Author Archives: K Morris Poet

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About K Morris Poet

The purpose of this website (kmorrispoet.com) is to showcase my writing. For details of my published works, please click on the 'About' page of my blog.

An Elderly Man Of The World Looks Back

When young
Caution he flung
Away,
For he knew from the start,
In the secret recesses of his heart
They would not stay,
(The girls out for fun,
After whom he did run).

There is no disgrace
In the chase
He thought
But why court
When a sort
Of love is so easily bought?

They came and went.
His heart was rent
As money he spent
On an attachment
To a kind of detachment
Which led …

Now in old age
He does uselessly rage
At the phantoms who dance
In a parrady of romance
Upon the stage
Of his own creation.
His anticipation Has turned to dust
Aleviated only by occasional flowerings of lust.

I Dreamed that I was Dead

I dreamed that I was dead.
There was no dread,
Merely a desire
To cross the barbed wire
And escape something or somewhere,
Perhaps despair.

Pressing my hand against the barbed wire, I felt no pain.
No guards came.
I did not cross, for I new I should find
That which I had left behind
– A man locked in his own mind.

A Minor Poet, of Little Note

A minor poet, of little note,
Once a poem wrote.
I am sad to say,
That self-same day
His verse was eaten by a goat.

the man of letters said, in a most melancholy tone
“would that you had left my verse alone
O most vile goat
And fed
Instead
Upon my coat”.

Poetry: Painted Words

This poem by Linda Wolff speaks for itself.

Linda J. Wolff | Founder of Wolff Poetry Literary Magazine's avatarUrban Poetry

I wish I could paint it… in a picture.
Hateful words—Hurtful words.
Words that are, carelessly thrown from an open mouth.
Words that cut, right through to the soul.
The way they bleed internally.
Some will never allow the invisible scars, to be visible.
Some will never know, it steals one’s, soul.
I wish I could show, how hurtful, hateful words,
look on canvas and how the paint flows over ridges.
How something so colorful, becomes black droplets.
Maybe no one would want to throw words, without thinking.
©Linda J. Wolff – http://www.urbanpoetry2017.com

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PREVIEW 5 Poems FREE from ‘My Vibrating Vertebrae’ by Agnes Mae Graham…

Chris The Story Reading Ape's avatarChris The Story Reading Ape's Blog

We all have dreams, loves and hopes; but what if you are a girl growing up in 20th century Northern Ireland before, during and after the ‘Troubles’?

From the poetic thoughts of Agnes Mae Graham, we get a sense of what it was like, ranging from humour, sadness, wistful thinking and sometimes just downright nonsensical, these are the words of one such girl.

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I Heard An Angel Sigh

I heard an angel sigh
And ask “why oh why
Must I
Fly
In Azure sky.
I spy
A man below
And I would go
Amaying,
But my conscience is asaying
Angels belong up here.
‘Yet ‘tis drear
To see one so handsome and so near!
I fear
That I shall fall
And my angel dust
Shall turn to gall”.

A handsome man, looking upwards, did softly say,
“The day
Is beautiful. Pray
Float down
In your gossamer gown
From that painted sky.
Ney do not resist or frown.
You and I
May our sorrows drown
In yonder pub, for the audience refused to pay,
To see our most excellent play …!”