The tombstones look back at me
And will continue to be,
When I can no longer see.
The Tombstones Look Back At Me
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Tag Archives: death
I Am Going Home
I am going home
Today,
Alone
(Save for my dog).
I have been away
For a week or so,
And will be sad
To go
But glad
To return by train.
One day, I shall travel unfamiliar terrain
And find a new home.
I will be
Alone,
But shall I see
A confined space, with a stone
Above?
Or shall I know god’s love?
Or simply die
And be,
No longer I?
Rooms at Different Times Produce Diverse Rhymes
Rooms at different times
Produce
Diverse rhymes.
A girl’s perfume
In a darkened room
May seduce
A man into penning a rhyme
About lust.
Do not condemn
Such men
For there will be time
Enough for dust.
Poetry Dies
Poetry dies
In eyes
That did see
Into eternity.
But, perhaps, lives on
After the poet has gone
In words which, maybe
Touch you and me
With their profundity
When I Die
When I die
I wish to do so
Hearing the virile
Wind blow,
And not in some sterile
Hospital wing
Where the living dead
Go to die
And hear not
The wind sing.
Thoughts In A Graveyard
For now, I hear
Vehicles passing near
This place of bone
And stone,
And will spend a little time
In rhyme
Oft I Pass By The Graveyard Plot
Oft I
Pass By
The graveyard plot,
But rarely stop
Though one day,
I shall stay
When the creator
(Whether god or nature)
Takes my breath away.
I Smell New-Mown Grass
I smell new-mown grass
As I pass
By the field
Where school children play,
Then pass
Through the Churchyard, where all must,
One day,
Yield to dust.
I Flick Through Contacts On My Mobile Phone
I flick through
Contacts on my mobile phone.
True they
Make it easy to
Keep in touch by phone
Or text,
Although it does vex
Me that technology
Renders memory
Unnecessary, for why keep
In your head
Numbers stored on the cold phone?
And you sleep
Forever in a house of stone,
Your number, dead,
On my useless phone.
I Shall Sit Under This Graveyard Tree
I shall sit under this graveyard tree
And think on Gray’s Elegy.
The ploughman is as a sod
As are the great.
Oft of an evening late
I ponder on Gray
Who, one day
Wrote an Elegy
Which resonates now with me.
His verse will live on
Long after I am gone
And I doubt not
That this tree
Which overlooks this graveyard plot
Will outlast me.
K Morris - Poet 