Sometimes I find my mind
Obsessed with verse.
It is a curse.
But, what is even worse,
I find my brain
Fails to retain
What I wrote
In earnest or joke!
Copyright: K. Morris.
Sometimes I find my mind
Obsessed with verse.
It is a curse.
But, what is even worse,
I find my brain
Fails to retain
What I wrote
In earnest or joke!
Copyright: K. Morris.
There was a young lady of Crystal Palace
Who went by the name of Alice.
They said to her Claire,
“You should take great care!”,
She said, “my name it is Alice!”
Doors get knocked at midnight
To gentlemen’s delight.
While neighbours gossip, left and right …
I felt no cold breath of Death
Nor the Reaper’s skeletal hand.
Yet he greeted me
And I mumbled and tumbled
And found myself on the cold ground
Where all are bound.
Death can command us all.
When he calls man must fall.
He greeted me in jest.
But he will tire of play
And I will find rest
For Death he ends all play.
After the hospital
I walked in the rain again,
But did not regret the wet,
For the dead
Feel no rain.
I heard birds in the hospital.
I thought their calls
Came to me through solid walls.
But the doctor said
The birds I heard where recorded sound.
Yet it was profound
For when I am dead
There will be no sound to hear
Of birds or friend’s words.
I cast no shadow on the ward
So will walk in sunshine
While there is time.
An electrical impulse in my brain gone awry.
A jumble of incoherent words heard by friends.
Will I die?
My speech comes back.
A memory gap.
But not a stroke.
In the hospital it comes on again
With no pain.
The words are clear. I feel no fear
Just frustration that people can not hear
What I want to say.
How long will I stay
A cyborg on a hospital ward
Tangled in wires?
These fires in my brain
Will they return again?
Discharged with a diagnosis of seizure
With more pills to add to my store.
Will the electricity in my brain
Misfire again and seizure end in …
Will I always be
The man who recites poetry
To young women,
My mind half on poetry,
And half on sinning.
They may admire my poetry,
But I am told
I grow old
And girls who have time
For my rhyme
Will never love me.
Yet they love my poetry
And is not poetry
Part of me?
As I walk the solid path
And pass trees waving in the wind.
I sway, and think of yesterday
When Romans came in wind and rain.
Did they think all will stay
As they made their way
Along This path of passing dreams?
I can not say
But the wind will outlast me
And the swaying tree.
Over the last few years, I have been guilty of allowing my Youtube to languish. However, one of my new year resolutions is to post more frequently on Youtube. I have therefore started to upload more of my poetry onto Youtube over the past couple of weeks. To listen to me reading my poetry on Youtube please visit https://www.youtube.com/@101drewdog/videos. If you enjoy what you hear, do please consider subscribing to my Youtube channel.