Sitting in my living room
I hear the wind.
It will be gone soon,
And it’s blast
Will outlast
Thee and me.
The Blast
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Category Archives: musings
Stream Of Consciousness More Or Less
Stream of consciousness
More or less.
Heels and shopping deals.
She steals
Away.
He will shop another day
It Is A Chilly Day
It is a chilly day.
Should I be bold
And say
That I require? desire?
Some heat
To defeat
The cold
For today?
Your Hand Can Command A Fire
Your hand
Can command
A fire.
Desire burns
Ere it turns
Into pools
Where fools
Drown in sin
While the devil of lust
And dust
Looks on with a woolfish grin.
On this Windy Day
On this windy day
In April
I can not say
Whether the flowers I pass
On this woodland path
Will stay
For another day.
I think
That they
Are the same as those
I saw before,
Although I can not say
For sure
Whether it be so.
I suppose
That both I and they
Will see the rain’s tears
In future years,
But this I can not say
For sure.
Geranium
On Good Friday I gave to you
A geranium in a pot.
We agreed on the need for air.
I know not
Whether you are showing care
To that token
Which, although unspoken
You knew to be true.
And now you have your air
And I mine.
I remember you
On my sofa blue.
No line
Was crossed.
The cost
Was a cheap
Priceless geranium in a pot
You may or may not, keep.
Red Lights
Red lights
Bring delight
For a moment,
On a street.
High-heeled feet.
Men are lost
In arms
They can not own,
Then, alone
Return home.
(This poem was inspired by Lorraine’s “Red Lights”, https://blindwilderness.wordpress.com/2019/04/25/red-lights/).
Regret
I,
know that ’tis easy, when alone
To pick up the telephone,
Or to click on the internet,
And buy,
Regret.
I Think Of You Without Shoe Or Sock
I think of you
Without shoe
Or sock,
But passion’s knock
Will never be heard
So I shall cease this empty word
Play and do something useful with my day.
But, when in the land
Of sleep,
You may creep
Into my head, for I can not command
The shadows of dreamland
Where passion unlocks
And girls lose
Their shoes
And socks …
The Cup Which Touched Your Lips
The cup which
Touched your lips
Is chipped.
I know
It wasn’t so
When you took
The cup
To your lips.
We both drank tea.
But I did sup
From a separate cup
To thee.
K Morris - Poet 