none to tie.
Oh how the clock’s hands run
Away
Ushering in the end of day.

A Fox In My Garden

A fox
In my garden, and me
In this elaborate box.

We call down a pox
On the hapless fox
For he
Is free
To kill
At will
The domestic rabbit.
While our own habit
Is to preserve the life of all
Is it not? Although
I recall
That twas man who did fall
From Paradise.

Adam and Eve
Grieve
Over the loss of their pet
And forget
That vice
Is a purely human quality.

Colours Converge

Colours converge
And the black does merge
With the white.
The night
Is sweet
And colours greet
In starlight.