Tag Archives: epitaphs

2 Poems from My Poetry Archive

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On going through my poetry archives, I came across the below 2 poems. The poems can also be found on my Tiktok, along with many other examples of my poetry, https://www.tiktok.com/@kevinmorrispoet. You don’t have to have a Tiktok account to listen to my work.

Epitaph on a poet

A book of poems upon his grave

Could not the poet save.

The few his words touched

Failed to keep him from the dust.

Here Lies Lot

Here lies Lot

He knew not

Neither who nor what.

Yet there he lies

Forever lost to tears and sighs.

A Poet’s Epitaph

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“He liked to rhyme
And was fond
Of women
And wine,
And sinning.
Now he has gone beyond
Women,
And wine,
And sinning.
And he is out of time
For rhyme”.

Death and the Poet

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Back in 2015, I wrote “Epitaph On A Poet”. Looking back at my composition, I detect sadness with, perhaps a touch of humour:

A book of poems upon his grave

Could not the poet save.

The few his words touched

Failed to keep him from the dust.

Postmortem

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They opened him up and found
… Nothing profound.
Some say it is in his poetry,
Others disagree.
Whatever the case may be
He is now, forever, free

Here Lies Lot

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Here lies Lot.
He knew Not
Nither why nor what.
Yet there he lies,
Forever lost to tears and sighs.

Who Knows?

Some thought his poetry meant this
And still others that.
He wore a hat
Sometimes
And often (being lost in rhymes)
Went out with no raincoat.

He had no moat
And little private wealth.
The reader sighs
Trying to categorise
The poet’s view.

Some declare that he was a Tory of the deepest blue
(while others protest this was not true!).
A few saw a man of the left,
But found themselves bereft
On finding verse which (they say)
Romanticised the nobility of yesterday.

Perhaps the poet smiles somewhere
(or, perchance he doesn’t care),
For who knows
Where the rhymer goes
When his ink runs dry
And his words finally die.

Epitaph On A Seeker Of Pleasure

He lived his life like a feather, blown hither and thither forever, by the cold winds of change. Young ladies of pleasure filled his leisure with bliss and pain. He held nothing dear, no one came near, life passed him by, until with a sithe, death came and called his name.