On the internet
You may find love.
Regret.
God above.
(Or nature
Or some other creator).
On the internet regret
Is sold
For gold.
At the click of a mouse
A foreign spouse
Will come to stay
(If you can pay!).
Or a lover for the night
Will bring you sweet delight
But you must have money
To pay for your honey.
The web may mangle
And the unwary entangle
In pleasure and pain.
But, much is mundane
For there is nothing shocking
About food shopping.
I once had a friend called Grist
Who was a most fervent Social Darwinist.
Whilst out on the stormy sea
It was either him or me.
Oh, how I miss that Social Darwinist!
When a young lady whose name is Lou
Said, “I’m feeling really quite blue”,
And her dearest friend miss Bess
Said, “lets take off our dress”.
I thought, what should a shy man do …
In thee
I see
And hear
Beauty and cruelty.
The sweetness of birdsong
Brings tears to my eye,
For I
Know that our birdsong
Will not last long.
Some see cruelty
In the cat’s play with the bird,
But have they not heard
That we, in nature see
Our own inhumanity.
A cat
Remains just that,
A cat,
Whilst we …
Humans anthropomorphize
And say, in nature lies
Beauty and cruelty.
But, what we see
Is you and me.
The below was sent to me by a female friend and is reproduced with her kind permission. The poem pertains to an abusive relationship so, if this may trigger emotions you would not wish to be triggered, you may wish to avoid reading the below:
I’m glad I’m out of there
Now, it’s time for some self-care
You don’t deserve me
You pushed and you shoved me
Where there’s violence, there’s no real love there
You left your shoes under my bed.
It must
Be said
That there was no love, just lust
On my part,
And your calculating, heart.
You did not return,
And I, never learned.
It may seem strange to repost my poem “Autum Fly” in the spring. However, the weather was cold yesterday. Indeed it was autumnal and, for a time wintry in nature. The change in weather brought to mind “Autumn Fly”, which is reproduced below:
An autumn fly
Buzzes around my head.
Summer is dead
Yet will not die.
Seasons pass.
We are brittle as glass
This fly
And I.
Summer hides inside
The spring.
Yet I find
That winter is not far behind,
For when the cold wind
Does blow,
On a spring day
I know
That each season passeth away.
Though, Winter’s snow may stay
For a cold spring day.
Whilst the late summer sun
Says, “autumn will come”.
When a gentleman said, “I maintain
That you sir, are extremely vain!”,
I said, “that I deny.
I’m a very modest guy,
Who can’t help his superior brain!”.
The path taken less often than I should,
This tranquil track through a nearby wood.
A spot with trees for walls
Where sunlight through the branches falls.
An oasis from the urban din
I find a quiet place within.
An inner space where the heart can be still,
A peaceful spot on this wooded hill.
The path to the road ascends.
A cloud of gloom on me descends.
I must return to this rented land
Where advertising hoardings stand.
A world where empty vessels make most noise,
And people play with broken toys.
—
“The Path Through the Wood” can be found in my collection, “Lost in the Labyrinth of My Mind”, which is available in the Amazon Kindle store, https://www.amazon.com/Lost-labyrinth-my-mind-Morris-ebook/dp/B01AF5EPVY/.
A Sitting Long-nosed Bear or Wolf Sculpture
The poem was inspired by my walks through Spa Woods, an ancient area of woodland which I am lucky enough to have very close to my home. You can find out about Spa Woods here, https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Spa_Wood.
Butterfly Sculpture
K Morris - Poet 