Tired.
Not inspired
To write tonight.
Light
Grows dim.
Seconds pass.
Pub and friends beckon.
The cheerful lights
Shut out the night.
But all dims
And the dark descends
In the end
Yet I laugh
And pass my time
In rhyme and friends
No-one can stop
The ever present clock
For Time’s halter
Holds us all
In thrall
Yet still we pretend …
I have lost access to the email address associated with my blog, and which a number of my followers use to contact me. Whilst I am in the process of attempting to recover my email address, can anyone wishing to contact me please do so at triggerdog 101 (at) me dot com. The email address is rendered thus in order to defeat spammers!
Many thanks.
Email Problems (please Read if you Would Like to Contact Me)
On Thursday 29th January, I appeared on the World poetry Café together with the author of “Through the Roman Gate”, a historical novel which is available to purchase in the Kindle store. The book sounds like a fascinating read and I will be downloading it onto my Kindle.
During my segment of the podcast I read a number of my recently published work and talked about what inspires me to compose poetry.
To listen to the podcast please visit https://flashfiction2.substack.com/p/world-poetry-cafe-jan-29-kevin-morris?utm_source=podcast-email%2Csubstack&publication_id=5716717&post_id=186013381&utm_campaign=email-play-on-substack&utm_medium=email&utm_content=play_card_post_title&r=dv63h&triedRedirect=true. My segment appears approximately 27 minutes in.
I am grateful to Ariadne Sawyer and Victor for hosting me on the World Poetry Café.
When a young lady who visited my flat
Said, “I think I have lost my hat!”
And I said, “after that booze
You lost more than your shoes!”
She said, “just give me back my hat …!”
Sometimes I dash
Along the churchyard path.
But those who sleep
Have no appointments to keep.
And I pass by
The graveyard plot
Until I do not.
Yet I must
My final appointment keep
With worms and dust.
And the earth
Will continue to turn
Without heed or need
Of me
Walking along the familiar street
I meet
A lady who asks me
For £1
So that she
Can get to bank.
I give her the pound
And laugh at her story.
I receive no thanks
But get asked for £5
(Which I deny I have).
I go home
Thinking on philosophy,
Lies,
And the fickleness of charity.
But who
Exploited who
I wonder
As I sit alone
At home
Writing poetry …
(Note: “Bank” refers to bank station on the London underground).
I met a young lady Named Louisa
Who said, “you are a dodgy geezer!”
I said, “I’m not dodgy,
But perhaps a little podgy!”,
Which tickled that young lady named Louisa!
My girlfriend whose name is Aphrodite
Went and bought a see-through nightie.
Her friend Miss Echo
Is fond of Prosecco –
And the vicar has her nightie …
When Count Dracula went to a pub
In search of some good wholesome grub,
A barmaid named Kelly
Offered him fruit jelly.
But he wanted another kind of grub …
K Morris - Poet 