In this wood,
In parts overgrown
I walked alone,
Yet I had a myriad tree
For company.
Then the rain came
And I was free,
For I am part
Of the wood’s heart
Which lives in me.
In this wood,
In parts overgrown
I walked alone,
Yet I had a myriad tree
For company.
Then the rain came
And I was free,
For I am part
Of the wood’s heart
Which lives in me.
When a young lady named Claire
Asked, “shall we have a sordid affair?”,
And I said, “just us 2?”,
She replied, “do you like Miss Lou?”,
And this poem, it stops right there …
When a young lady of Greece
Said, “when will your writing cease?”,
I replied, with a grin,
“Are you in to hot sin?”,
And then she called the police!
“With me
Its not just
A desire
For fire,
Its company
Also, for lust
Is fleeting as a girl’s forced smile,
There for a while,
Turned on
For me,
Then gone
With she
Who cares not for me,
Nor for my company”.
Sometimes I think that those
Who lop
And chop
At that which organically grows,
And think they do good
No not the wood
As a whole
Is possessed of a soul,
And that sometimes one should let be
Both wood
And tree,
For who
Are you
And I
To quantify variety?
A few days back, I received an email from a lady saying how nice it had been to meet me, expressing thanks for looking at her poems and asking if I could please provide her with the telephone number of a MS S. We had, she said met in a pub called The Bull.
All of this was delightful. However, I have no recollection whatsoever of having met the lady in question. I don’t frequent a pub called The Bull and I am not acquainted with MS s!
On receving the email, I had a moment of doubt. Had I, suffered a memory loss, or been in some third dimention! A few seconds thought led to the obvious conclusion that the lady had emailed me in error. She had, I assume met with another poet and wishing to ascertain Ms S’s number had searched online for the poet in question. However, rather than finding her acquaintence she had found one K Morris Poet online, namely myself!
I sent a polite response to my correspondent saying that she had emailed me by mistake and wishing her well with her poems, and that was the end of the matter save for a brief email from the lady apologising for her mistake.
This is not the first time that I have been mistaken for someone other than myself. I have been asked whether I played the piano in a pub I have never drunk in, and been asked if I used to live in an area with which I am unfamiliar. Perhaps I have a long lost twin of whom I am wholly unaware!
Whilst I have never propped up the bar in The Bull, I have, for many years enjoyed the convivial atmosphere in The Railway Bell, https://www.rampubcompany.co.uk/visit-pubs/railway-bell. The Bell has an unofficial lending library where customers can leave books and borrow those left by others. I am delighted that several of my books are on the shelves (you can see my “selected Poems” in the photograph below).
Kevin
A young lady who calls herself intellectual
Swears that she’s not at all sexual.
I’ve never seen her flirt
In her very short skirt,
As she’s pure and a true intellectual!
I remember the skirt
(Although you and I know
That there was not much of that).
There was no need to flirt.
Being sensible, I wore a hat.
And that
Would have been that,
Save for my desire
To remember the gas fire
And the carpet burns
On legs,
For we had no use for beds.
Oh how the clock’s hands turn
And man, he never learns.
When a young lady named Louise
Suggested we walk in the autumn leaves,
And I asked, “will Claire be there?”,
She gave me a pearcing glare,
She’s a jealous young lady is Louise!
(The above was inspired by Lorraine’s beautiful poem, https://blindwilderness.wordpress.com/2019/10/04/shenanigans/).
A young lady named Claire
Invited me into her lair,
Where we ate chocolate cake
But, when I tried to partake,
She threw me out of there!