My dog of whom I am extremely fond
Has a habit of jumping in the pond.
Then he gets a certain smell
Which I know all too well,
And of which I am not that fond!
(A couple of days ago I took my guide dog Apollo for a walk in Crystal Palace park with my friend and his Rhodesian Ridgeback. Being a Labrador Retriever, Apollo decided that it would be tremendous fun to go swimming in a pond, twice!)
When a naked young lady from Ealing
Went and swung from the bishop’s ceiling,
A spinster called Hocking
Found it most shocking!
And the bishop gazed at the ceiling!
There is a kind of butterfly
Who alights at night
And brings pleasure for a time
To lovers of rhyme.
And these butterflies
They go with day,
Although they may
Be caught in rhyme
And live on
When they are gone.
In the library I would look at books
And seashells, so near to shelves
Drowning in books.
At the time this seemed incongruous to me.
But now I see no incongruity
For the sea
Will, one day, sweep all this culture away
Leaving only shells.
When a haughty young lady named Kath
Demanded that I run her a bath,
And I said, “do it yourself!”
She said, “but I’m an elf!”. ,
I said, “go magic your own bath!”
As I sit thinking about poetry
I hear the birds calling to me.
I spend far too much time
Pondering on rhyme,
While the sun rises and sets
On my regrets,
So soon lost in the great maelstrom
Of whirling time.
Since returning to London on 22 April, I have recorded many of my poems on TikTok, https://www.tiktok.com/@kevinmorrispoet. You don’t have to have a TikTok account in order to view my videos.
If you visit my TikTok and like what you hear, do please consider following me on TikTok.
A most respectable gentleman of the church
Would like to bring back the birch.
His friend Miss Wood
Believes that is good,
And likes to give him the birch!
When I saw Eliot doing a handstand
I asked him to explain the Wasteland.
He said, “my poem is complex
And many people it has vexed!”.
I said, “yes! That I can understand!”
I leave the pub behind
And find
In the song of birds
The truth not heard
In the words
Of men
Who prate and hate.
So I listen to birds
And purifying rain
For there is no hate
In birds or rain.
K Morris - Poet 