K. Morris's Blog, page 542
November 17, 2017
The Tune of the Millenial Grave
The man on the moon; hums a cynical tune,
watching over demise and distress.
For his evil will spawn as the sun breaks the dawn,
in a brilliant game of chess.
His pieces are played and he sharpens his blade.
He moves with ease and finesse.
The blood that is spilled as another swallows a pill;
their souls he will caress.
For his game has begun; no one can outrun.
Watching our demise and distress.
He will guide each hand till we cannot stand,
in a brilliant game of chess....
Some Find Their Muse In Forests Green
Some find their muse in forests green
Where the nymph (so rarely seen)
Is brought to life on paper.
Many a romantic caper
Takes place on virgin page,
That pristine stage
Where maid
Is forever staid.
Other poets reach their sweating hand
Towards the lone phone,
So as to command
For a while,
A nymph’s enigmatic smile
Pancakes
Shall I compose
A poem about fingers and toes
Or write one more complex
So as to vex
My readers?
Yet who knows
For a poem about fingers and toes
May not be
What you see,
For dig down
And you may drown
In profundity,
Or not as the case may be!
I play with words
Which soar like birds
Or, like flat pancakes
Stick to ceilings
Evoking feelings of amusement
Or bemusement
But at the end of the day
One can clear the pancake away …
Some lakes
Are deep, while beneath the surface of others
We discover n...
November 16, 2017
Flowers On A Quilt
Her short skirt.
His crisp white shirt.
Her heels
Too high
Fail to reach the sky.
Flowers on a quilt
Can not wilt
But will fade
With age.
November 15, 2017
The Blind Leading The Blind
As I neared my home yesterday evening, a man called out from the other side of the road, “Do you have a light, please?”
“No, sorry”, I replied and continued on my way home.
As I walked on, I heard the voice of a young woman, “no, don’t, it’s a blind dog!”
Being registerd blind, I wondered what the point would be of me having a “blind dog”. One hears of the blind leading the blind. However, I, having no desire to become intimately connected with a telegraph pole or other such obstacle will sti...
November 14, 2017
Future Love
In the future, will robots dress
To impress?
And will men and women sigh
Over a lover’s imperfect thigh?
And choose
To lose
Their very being
In the never seeing
Robot eye?
For therein does lie
Perfection,
For there can be no rejection
For you or I.
And one can not sin
With a thing of tin.
Overheard
As I walked through the churchyard this morning, I passed by a teenager on her mobile. As I did so, I couldn’t help overhearing the following gem:
“You made me run, with my legs up a hill”.
I wondered idly to myself, “how else would one run, other than by using one’s legs?”
There Was A Young Man Named Round
There was a young man named Round
Who owned a lugubrious hound.
Its name was Bill.
They lived on a hill
And this limerick says nothing profound!
November 13, 2017
Merry-Go-Round
Most of my poetry is expressed in rhyme. However a few of my poems (perhaps I should say short prose pieces) are written in a form other than rhyme. One such poem/brief prose piece is Merry-Go-Round. You can find a recording of me reading Merry-Go-Round Here, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qqwBHfMEs54.
