My thoughts turn
To carpet burns.
A girl and I
By my gas fire.
I remember the flame
Of my desire.
But her name …?
Carpet Burns
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Tag Archives: free verse
A 5 Star Review of my Poetry Collection, “The Churchyard Yew and Other Poems”
I was pleased to receive this 5 star review of my recently published collection, “The Churchyard Yew and Other Poems”:
“… The poems in this short but sweet collection cover myriad topics in a variety of styles. Some are about churchyards while others are about humans and animals. My favorite is “Going to Hell in a Hand Cart,” a perfect way to end the book. If you like straightforward, entertaining poetry, this book is for you.”
(To read the review in full please visit Amazon.co.uk:Customer reviews: The Churchyard Yew and Other Poems).
I Find Dust
I find dust
In old books.
While in the summer churchyard
The birds twitter.
They have no bitter
Thoughts of dust.
The graves impassively stand.
I can not command
Death to stay his hand.
Yet some say we may
Achieve immortality.
Where we to achieve immortality
Should I put away Gray’s
“Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard”?
The graveyard plot answers not
For the dead Are at peace.
The Dancing Girls Depart
The dancing girls depart
And leave behind:
A man’s lustful heart,
An unquiet mind
And the poet’s art.
The Forbidden Garden
Perfume in a forbidden garden.
Desires hidden behind friendly smiles.
Paradise held no inhibitions.
Society celebrates the variety
Of nearly all.
But some falls
Can not be forgiven.
So Adam waits
Though the Devil prates
Of outdated convention.
But the fruit
Is not quite ripe.
Something Happened
Something happened in her childhood, she said.
Now, at 20, she feels empty.
But makes money in bed.
Engrossed in their Flirtatious Play
Engrossed in their flirtatious play
They stand behind the bar.
The place is quiet for a summer’s evening.
I am near, and yet so far away.
Soon I will be leaving
Him and her together.
I finish my pint and leave alone.
Later, at home, I think on Larkin,
And whether they sleep together.
Its not my affair
But the poet’s indelicate question
Intrudes into my rhyme
Of lost youth and passing time.
Were I to Die Under a Bus
Were I to die under a bus
Family and friends would cry.
There would be little fuss
Over my literary legacy.
Those few who read my rhyme
Of women and wine
and passing time
May fancy they hear
Skeletons prattle in cupboards
And clocks stop.
But I will not reply
We Run
We run.
Perchance dance in the sun.
But behind the sunlight
We know the night
Will come
And our fleeting pleasure
Must end in dust.
Easy as Drink
Sometimes I think on girls who drink
In order to go through
With what they feel they have to
I see their bright smile
And hear their laughter.
And when men’s fun is done
I wonder, do some pause and think
How young women’s smiles
And laughter, flow easily as drink?
K Morris - Poet 