I pass by
Drains gurgling with rain.
How quickly rain
Drains away.
You and I
Are like the rain.
But rain
Does not die.
Drains Gurgling with Rain
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Author Archives: K Morris Poet
A Poem for the New Year
“Janus” appears in my collection “More Poetic Meanderings”, which was published in 2023:
Janus waits in the wings.
As with previous dead years
He will bring
Laughter and tears.
Doors open and close.
The futurologist thinks he knows
What the future holds.
But Janus thumbs his nose,
And history goes
On as before;
And where it goes
Heaven only knows.
Happy New Year!
A very happy new year to all of my readers! I hope 2024 is a good year for you all.
Best wishes. Kevin
Sunlight
This sunlight
On the wall.
The clock’s
Quiet tick tock.
This birdcall.
My dog on this matt.
I know that
All delight ends in night.
Hang the Jumper (a Tongue Twister)
Hang the jumper
On the hanger
In the handy
Hanging wardrobe.
A Kind of Song
I awake by you,
(Your headphones in).
I guess they quiet
The inner din
Of your unquiet mind)
Despite my desire
To avoid your fire
I have held you tight
For another night
Finding in your kiss
A kind of passing bliss
Tasting of perfume
Cigarettes and regret.
When my Busy Thoughts
When my busy thoughts
For a moment, stop,
I become aware
Of the clock
Ticking away my day.
I may turn away
And write.
But old Time
Will not delay
The night
To accommodate my rhyme.
I Met a Young Man Named Wong
I met a young man named Wong
Who spoke of wine, women and song.
When I said, “is that Housman?”,
He said, “no, it is Dowson!”.
He’s an educated young man is Wong!
A Hyacinth’s Scent Last Night
A hyacinth’s scent last night
Brought such delight
To me as she stood,
Pure and white
In her box of wood.
Others unopened stood
In that box of wood.
They will flower and die
As will I.
There Once Was a Place
There once was a place
Where men went
To find a kind
Of temporary content
And many a girl’s face
Graced that place
Where men could buy
A lie
Of love.
But perhaps a few
Believed it was true.
Some poor fools
Tried to buy
Girl’s love
With jewels.
The girls would smile
And would inwardly say,
“He is good
For a while
Until his money runs away”.
Sometimes, girls awaking from sleep
Would weep
And when kindly men
Heard them cry
They would wonder “why
Do I
Try to buy
Her love?”.
Some men would die
Inside and lose all empathy.
For such a He
The payment of a fee
Made everything okay
And he could say
And do
Whatever he wanted to.
Not all girls took drugs
And few had thugs
Keeping them in the life.
But poverty’s sharp knife
May cause us all
To slip and fall.
Some women freely chose
To give a certain part,
(But never their heart)
To men for a fee.
Though some deny
That such women freely chose
Or maintain that she
Is the minority
And that the privileged few
May have true
Freedom, while the majority
Are not free.
The place has long gone
But the profession lives on.
In dark streets
And expensive hotels
Client and girl meet
And the poet tells
How a fee
Often obfuscates morality.
And how all must
End in dust.
And
K Morris - Poet 