I have dreamed
The strangest dreams
And believed them to be true.
When I die
Will I finally find the reality
Of all I see?
No, I will see
No more of dream
Or of what we call reality
For I will no longer be me.
What is Reality?
2 Replies
Tag Archives: free verse
Backstreet
After the beauties of Kew
I went with you
To a cheap hotel.
I remember I almost fell
As we mounted the stairs
To their unfriendly glares.
I can remember your name.
Did I feel shame?
I really can not recall
But I recollect a fall
And those dangerous stairs
In a backstreet hotel.
As I Try to Write
As I try to write
The tick tock
Of the clock
Measures my day and night.
At other times
Lost in rhymes
I hear it not.
The beat of women’s feet
Has measured my pleasure
And pain. But the clock mocks
Us all. We fall
In love and lust,
And time turns all to dust.
Roses
“Roses are fading”, you said.
I lent and smelt
But there was little scent.
In childhood I would
Collect from nature’s plentiful store
Acorns and conkers
But no Oaktree grew.
Now we two see fading flowers.
I think of lost hours
But speak not of them to you.
The 20 Greatest Poets of All Time
https://www.forbes.com/sites/entertainment/article/best-poets/
An interesting list. However, whilst I think such articles can spark interest in poetry and perhaps encourage those who have not yet come to love the art form to do so, any such list is just the opinion of the author. I, personally am surprised that Keats does not get a mention. His fine poems on autumn and his ode to a nightingale surely make him worthy of inclusion in such a list.
Rationality
I am a rational man.
Ghosts and ghouls are for fools.
But, at boarding school
Was it pipes at night
Which slowly cooled
And housemasters whose shoes squeaked
And made floors creak?
Or ghastly ghouls?
Sometimes at night I delight
In tales of vampires.
But, when I retire
I feel the creeping chill
Of imagined hands.
And no man can command
What may come in dreams.
A Poem from My Archives
A poem from my archives entitled “On a Quiet Sunday”:
On a quiet Sunday
In Spring
I heard the clock’s
Tick tock.
It said, “this day
Of spring
Is full of sunshine.
Girls without socks
Play. But sunshine
Does not stay.
And all rhyme
Has it’s time”.
Carpet Burns
My thoughts turn
To carpet burns.
A girl and I
By my gas fire.
I remember the flame
Of my desire.
But her name …?
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.
K Morris - Poet 