Back seat
Car meets.
Or a certain hotel,
That she knows well.
Birds sing
In spring.
At 19,
What does she dream?
Meets
2 Replies
When A Young Lady Named Michelle
When a young lady named Michelle
Said, “you should sell, sell sell!”.
And I said, “are you a stockbroker?”,
And she said, “no, I’m a joker”.
I said, “I prefer miss Nell!”.
Share Your Poems
I recently blogged regarding an opportunity for poets to have their poems aired, https://kmorrispoet.com/2020/04/08/an-opportunity-for-poets-to-have-their-work-aired/.
The organiser, David Vickery, has created a Facebook page to promote the sharing of poems concerning COVID-19, which can be found here, https://m.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100049345031282.
You can find David’s Youtube where he reads poems on Corona/Covid-19 which have been submitted to him here, https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCERRl7-EinGfUMCKePVlD3A.
As of today (17 April), David has uploaded 1 poem, which can be found here, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=f8S6YZQjCzw.
If you are interested in contacting David and having your poem read, please follow the above links
Kevin
A Humorous Reimagining of Church of England Services in the Light of the Corana Virus/Covid-19
A humorous reimagining of Church of England services in the light of the Corana Virus/COVID-19, https://www.salisburyreview.com/blog/certain-amendments-to-the-liturgy-and-hymnody-of-the-church-of-england-for-the-duration-of-the-present-emergency/.
The Kiss
A young lady whose name is Kate
Said, “the evening it grows very late”.
So I gave her a kiss,
And she cried out in bliss.
Then her father he opened the gate!
Time
On a beautiful spring night
I heard, with some delight
The gentle tick tock
Of a long deceased clock.
Time is always there.
Yet I care
For the tick tock
Of an individual clock.
Each, separate timepiece
Must,
One day
Cease.
And I shall go away,
And all the philosophy discussed,
Shall turn to dust.
Whilst Walking In The Forest Green
Whilst walking in the forest green
I met with the fairy queen,
Who said,”la belle dame sans merci”.
I said, “do, please excuse me,
But is this a Keatsian dream?”.
Afterwards
She leaned forward slightly, across the wide table, her breasts pressing against the thin silk dress.
It was, in fact not real silk. However it was a first-rate copy and only the man with a trained eye would have spotted the fake, and Tim knew as much about genuine fabrics as the average man or woman knows about anglo saxon poetry.
“You know Tim that I’d like to come back. How do you English say, to your place?”
“Yeah”, he said, trying hard to look away from those barely concealed globes of delight.
“But there’s something I need to ask you”, she continued, her tongue circling her lips. “Are you protected?”.
“Sorry. I don’t follow?”, Tim said, his hand moving to take Chauntele’s, which rested on the delicately patterned tablecloth.
“Protection”, Chauntele said, lowering her gaze so as to examine the pattern on the tablecloth.
“Oh, yeah, of course. I’ve condoms back at my place”, he said, his eyes also discovering something fascinating in the design of the cloth.
“No, sweetie. Are you protected?”.
“Yeah. As I said, I have condoms back at my place. So its all good”, he said, lust contending with growing irritation in his breast.
Chauntele flipped open her smartphone, entered a password and showed the screen to Tim. “Tested negative for COVID-19 at Saint Matthew’s Testing Centre, on 31 August 2021”, the certificate read.
Tim sighed. it wasn’t going to be his lucky night …
Heat
Walking through the wood
In this weather hot
I think on should,
And should not.
I shall be good.
But, I have heard tell
That nymphs herein
Dwell.
Some say, that they
Are shy.
I shall stare at the sky
For, therein,
Sin
Is not.
Above, the hot
Sky,
Whilst below
Nymphs go
By.
I Walked The Woodland Path
I
Walked the woodland path
And passed
By
Tall, slender flowers.
Now I
Traverse, in verse
That self-same path,
And grow flowers
In my mind.
The flowers
May be gone tomorrow.
For I find
That we borrow
Time.
True, many a rose
Has been emmortalised in rhyme
But the poet knows,
That he has limited time.
K Morris - Poet 