In September 2015, I released “The Girl Who Wasn’t there”. You can find a book trailer (which includes me reading “Dolls”, a poem included in this collection, here
You can find “The Girl Who Wasn’t There” on Amazon
For a video of my friend, Shanelle reading the title poem please see below
When my friend, whose name is Jane
Composed a poem while on a train,
And I said, “your verse is too terse”,
She really did curse,
As we’d boarded the wrong train!
A creative writing coach named Wong
Said, “your poems are all wrong!”.
But when I did it his way
My readers did say,
“Your writing is very Wong!”.
At summer’s height
Girls delight
In short frocks.
And, on occasions, choose
To lose
Their shoes
And socks.
For by going bare
To the summer air
They find there
The joy of youth.
At summer’s height
The poet takes delight
In girls who
Go without shoe
Or sock,
For they sense not
Time’s, impending, knock.
Words thrown out
Dance about
And float into the sky
Or, as lead balloons, die.
All around
I hear
The sound
Of birds in the graveyard near
To my home.
As I walk alone,
Through this place of bone,
A thought profound,
“Those underground
Can not hear”.
In a vase you stay.
Soon you will be thrown away
In a bin.
How can I atone for the sin
Of removing you from nature’s embrace
To this urban place?
I sentimentalise its true
For you never knew
Nature’s embrace,
But doctored grew
In a place
Of glass
Where people pass
And say
“Customers will pay
Good money for that rose
But, I suppose
This other lot should be thrown away”.
‘Tis man who should count the cost
Of nature’s lost
Embrace
As we on keyboards clack
For we lack
The will
To stand still
And listen to the bird,
For the word
heard is “progress”, symbolised by
Doctored flowers, that in a vase, die.
He can not afford
To pay for board
Or meals
For the bawd,
In heels
His life’s blood steals
As I lay in my bath soaking.
I felt a most painful poking,
Which caused me to glare
At a comedian named Claire,
Who maintains she was only joking!
There was a young man named Paul
Who said, “all empires, one day, fall”.
My friend Jill
Lives on a hill,
But that’s nothing to do with Paul!
K Morris - Poet 