I see sunlight
On my bed.
Perchance we dance
In fleeting light
Then vanish
Into night.
I see sunlight
On my bed.
Perchance we dance
In fleeting light
Then vanish
Into night.
I heard Autumn birds
And did think
Of strong drink.
And felt the fire
Of Autumn lust.
Man sates his desire
For sweet forget
In a girl’s arms.
For in dust
All charms
We forget.
During a recent visit to my family in Liverpool, I visited Woolton wood. My trip to the wood took in a visit to the Walled Garden, https://www.merseyforest.org.uk/things-to-do/walks-bike-rides-and-more/walks/woolton-woods-and-camphill/.
In this peaceful spot, I spent some little time admiring the memorial benches and floral cuckoo clock, which feature in my poem “In Memory of”:
“A bench replete
With flowers
In winter’s wood.
Hours
Incomplete
Marked by a stone
Clock with lost hands.
We go into the unknown
Wood.
But perhaps a bench may stand
To commemorate
Those who, of a late
Winter afternoon,
Think on nature’s passing bloom.”
“In Memory of” can be found in my collection “The Further Selected Poems of K Morris”, which is available from Amazon in Kindle and paperback, https://www.amazon.co.uk/Further-Selected-Poems-Morris-ebook/dp/B08XPMGD3F.
Church bells briefly heard.
Something falls
From an autumn tree.
A solitary
Bird briefly calls,
Maybe to me.
An idle thought.
Is it mere coincidence
That the word lust
Rhymes with dust?
She left her shoes
Outside my front door.
I remember no booze.
Perhaps my neighbours saw
A young woman’s shoes
Bereft at my door
And thought I ought
To be more discreet
About young women’s feet.
But a girl’s shoes
Had been left bereft
At my door before …
He likes heels
And respects intellects.
Short skirts appeal.
A girl’s degree
Isn’t free,
But he respects
Their intellects.
In the crowded pub
A teen Goth girl
Sings of forever love.
We cheer over beers
And raise our glass
To a goth girl
And the truth
That all youth
Must pass.
And all our suns
Will become
The black.
Girl’s naked feet
Leave their print
In invisible ink.
While we meet,
On the page
Men who engage
On tawdry stage,
Leaving their print
In indelible ink.
Alone in my bedroom
As the sunlight falls
On bed and walls.
No scent of perfume
To sweeten my room,
Just the morn
Turning to noon.
We are but sunlight
Taken by night.