Her kiss (so desired),
My body fired
By lust.
And after
The kisses, and laughter,
Thoughts of dust.
Kisses
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Category Archives: musings
There Is Snow On The Lawn
A couple of weeks ago, I composed a poem entitled “December Snow”, which was subsequently read by me on Vancouver Co-Op Radio’s The World Poetry Reading Series.
Today I awoke to find the lawn covered in late December snow, so thought I would re-post my reading of the poem, http://www.coopradio.org/content/world-poetry-caf%C3%A9-120.
December Snow:
A typical, December day.
The sun has stopped
Away,
And the temperature has dropped.
The forecasters say
There may
Be snow.
I well remember the December
Snow.
And playing on frozen pond.
But oh, so long Ago!
And I shall grow
Old. and remember December
Snow.
We count the cost
Once things are lost.
And the foolish, wishing to sunbathe,
Pray for the coming heatwave.
Waking, Much Later Than Intended
Waking, much later than intended
I see
The pretended,
And rush to make tea.
For my fun
is ended
And we must run.
I to my desk
And she
Home, to her rest.
Delight for a night
Maybe mine,
Again, for a time.
To rhyme
Is free
And tea
Is cheap.
While her smile
Will beguile
For a while
Sparrows In A Tree
A myriad sparrows singing
To me from a tree.
Their song
Bringing joy
To girl and boy.
I know not how long
My song
May be.
But sparrows in a tree,
Sang to me.
Happy Christmas!
A very happy Christmas to you, all of my readers. Thank you for reading my poetry during 2020.
Have a wonderful Christmas.
Very best wishes. Kevin
This Winter Sunshine
This winter sunshine.
This ticking clock.
Now I am here.
Then I am not.
This Clock
This wine
Is not divine.
Yet it is good.
The sun may shine
On me tomorrow.
And the clock on the wall
Has no will at all.
Nameless women survive in a rhyme
And time
Would laugh, if it could
At poets who obsess
Over their reputation,
And the unknowing tick tock,
Of the uncaring, ensnaring clock.
There Once Was A Turkey Called Paul
There once was a turkey called Paul
Who, not liking Christmas at all
Escaped one snowy Christmas eve
With a fox called Steve.
The rest I fail to recall.
Open Window
We both drank tea.
She smoked a cigarette
At my open window.
Pleasure tinged with regret.
Smoking is not my vice.
Thrice I have seen.
I know
A poem maybe
A window
Into a man’s soul.
When I Said to Pretty Miss Ling
When I said to pretty Miss Ling,
“Passion, it is a very strange thing!”.
The vicar raised his old eyebrows
As she took off her blouse.
While the bishop spoke of the spring.
