Two is company but three
Is a crowd you see.
Yet for some three is the magic number.
Fear of judgement may encumber
The desire to fish
But still waters run deep
And the wish
To sleep
May overtake
And secret fires wake
There was a young poet named Zeff
Who wrote a poem about death.
The Grim Reaper heaved a great sigh
And said “I have long pondered on why
You poets are so obsessed with death”.
Posted without comment, http://www.dailymail.co.uk/sciencetech/article-4952658/Reading-makes-feel-empathy-others.html
She was a party girl
Her head in a whirl
Of boys
And expensive toys.
She offered
“No strings fun”
In exchange for money proffered
By those who would
(if they only could)
outrun
The solemn tick tock
Of the ever present clock.
She was gone one day,
Who can say
Where?
Few care
To know.
The man of the world shrugs.
“Drugs.
Best not go
There.
She had naturally blonde hair
I think.
Will you take another drink?”
The chimes
Are out of tune with the times.
Which way will the pendulum swing?
And what will the future bring?
The tick tock
Of a balanced clock
Is long since gone
But the mechanism grinds on.
The clock may be repaired
And it’s owners spared
The eratic pendulum’s swing
That no balance does bring.
A steady chime
To tell the time
And the singing of a blackbird
Must once more be heard.
To celebrate National Poetry Day, (which took place on 28 September), BBC local radio commissioned 12 poets from across England to write a poem incorporating a local word. To be frank some of these poems left me cold. I was, however rather taken with “Twittens”. To read the 12 poems please visit http://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/articles/4jjwQBspBn4NLRyB53d0dnJ/national-poetry-day-free-the-word.
Below are 2 poems which are taken from my collection of poetry and prose, “Dalliance”, which was published in 2014. The first poem is entitled “Fire” and the second “Midnight”.
—
“I have felt the fire’s power;
It kindles brightly and sinks within the hour.
I have watched the embers dying fast;
Looked into the future and gazed into the past.
I have raked the ashes cold, felt the bleakness in my soul”.
—
“Midnight, black as pitch.
No scheming demon, ghost, nor witch.
Only the darkness, which in the human heart resides, manifests itself in cruelty and pride”.
—
There was a young lady called Lou
Who fell into a vat of glue.
A handsome young doctor named Shane
Said “I share all your pain
For I am in love with you!”.
I heard
An Autumn bird
Sing to me
From a tree,
As I took
A short-cut
Through the grounds
Of the doctor’s surgery.
On such a day, when the winter sun
Casts my shadow upon yonder wall,
It is difficult to recall
That all
This will, one day, be done.
In future, will some other one, sitting here and seeing their shadow fall
Upon this self-same wall,
Know that they may not forestall
The night
Where dancing shadows are forever lost from sight.
—
(Written on 3 December 2016, while sitting in my study).
—
(Note: “Shadows” can be found in my latest collection of poetry, “My Old Clock I Wind”, which is available from Amazon, https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0735JBVBG and from Moyhill Publishing, http://moyhill.com/clock/).
K Morris - Poet 