Upper Norwood is extremely hilly, hence the title of this poem, “The Poet On The Hill”:
Of Hills And Poets
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Category Archives: creative writing
Deathbed
Did a shadow pass
Before the glass?
Why stare?
For there is no one there.
His head
Upon the deathbed
Breathes her scent.
Should he repent
And if so, of what?
The bed is hot
Where the cold girl lay.
He finds a number
(Not her’s,
The one who is descending the stairs)
But the girl he texted yesterday.
Should he slumber
Or encumber
The bedpost with another notch,
A further blotch
On the once virgin sheet?
There was a rich young man named More
There was a rich young man named More
Who was extremely fond of the poor.
When they asked him for money
He said “the weather is sunny
And I do adore the poor!”.
A Lover’s Hand
A hand
Can command
The ocean’s tide
To sweep aside
All convention
In waves that carry us away.
But it is my contention
(Despite what young lovers say)
That many a ship ends in grief
On a reef
That he and she
Are too blind to see
Eugenics
I knew
A man who
Was a progressive.
“The regressive
Tories” he hated.
He further stated
That “the unintelligent should not breed”.
Hitler’s seed
Runs through
Many a reactionary
And progressive too.
There was a young lady named Kate
There was a young lady named Kate
Who was invariably extremely late.
We sat in sorrow around her deathbed.
When the poor girl said
“You will have to wait and wait”.
Evensong
You were going to evensong.
I wanted to go along
But felt shy
To ask (I don’t know why).
An agnostic sitting in a pew
Next to you,
That wouldn’t do!
Though I know
That I wouldn’t be the first sceptic to attend
And pretend
Belief.
Our life here is brief
And religion softens grief
For the believer knows
That he goes
To a place
Where God’s grace
As sweet water does fall
On all.
In the singing of hymns
We forget our sins
And cough due to the dust
From ancient books,
While God looks
Down
With a frown
For he knows our lust …
Perhaps I will
Next time go along
To evensong
And perchance find a still
Place where God’s grace
Does fall
On all.
Though it may not be so
Nonetheless I shall go
Along
To evensong.
My Owl
I have lived in Upper Norwood since 1997. Upper Norwood is one of the greenest parts of Greater London and I am fortunate that my home overlooks an historic park. The prevalence of greenery leads to a diversity of wildlife, including foxes and owls.
From time to time an owl’s mournful cry reaches my ears. I like to think that he (or she) is the same owl. However given that I have resided in the same spot for some 20 years this is impossible.
Below is my poem “Owl
“Owl” can be found in my collection of poetry “Refractions” https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01L5UC2H2
They refused him entrance
“They refused him entrance because he was a Jew.
Imagine that today”.
He didn’t say
What his view
Of the matter was
And because
It was
Not my affair
I left them there
To talk
And took a walk
In God’s fresh air
There Was A Young Squire
There was a young squire
Who had a burning desire
For his family’s pretty maid,
But the girl being staid
Refused to light his fire!
K Morris - Poet 