Monthly Archives: November 2022

My Trip to Bath

I travelled on a train to Bath

Which was manned by a skeleton staff.

It was on the night of Halloween

And all the passengers did loudly scream.

But the skeletons got us to Bath!

2 Poems from My Poetry Archive

On going through my poetry archives, I came across the below 2 poems. The poems can also be found on my Tiktok, along with many other examples of my poetry, https://www.tiktok.com/@kevinmorrispoet. You don’t have to have a Tiktok account to listen to my work.

 

Epitaph on a poet

 

A book of poems upon his grave

Could not the poet save.

The few his words touched

Failed to keep him from the dust.

 

Here Lies Lot

 

Here lies Lot

He knew not

Neither who nor what.

Yet there he lies

Forever lost to tears and sighs.

 

 

Fantasies

Sometimes I think

A thought

I ought

Not to think.

 

 

The devil winks

At me

And whispers, “she

May say

Yes”. To caress

And kiss

Would bring bliss

To me

For a while.

 

 

Maybe she

Would confusedly smile,

And say

“I never knew

That you

Felt that way

About me!

I must go!”.

But, maybe

She would stay.

 

 

Best to hold

My tongue

For words flung

Carelessly away

May come back

To bite.

But o the delight

Of 1 single night!

But hot fantasy

Is not reality.

So I

Must try

To let it be.

Curry and Rice

When a young lady serving curry and rice

Said, “do you all like my hot spice?”.

The girls said, “Rose!

Put on some clothes!”.

But the men all liked the hot spice!

Delving into My Poetry Archives

Whilst looking through my poems with a view to recording some of them for Tiktok, I came across the below, which is reproduced here. This poem does not currently appear in any of my published works.

 

To listen to the below poem (and other of my poems on Tiktok), please visit https://www.tiktok.com/@kevinmorrispoet

 

 

 

 

 

Some thought his poetry meant this

And others that.

He wore a hat

Sometimes,

And often, (being lost in rhymes)

Went out with no raincoat.

 

He had no moat

And little private wealth.

The reader sighs

Trying to categorise

The poet’s view.

Some declare he was a Tory of the deepest blue,

(While others protest this was not true)!

A few saw a man of the left,

But found themselves bereft

On finding verse which, they say,

Romanticised the nobility of yesterday.

 

Perhaps the poet smiles somewhere,

Or, perchance he doesn’t care.

For who knows

Where the rhymer goes

When his ink runs dry

And his words finally die.

 

 

 

 

Getting Poems Published

A good short post by Josephine Corcoran, a published poet, on getting poems published, https://josephinecorcoran.org/2022/11/20/on-getting-poems-published/.

 

My Reputation

When a young lady of this great nation

Said, “sir, you have a terrible reputation!”.

I said, “come see my etching.

You will find it most fetching!”,

Which confirmed to that young lady my reputation …!”.

Unmade

Gazing at my unmade bed

As a chill breeze

Enters in, I remember dead

Love. and girls who please,

(Though not for love).

 

 

Nor do I love

Such women.

But when we partake

In lust

Man half-believes

He can escape

The dust.

For lust deceives.

My Dirty Weekend

When a close friend of my girlfriend

Invited us to spend a dirty weekend,

We entered the deep wood

And fell in the mud!

But lets return to our dirty weekend …!

 

Abandoned

They couldn’t stay long.

A remembrance of hands

And an  abandoned hairband,

Kept for a while,

Brings a sad smile

To a man’s ageing face

At a girl’s lost grace.