For the blank
Stare
Of the fish tank,
thank
the shark
Who dwelt in the dark
He has had his wish
And eaten all the fish,
But can no longer glare
As consuming his source of food
Perforce
The reaper stark
Did intrude
And made the shark
His food …
A perceptive analysis of Edward Thomas’s wonderful poem “Rain”, https://interestingliterature.com/2016/09/09/a-short-analysis-of-edward-thomass-rain/.
Love and death are the poet’s great obsession.
Wile the former session
May be long or brief,
‘Tis certain, the performance, once over, ends in grief.
I have lain awake listening for the owl’s cry.
A note that chills
Thrills
Then does die.
One day
This bird of prey
Will carry my soul away,
Or so the supersticious say.
Mice hide
While I, in my pride
Decide
The owl’s erie cry
Signifies that I will die.
The bird has no interest in me
So why can I not be free
From his cry
That to my window nigh
does rise, then, as suddenly, die?
If I died yet dreamed on
How would I know that I had gone?
When I go will it be in a darkened room
With cloying perfume
Hanging like a stark
question mark,
In the unmoved air?
I shall beware
The unlit stair
For I may go
Below
Lest I tread with care.
Will I leave at dawn
With only the birds to mourn?
Or perchance it will be among friends
Who, seeing my end
Will say
“Blast. A blaggard to the last!
He failed to pay, his bill ere he went away”!
I know not the day
But pray
I go with conscience clear,
Without fear
And with those to me dear
Standing near.
A brief interlude
Of smooth bare arms
And female charms.
This verse crude
Must conclude
In lust
And dust.
“He’s dead”
She said.
What to say?
Meaningless words
Of sympathy, by her probably only half heard
While thinking “I must get away,
The shop will soon close
And heaven knows
I am out of milk. Well nearly so.
Poor lady how will she go
On without him?”
A short walk and I am in
The shop where once they together went
And spent notes that crumble into dust.
A cold wind blows
Yet onwards the suicide goes
Towards the white cliffs of Dover.
Looking over
He sees only bliss
And leaping off, falls into the abyss.
Scent on a pillow fades.
In woodland glades
The willow
Weeps
As dusk creeps
Over the land.
The sand
Where lover’s feet Trod
Is printless now.
Oh see how
The grassy sod
Forms a bed
Where the dead
Sleep
And those that loved once, no longer weep.
K Morris - Poet 