Should I repent
Of her sweet scent?
She is free
Yet, her scent
Is costly to me.
Am I responsible for society,
With all of it’s flaws?
Heels click on floors.
And I ponder on the responsibility
Of her, and me, and society.
There once was a poet from Gwent
Who, having all his meagre earnings spent
In his local sauna,
On pretty Miss Lorna.
Composed a poem about paying the rent!
When a silver-haired poet known as Kevin
Said, “I grow ever nearer to sweet heaven
As I turned 52 today”,
A young lady named Fay
Said, “you’re drunk and its not yet 7!”.
When a vicar named Warner
Walked into a backstreet sauna,
And religious Miss Fay
Said, “shall we pray?”.
That greatly confused vicar Warner!
A bench replete
With flowers,
In winter’s wood.
Hours
Incomplete,
Marked by a stone
Clock with lost hands.
We go into the unknown
Wood.
But, perhaps a bench may stand
To commemorate
Those who, of a late
Winter afternoon,
Think on nature’s passing bloom.
A confession
About my obsession
With clocks.
Their ticks
And tocks.
But all obsessions,
Eventually, stop.
A very happy new year to you all. May 2021 be a much better year than the previous one!
Very best wishes. Kevin
The dead may speak,
Through the poet’s art.
His readers may weep.
Yet, some things run so deep,
They can not be expressed in art.
I face my darkening window.
My curtain
Will shut out the night.
I know
Morning’s light
Must come.
But who can be certain
That he
Will see
The sun?
You can find
Any kind
Of takeaway.
Thai or Chinese.
Or whatever you please
Is online.
But, you must pay
A fee
For your takeaway.
As to dine
Does not come free
And, after
the wine
And laughter,
Your delivery will depart,
Leaving no broken heart.
