The memory remains
Of cold flames
And skin
Against skin.
I may have learned
Her real name
But my memory retains
Rough carpet burns
And a skirt
So short,
That, on first look
I mistook
It for a belt.
No lover was spurned.
She never returned.
When a young lady known as Prism
Said, “the sun he has just risen”.
And they said, “Claire!
Beware of that bear!”,
She said, “my name it is Prism!”.
There is still snow
And ice
In the churchyard nearby.
But below
There is know sigh
As vice
And virtue lie
Under December sky.
Me, on the periphery
Engaging in desultory
Conversation with the barman.
As they sing karaoke.
I say goodnight
To the lone barman.
Momentarily partake
Of the firelight,
Then forsake
It for the night.
This poem first appeared on my blog some years back and is reproduced below in amended form:
Whilst out shopping
I see girl’s shoes
And lose
Myself in a shocking
Thought, of stilettos bought
By young women who,
At night
Bring delight
With loss of shoe
And stocking.
But I have shopping
Still to do!
When a pretty young lady named Miss Lou
Said, “you should take care what you do
As there are young women
To tempt you into sinning,
I said, “yes, I’ll see you at 2 …!”
Leaving the freezing dark
Of the silent park
The house lights
Punctuate my night.
We huddle in houses
With lovers and spouses
While the night
Mocks our temporary light
When a young lady who is exotic
Suggested that we do something very erotic,
I said to her, “Lou,
I would really love to,
But my wife she is very despotic!”.
My shadow goes
In front of me
On a cold
Though sunny December day.
Behind the sunshine
I often see
A cold shadow grow.
But is that me?
When an adventurous young lady named Miss Fay
Invited us all to play in the hay,
The squire’s Beagle
Discovered a needle,
And the squire made hay with Miss Fay!
K Morris - Poet 