Amidst these windswept trees
I feel free
Of modernity.
For the breeze
Drowns out the noise
Of broken
Toys.
In this wood
A tree
Fall
Could end all
This modernity,
Leaving no rhyme
Behind.
Modernity
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Tag Archives: free verse
Man (Revised Poem)
A couple of days ago, I published a poem entitled “Man” https://kmorrispoet.com/2023/07/14/man/. Below is a slightly amended and extended version of that poem:
I know that these trees
Are Older than man
And the church
Which so many men pass
Without a glance
Or a sigh
As they hurry by.
Man
I know that these trees
Are older than man
And the church
Which so many men pass
Without a glance
Or sigh
Hurrying by.
Bed
My desire for flesh.
We will undress
And I will find
Pleasure in bed.
Yet still
In her warm arms
A chill
Thought haunts my mind
Of the bed
Where all is dead.
Lone Thoughts
Standing at my bedroom window.
A couple laugh
Somewhere below
And an owl cries nearby.
Summer passes.
The owl’s cry
Is my company.
The Scales of Justice
The scales of justice
Weigh right and wrong.
But, when unjust men
Sail away in death
‘Ere her scales
Have time to weigh,
What can
Justice say?
For the man
Has gone beyond
Our human
Right and wrong.
Maiden
Stripping the maiden bare
I leave her.
In my living room.
No sweet scent
For me to repent
Just a frame
Of steel
And plastic,
A bachelor maintains
For drying clothes.
Cat
“I’m a cat girl” she said.
Cats enter bed
Where they purr
And sometimes they scratch and bite.
I wonder, on this summer night
Does she delight
With purrs
And bites.
On the Closure of the Railway Bell, 14 Cawnpore Street, Gipsy Hill
I sit at the bar
In the old familiar pub
And touch the wood
Tinged with beers
From bygone years.
Landlords have come and gone
But the pub has continued on.
I recall
With delight
The fire’s warm light.
But it’s a summer evening
And there is no firelight.
To brighten this leaving.
I say goodbye
To the final table
I am unable
To show my eyes
For men don’t cry
Goodtime
“Have you ever been in love”, I said,
After we had been to bed.
“Yes, and he broke my heart”.
I am not rude like some other guy
She saw, she said. And before she left
She offered me more bedtime.
Then, I was left behind
With my art
And the thought
That there ought
To be no more goodtime
K Morris - Poet 