The bedroom door is open.
No words are spoken
Passions stir
But noone is there.
Closing the bedroom door,
Memories I recall.
‘Tis all
As it was before.
The Bedroom Door
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Category Archives: creative writing
There Once Was A Poet Named Lin
There once was a poet named Lin
Who wrote poems on a baked bean tin.
She composed in free verse,
Which grew progressively worse,
But all the Modernists loved Lin!
When A Young Lady Named Leigh
When a young lady named Leigh
Dated a debauchee,
Her good friend Kate,
Being a reprobate,
Joined those 2 for tea.
When That Old Reprobate Death
When that old reprobate death
Fell in love with Beth,
She hid away
And I heard her say,
“I value my sweet breath!”.
Forthcoming Poetry Reading and a “Selected Poems”
On Wednesday 13 March, I shall be giving a private poetry reading, along with several other poets. I have a slot of 15 minutes to fill, and I am in the process of determining which of my poems to read. Thus far I have decided to recite the below poems:
I shall be spending part of my weekend in deciding which of my other poems to read.
Sorting through my work kindles in me a desire to publish a “selected Poems”. This is, I think a longer-term project requiring considerable thought and much burning of the midnight oil. It is, nonetheless something on which my heart is set.
Kevin
There Was A Young Lady Of Deal
There was a young lady of Deal
Who broke a cheap high-heel.
She hopped through the town
In her flimsy nightgown
Pursued by a vicar called Neil!
How Pleasant It Is To Dream
How pleasant it is to dream
In the pristine
Groves of academe,
Where the hard
Fact of a messy backyard
Is rarely, or never seen.
There Was A Young Man Named Slattery
There was a young man named Slattery
Who said “imitation is the sincerest form of flattery”.
But when they copied his art,
It broke his heart,
So he retired to live in a hattery!
A Journalist By The Name Of Lou
A journalist by the name of Lou
Has published a story about us two.
It concerns last night
When, by the star’s bright light
You lost a high-heel shoe …
As You Pass
As you pass
By the grass
My friend,
Do you, As I
Know that all flesh is grass
In the end?
K Morris - Poet 