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