K. Morris's Blog, page 659

The Disquiet of Quiet

The disquiet
Of quiet.
Turn up the sound
And drown
Out the bird
Whose song
Before long
Will stab you to the heart
Causing tears to start.

I, for my part
Listen
Though the tears glisten.
I become a child, for a while
Without guile,
Smile
And yearn to be free
Of me.

It’s Here… My See-Through Mind

The writer's blogk

My See-Through Mind is available on Amazon now! Just click the highlighted link and you will be taken through to Amazon and a preview of the new book (which will cost nothing but you can read a sample and leave a review). I hope you enjoy this unseen work and will let me know what you really think. Reviews are one of the toughest things to get so please don’t be shy – I need your help – all is much appreciated! So a monster big thank you everyone – it’s been another long...

There Was A Young Lady Called Flare

There was a young lady called Flare
Who met a handsome man on the stair.
Several hours later
He said, “I’m a waiter”,
But Flare didn’t care …!

—

There was a young lady called Flare
Who met a handsome man on the stair.
Several hours later
He said, “I’m a waiter
And we are blocking the stair …”!

Pneumatic

The pneumatic
Girl’s ecstatic
Sigh
Causes him to wonder Why
No passion lights her azure eye.

Such style
And oh, Her smile.
He will resile
But that smile …
“I will play awhile
Then resile”.

It is a beautiful day.
They will make hay
As the sun does shine.
Women and wine
Are surely divine,
So he will make hay
While the weather stays fine.

“The Life that I Have” by Leo Marx

While strolling around Kew Gardens, with my friend Brian on Saturday 30 July, we came across Leo Marx’s moving poem “The Life that I have”, on a bench which stood in one of the many tranquil spots to be found in the gardens, http://www.telegraph.co.uk/telegraphtv/3460867/Virginia-McKenna-recites-The-Life-That-I-Have.html.

Kevin

Owl by K.Morris

Many thanks to Jennifer Calvert of Ink and Quill for publishing my poem “Owl” on her blog. Kevin

INK AND QUILL

I have lain awake listening for the owl’s cry.
A note that chills
Thrills
Then does die.

One day
This bird of prey
Will carry my soul away,
Or so the supersticious say.

Mice hide
While I, in my pride
Decide
The owl’s erie cry
Signifies that I will die.

The bird has no interest in me
So why can I not be free
Of his cry
That to my window nigh
does rise, then, as suddenly, die?

Biograph...

There Was A Young Lady Called Michaela

There was a young lady called Michaela
Who met a deep sea whaler.
By the light of the moon
He brandished his harpoon,
That intrepid, handsome sailor

Awaking

You neither sleep nor weep,
While I sleep, the sleep of the just or unjust?
Awaking, lust
Is replaced
By a kind of guilt
Mixed with tenderness?
I can not see your face
And the Quilt
Covers
That
Which
Perhaps
Should
Have
Remained
Undiscovered.

I Am The Girl Who Wasn’t There

newauthoronline

I am the girl who wasn’t there.

I did not sit upon that chair,

playing provocatively with my hair.

I did not drink that expensive wine,

While gazing on your paintings fine.

I did not recline under the quilt so red,

Or moan with exstasy in your bed.

If by chance, an earing she should find,

Worry not, it is not mine.

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Skeletons

Skeleton
Cupboard
Not
Yet
Discovered.

Brush
Under
Carpet
Swept,
Sweeps
No
More.