She looked
For her lost socks
In my flat.
On looking
I have found that
A lost earring
Or similar such thing
Is easily discovered
In bedcovers.
She found her socks
And I pleasure.
But, I wonder whether
I have lost
The capacity to love.
Now I’ve passed the half century mark
And the dark
Of night no longer hides from sight,
A girl’s hand
Laid on my arm
And the charm
Of her dark hair
Can still command
My poet’s heart and art.
All you said,
Was “take care”,
But your long black hair
And open heart
Brought the thought of bed
Where no lover does grace
The vacant space.
In this temple, open to the air,
I feel you everywhere.
These Doric Columns speak of our yesterday.
But you will stay
When I and they
Are but clay.
These ancient Yew
And Redwood trees
Have heard wind sing
Over long centuries.
But your cold blast
Will outlast the Yew.
—
This poem stems from a visit to the temple of Aeolus in Kew Gardens with my friend Brian on 29 September 2023. You can find out a little about the temple here, https://www.kew.org/kew-gardens/whats-in-the-gardens/woodland-garden-and-temple-of-aeolus.
I awoke on an island with seals
And spied a young lady in heels.
When I said, “my dear,
How did we get here!”,
She said, “we got kidnapped by seals!”.
I am not indifferent to the charms
Of a young woman’s arms.
So when your arm wound around me
Of course I was flattered
For you are much younger than me.
I have had dreams shattered
So will believe that it was merely
Out of friendly regard
That your youthful arm
Wound around me.
In the churchyard
On my way home alone
I passed by cold stones
And contrasted their charms
With your warm arms.
My dear friend the beautiful Miss Lee
Has won prizes for her erotic poetry.
She came round last night
With a girl called white
And we played at cards till 3.
When your fun is done
And she goes home
And you are left alone,
Do you consider
Her youth
And that perfect figure?
Perhaps you consider
The truth:
How lack of finance
Or other mischance
Leads her to dance
With a rake
Who, fearful of dust
Takes, in lust
A young woman who
Needs your wealth,
But holds in contempt
You and herself.
I know a young lady named Sun
Who is always up for some fun.
Her and Miss Claire
Work in the fair,
And from their boyfriends I must run!
I know a most delightful old squire
Who has never been seen with Moriah.
She wears a short dress
And I have to confess
That she looks rather like the squire!
Walking through these sweet scented leaves
I know autumn has come.
A solitary bird
Sings somewhere in the cool air.
While outside these sheltering trees
Civilisation goes on
And a few solitary birds
Sing their song
Of empires long since gone.
K Morris - Poet 