August is hot as lust.
I was born in January
And in me you see
The soul of winter.
I have a splinter
Of ice in my heart.
My poetic art
Is January. and hot August.
No man can outrun the sun.
But birds sing
In the spring.
And winter’s splinter is my art.
My thanks to Lucy for publishing my poem “rearranging Deckchairs”.
When a curious young lady named Miss Lake
Said, “is it true you are a rake?”.
My dear friend Lady Hocking
Said, “your suggestion is shocking!
As she covered us 2 in cream cake!
There once was a wicked old rake
Who went by the name of Lake.
When he asked Miss Glynne
To join him in sin,
It all ended in the vicarage lake!
“We walk through dust.
Her stilettoed feet
Click on the street.
Circumstance does thrust
Birds of diverse feather
Together for pleasure.
While money may impress,
Whirling dust
Will take
The flesh
Of paramore, and rake”.
I found a young lady named Mable
Cavorting on my fine old dining table.
Being drunk on my booze
She had nothing to lose,
As her clothes lay under the table!
I thought I had lost
The key to my clock.
When I found it again
It’s old tick tock
Continued on. but time
He pauses not.
(The above poem first appeared in my June Author Newsletter, which can be accessed here https://mailchi.mp/37a9976abe1c/kevins-june-author-newsletter).
On Sunday 1 August, I took down my copy of A E Housman’s A Shropshire Lad. Whilst I am an admirer of Housman’s work, as with all poets and authors, certain of his writings resonate with me more so than do others. One such poem is “When I Watch the Living Meet”, which appears in A Shropshire Lad and is reproduced below. For more about Alfred Edward Housman please visit https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poets/a-e-housman. For the free ebook of A Shropshire Lad please see https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/5720.
When I watch the living meet,
And the moving pageant file
Warm and breathing through the street
Where I lodge a little while,
If the heats of hate and lust
In the house of flesh are strong,
Let me mind the house of dust
Where my sojourn shall be long.
In the nation that is not
Nothing stands that stood before;
There revenges are forgot,
And the hater hates no more;
Lovers lying two and two
Ask not whom they sleep beside,
And the bridegroom all night through
Never turns him to the bride.
While visiting my most favourite old uncle Flow
I said, “uncle, do you happen to know
Why you have a girl’s name?”.
He replied, “my dear nephew Jane,
My real name is Louisa, as you know!”.
She is discreet
When we meet.
Her bare legs touch mine.
And behind
All the kisses and wine
I find
Old Father Time.
K Morris - Poet 