Category Archives: musings

The Rain

In the latter part of this week, London was visited by some heavy downpours.

I have always been a lover of the rain. And the recent heavy showers reminded me of my poem “Raining”, which is reproduced below:

“I awoke to the rain

Drumming on my window pane.

Opening my lattice, I let it in:

The purifying water that washes away sin.

The hypnotic sound

Of rain falling all around.

All my life, I have listened to the rain.

The same drumming

Of water coming

From the sky

Falling on you and I.

The rain has no end;

But you and I, my friend,

May listen for a while,

Smile,

Then pass on by”.

For a recording of me reading “Raining”, please visit, https://soundcloud.com/kevin-stephen-morris/raining-1.

“Raining” can be found in my “Selected Poems”, which is available as a Kindle download and in paperback, and is accessible here, https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07WW8WXPP/.

Hair Extensions

He confessed:
“She has hair extensions,
And other things best
Not to mention.
And the lays
She plays
Are as old as humanity.

You wouldn’t take her to meet mother
For tea,
For she
Is not that kind of a lover.
And the song she sings,
And other things,
Would cause disention.

She takes cabs everywhere.
And her hair
Has extentions
(As I have already mentioned).

She can never stay for long
And her song
I shall not mention
Lest it cause contention
Amongst those who would object
To, and reject,
Girls with hair extensions”.

Prostitute and Client

At a time meant for dolls
A boy, almost twice her age . . .
Her texts lack many LOLS.

Now they engage
Beneath the quilt.
Should he feel guilt?
She is no girl now,
But a woman of legal age.

He wonders how
And why?
Inwardly heaves a sigh,
And pays.

Hypocrisy

Those who would deny
That we are all hypocrites to some extent,
Should repent
Of their lie!

A few,
Its true
Maybe naive,
And themselves deceive.
Yet I
Say that most men, deliberately lie.

So I
Will try
Not to condemn
Other men
Lest they should find me out
And, from the church rooftops shout,
“Sir, you also, lie!”.

Some possess the art
To conceal, within their heart,
Their own hypocrisy. But conscience or fear
Does, in their nightmares shout,
“Your fellow man may find you out!”.

You May Speak of Morality

You may speak of morality
But when
Lonely men
Feel their mortality,
What chance
Has philosophise,
When man can
Enjoy The ancient dance,
Of a professional’s, calculating, eyes?

The Whig Version of History

There once was a young lady named Mystery
Who believed in the Whig version of history.
She would constantly stress
The inevitability of progress.
But her reasoning, it remains shrouded in mystery!