The final day of August
Brings Autumn’s coming chill.
Perhaps this is the last
Of Summer’s new-mown grass.
The eternal breeze
Rustles the leaves
And my once brown hair.
The Final Day of August
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Monthly Archives: August 2021
Fine Art
A young lady named Miss Heart
Is a connoisseur of fine art.
Whilst enjoying some wine
She greatly admired mine.
And then we discussed fine art.
Regret
He picks up the phone
And texts Louisa or Joan.
Or, whilst browsing the internet
He finds a brief forget
In the arms of Yvette.
When she’s gone away he will say,
“I felt her youthful hand in mine
And to forget regret, poured more wine.
But the tick tock of the clock
Brought to mind, that old voyeur, Time.”
The Future of Books: 3 Audacious Predictions for the Next 20 Years
An interesting post. Whilst I like the idea of some bookshops becoming “community hubs”, I worry about the loss of quiet spaces in which to browse and read books. I’ve seen libraries turned into “community hubs” and it is not invariably a positive development. The danger is that the books come a poor second to dance and other social activities. Kevin
The Tide
Society rides
The tides
Of collectivism
And individualism.
Whilst in Highgate
Spencer and Marx
Continue their decay.
(Note: Karl Marx’s grave in Highgate Cemetery is almost directly opposite to that of the champion of liberal individualism, Herbert Spencer. See https://highgatecemetery.org/visit/cemetery/east#featurephoto71).
My Luncheon
Whilst sitting at my rather good luncheon
I got hit by a squeaky truncheon!
I said to Claire,
“Now hold on there!
I didn’t request a truncheon for luncheon!”
Philosophical Miss Page
A most philosophical young lady named Miss Page
Said, “this world is but an unreal stage.
But, let us 2 dance
And perchance find some romance”.
So we did, and crashed through the stage!
Miss Price Who Was Fond of Dice
There once was a young lady named Price
Who was known for her love of dice.
She would play for hours
With that rakish Lord Flowers.
And then she would return to her dice.
Digital
With our digital device
We hear not
The inexorable clock.
But virtue and vice
Heed time’s great knock.
Petite
Petite.
Desired.
She inspired
A poem of stilettoed feet
And the thought of ought.
And meet.
K Morris - Poet 