We maintain
The urbane
And are witty
In the city.
But those who hark
To the fox’s bark
In the suburban dark
Find the urbane
Hard to maintain
And their wit
Begins to slip.
(Note: the above poem appears in my collection “Leaving and Other Poems”, which is available in Kindle and paperback from Amazon https://www.amazon.co.uk/Leaving-other-poems-Kevin-Morris/dp/B09R3HR9KG).
When a young lady known as Miss Lee
Said, “I know that you don’t like me!”.
And I said, “you are nice,
But I have never liked vice!”,
She said, “what if I wave the fee …!
The sound of children playing ball.
A Blackbird’s call.
Sunlight on green grass.
I know all this must pass,
Yet take delight
On this spring day
In the call of the blackbird
And children’s play.
There once was a girl named Meg
Who hid in a giant Easter egg.
But the sun shone down
And she turned chocolate brown,
And got eaten along with that egg!
On passing the golf course
On my horse named galloping thought,
I heard a blackbird trill.
At once my horse stood still
And my heart was caught
By the bird’s song.
But that stubborn old galloping horse
Did not stop long.
And my thought ran on.
I know a young lady named Purvis
Who is known for her special service.
When the lights go down
I’ve seen the vicar frown
When the bishop disappears with Miss Purvis …
The clock shows the wrong time.
Sometimes a poem doesn’t rhyme.
I’ve heard people curse
At free verse,
But rhymes
Divine.
On a spring day
Our shadows passed
Over the woodland grass.
We discussed logs
And how they decay.
As our dogs
Lost themselves in play
I envied them
And pitied we men.
The rain came
And drummed on the car roof.
Now I sit
Listening to the clock’s steady tick
And thinking on the truth
That clocks, as hearts must stop.
But the rain will remain.
K Morris - Poet 