Doors bang
On winter nights.
Something clangs.
The brightest light
Must fade and die.
And tonight I
Hear the wild wind’s
Great impersonal roar.
And when the doors
Bang and slam
I know I am
Just windblown dust.
In honour of December, I am posting a poem from my collection More Poetic Meanderings, entitled In Early December:
“In early December
November’s leaves still adorn
The woodland lawn.
Man’s pattern is made
In light and shade
And the gardener’s rake
Rakes all leaves”.
More Poetic Meanderings is available in Kindle and paperback from Amazon and can be found here, https://www.amazon.co.uk/More-Poetic-Meanderings-K-Morris-ebook/dp/B0BZT9G139/
You can access a recording of me reading More Poetic Meanderings on Soundcloud here, https://soundcloud.com/kevin-stephen-morris/poet-kevin-morris-reading-from-his-collection-more-poetic-meanderings-part-1
When a young lady named Miss Hocking
Said, “your behaviour is really quite shocking!”,
I said, “what I done
I done it in fun!”.
She said, “your grammar is also shocking!”.
So girlie and innocent
In your fearful fascination
With the big snake
In the aquarium.
You took my hand
In that public place.
Such girl-like innocence
And our lost grace.
In the moment
There’s the mad thrust
Of unthinking lust.
But after pleasure
Come thoughts of dust.
A young woman in a dark cape
Wrapped me up with very thick tape
And posted me
To sunny Dundee,
Where I made a most daring escape!
There once was a poetical old monk
Who composed a poem about his skunk.
A pretty young nun
Said, “that was fun”.
And then they spoke of that skunk.
When a young lady waving a gun
Said, “are you up for some fun!”.
Having learned not to trifle
With a girl’s big rifle,
Of course I agreed to some fun …!
I check my feet.
The skin underneath
Has begun to crease
And my toes
Are sometimes stiff.
I am growing old.
I can not deny
My middle age.
But when girl’s feet
Pass me by
I know only dust
Will defeat my lust.
In the sunlit wood
I heard
The sound of love.
No word
Did I hear.
Simply the bliss
Of young lover’s lips
Came softly to me
As a bird
In a tree
Mimicked kisses for me.
K Morris - Poet 