A wiff
Of cheap scent
On bedclothes
For him to sniff
When she goes.
How easy it is to repent
Of the money spent
But, he knows
That when the wine flows
The weak
Will seek
For a she of a certain profession.
Had he belief
He would make his confession
To the priest who knows
Where the lost soul goes
To find a temporary relief
On the Siren’s reef.
When in drink
We say what we really think
Our friends we scandalise.
But who knows
What goes
On behind those sober eyes …?
We pass
Before the glass,
Slake
And forsake.
To take
But not possess.
Her dress
Or jeans.
Scenes
Are in the mirror caught.
Our time is bought
But the glass will not tell
What we know
Oh too well …!
There once was a werewolf called Guy
Who went out when the moon was high.
When the moon disappeared
He became afeared
And would shake and sometimes cry!
There was a young lady named Bess
Who wore a little black dress
While out on the catwalk.
And people did talk
On account of the split in that dress!
There was a young lady named Lou
Who said “no gentleman are you!”.
I replied in distress
“I must confess
That twas I who stole your shoe!”.
On 26 June, I published a post in which I link to a podcast of a discussion between 2 blind poets, Giles L Turnbull and Dave Steele, https://newauthoronline.com/2018/06/26/writing-blind/. As you will see from this post on Giles’s blog he and I both attended University College of Swansea (at the same time) and we both worked as civil servants in London, http://gilesturnbullpoet.com/2018/07/01/i-spy-with-my-little-eye-something-beginning-with-a-poet/.
Life is certainly full of coincidences as is demonstrated by Giles and I bumping into one another online! You can find Giles’s debut pamphlet, “Dressing up” here, https://www.cinnamonpress.com/index.php/products-listing/product/247-dressing-up. Having read the collection I can wholeheartedly recommend this little book.
You left your shoes under my bed.
I discovered them there
Where they hid.
You said
To keep them for you.
So I could not be rid
Of your high heel shoe.
I remember you
Taking off your shoe
And the game we two
Did play
Many a day
Ago.
No,
You never did reclaim those shoes
We did lose
That day
And eventually, I threw them away.
If Jack and Jill
Went up a hill
Today
What would people say?
Is the hill
A metaphor
For the stair
Where
Jack and Jill …
Or nothing more
Than a plain, old hill?
Did Jill
Push Jack
Down that Hill?
And did he,
Fighting back
Bring that she
(Known as Jill)
Tumbling,
Their hands fumbling,
Down that Hill?
Should the Old Bill
Investigate?
Perhaps a date
Went wrong? But no, tis a crime
To spoil a children’s nursery rhyme!
There was a young diplomat called Guy
Who would never knowingly lie.
The ambassador Ruth
Fudged the truth
Which made that young man cry!
There was a young diplomat called Guy
Who would never knowingly lie.
The ambassador Ruth
Thought him uncouth
And rolled her one good eye!
K Morris - Poet 