In the churchyard,
A morning bird
Sounded an alarm call,
Then, silence,
fell,
Over all
Alarm
2 Replies
Category Archives: musings
Solitary Bird
On a cold December evening
I heard
A solitary bird
And sought for meaning
In her song of joy and pain.
Doubtless, I shall do so again
For ’tis easy to see poetry,
Though she, sings not for humanity.
An opportunity for Croydon authors and poets to sell their work on Sunday 8 December
Sean Creighton is running a stall in Croydon, on Sunday 8 December, offering authors the opportunity to display/sell their works. If you are an author and/or poet based in the vicinity, and are interested in participating, please see this link for details, https://seancreighton1947.wordpress.com/2019/12/01/croydon-events-and-news-at-2-december/.
He Counts Heels At Night
He counts heels at night.
His heart torn
By stilettos worn
By girls, both black and white.
He counts heels at night.
He counts heels at night,
Remembering nameless women.
Recollections of sinning
And delight.
He counts heels at night.
He counts heels at night
And feels
The weight of years
And empty tears
He counts heels at night.
He counts heels at night.
But how does one measure
The pain and pleasure
Of girls in heels
Who pass at night.
The Potter and the Clay
Of a winter’s day
The potter may
Warm the clay,
Though he and they
Are but clay.
10 of The Best Poems About Time
In “10 of the Best Poems About Time”, the blog, Interesting Literature, provides links to (and a brief analysis of) 10 poems dealing with time and (naturally enough) clocks, https://interestingliterature.com/2019/12/01/10-of-the-best-poems-about-time/.
I have long been fascinated by time and well remember listening to the ticking of a wall mounted pendulum clock, as a young boy whilst attending Wavertree School for the Blind in Liverpool.
In my home I have several clocks, including a tingtang clock, which lives on the bookcase in my living room. It is this clock, which was manufactured in 1910, from which inspiration for the below poem is drawn:
“My old clock I wind
And much philosophy therein find.
I can bring
The pendulum’s swing
To a stop with my hand;
Yet I cannot command
Time to default
On his duty and halt
The passing of the years.
He has no ears
For our laughter and tears
And his sickle will swing on
Long after we are gone”.
(“My Old Clock I Wind”, first appeared in “My Old Clock I Wind” and Other Poems”, https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B0735JBVBG/. It can also be found in my “Selected Poems”, https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07WW8WXPP/
In this old, familiar wood
In this old, familiar wood
I take my hood
Down, just
In time for the rain.
I shall not put it up again.
Thoughts of lust,
Of lost love,
And friendship I shall retain,
For a while. But this wood
And the rain,
Shall remain.
I Think Of A Goddess Long Ago
I think of a goddess long ago
As your hair does flow,
Oh so slow,
And softly, over my hand.
Do you know
what power you command
Of pleasure and despair
When your hair
Swishes, against my hand?
In Egypt Isis slipped
Away,
But your hair
Does demand
In me a stare
Today
To A Rose
Sometimes I compose a poem and, having done so conclude that it is, in fact 2 (separate) compositions.
Yesterday I composed “To Flowers that, In Springtime Bud”, https://kmorrispoet.com/2019/11/30/to-flowers-that-in-springtime-bud/. It consisted of 2 stanzas, however I posted here only the second of these with the title “To Flowers that, In Springtime Bud”. Today I am posting the first stanza which is, as I say above, an entirely separate poem.
What the poet thinks is, of course, not necessarily the same as his readers, so do please feel free to comment if you disagree with my interpretation of the matter.
—
‘Tis a fine
Thing
To see the spring
Divine,
And compose
A poem, to a rose,
That she
Will never see.
Poetry and Prose
Shall I compose
In free
Verse? (which is still poetry),
Or write in prose?
And where does poetry
Begin, and prose
Come to an end?
Please tell me,
My literary friend!
K Morris - Poet 