I stood aside, allowing him to pass,
Along the woodland path.
“Thank you” he said.
I
Dordled,
Allowing
Him
To
Get
Well
Ahead.
I seek the company of men
When in the mood
For repartee,
But why do they intrude
On sky,
And tree
And me?
Summer unlocks
Youthful passion.
Now ‘tis the fashion
For short frocks
And tiny socks.
Some girls barefoot go
For of a summer’s day,
They little know
That winter snow
Is on its way
Her blood red claws.
He implores
Her false nails,
As with her feminine arts
She impales
Men’s hearts.
Shall I write a poem in free
Verse?
Sometimes it seems perverse
To me
To be
Free
The paper is peeling
And the ceiling
Is dirty grey.
“How long will you stay?”
He asks. “What will you pay?”
I say.
Shall I be nice
And offer him a lower price?
Its so easy to pretend
To be “a friend”
When you’ve done this for a while.
You smile
And lose yourself in drink
Or think
Of Coins
And gird your loins.
Having wrangled
I lie
Entangled
In the sheet.
“You are sweet”
I say,
Thinking of my pay.
—
Me in jeans
On the bus, with my university books.
No one looks
At an ordinary girl,
Her head in a whirl
Over forthcoming exams,
And last night’s scenes.
“When the clock strikes, I must go” I said.
Lucifer shook his head,
For the clock had long since struck.
Sun cream.
A perfect dream
Of skin
And sin
There was a young man called Grant
Who wished a tree to plant.
His uncle’s wife stood far too near
And, I fear
That he accidentally planted his aunt!
They say
That nymphs play
In the ancient wood.
Yet as I stood
There yesterday,
No nymphs did play.
Waking this morning
I sensed a warning
In rock.
Mysteries may unlock
As Pan pipes play,
But the nymphs they
Will not stay
Some tips for the close reading of poetry
‘Close reading’ is not as straightforward as it may appear. Many readers of poetry, for instance, may have encountered ‘close readings’ of poems which are anything but. They’re not so much ‘close’ as ‘at arm’s length’. How do you close-read a poem? F. R. Leavis was one of the most influential literary critics writing in English in the twentieth century. Yet he often claimed he was performing a ‘close reading’ of a poem which was actually, at best, a sort of flirtatious dalliance with the words and meaning of the text.
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K Morris - Poet 