There was a young man called Matt
Who owned a very large cat.
One cold day
I regret to say
He wore it instead of a hat …!
There Was A Young Man Called Matt
3 Replies
Category Archives: uncategorised
Behind
Being blind
Sometimes I find
Myself wondering, as heels pass
“Who is that lass?
Is she young or old?
Bold
Or shy
And what colour are her eyes?”
On occasions perfume, as of a flower
Does overpower
My senses, and I construct castles in the air
Wherein I while away many an hour
Thinking on the tender flower
Where other bees than me
Make free.
How the senses can deceive.
The girl I perceive
As being in the flush of youth
Is, in truth
(I blush) To admit it, sometimes a lady of mature years
Who has, perchance shed many tears
Over lovers past
And, by heavens no young lass!
Behind
Blind
Eyes
Lies
A mind
As frail
And lustful, as any sighted male
Requiescat by Matthew Arnold
Strew on her roses, roses,
And never a spray of yew!
In quiet she reposes;
Ah, would that I did too!
Her mirth the world required;
She bathed it in smiles of glee.
But her heart was tired, tired,
And now they let her be.
Her life was turning, turning,
In mazes of heat and sound.
But for peace her soul was yearning,
And now peace laps her round.
Her cabin’d, ample spirit,
It flutter’d and fail’d for breath.
To-night it doth inherit
The vasty hall of death.
Why Do I Care?
Why do I care
When you call me “sir”?
I say “call me by my name”
But, again and again
You draw that distinction between you and I.
“Tell me my friend, why?”
I am no Communist red
With idealism pervading my head.
But as one human to another
I tell you my friend, “you are my brother”.
So I guess that is why I care
When you call me “sir”.
There Was a Young God Called Mars
There was a young god called Mars
Who picked a fight in all the bars.
He grew rather pale
When they threw him in jail
As he didn’t like the bars …!
Grit
I am told
Your love is gold.
This You confirm,
Which makes me squirm
And sigh,
Yet ask not why
For I
Have grit in mine own eye.
Board
Stiff as a board.
But more reluctant,
With only the invisible cord
To loosely tie
You to I.
A sigh.
The night dies
Away.
Into indifferent day
And no compassion have you for I.
When Money and Sex Meet
When money and sex meet,
They play a weary game.
There is neither victory nor defeat,
Only face-burning shame
Poet and Author, Kevin Morris Interviewed by Annette Rochelle Aben on Blogtalk Radio
I was honoured to be interviewed by Annette, on Blogtalkradio, regarding my poetry and other meanderings.
The show also includes me reading several of my poems.
For the podcast please visit HERE
A big thank you to Annette for interviewing me!
Kevin
Veil
The thing he can not express
The dress
That never was
Because …
Words he can not speak
Leave him weak.
Should he seek
For answers from the Mother Superior
Or her inferior?
The inferior speaks the truth.
Does the roof
Then fall in
Exposing Mother Superior’s sin?
Oh how frail
Is the veil
Separating heaven from hell, and how easy to expose
The fact that the emperor has no clothes …
