The wind is an invisible thing.
We see the waving trees
And leaves blown in the breeze.
I hear the wild wind
But him I do not see.
Invisible
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Tag Archives: free verse
Finding the Quiet in Me
In the early morning
When all is still and quiet
My thoughts run riot.
Then, the silence takes me
To a place
Where no thought exists in me. ,
And I am free
To simply be
Barmaid
She says that she used to see me
On her way to school.
As she pours my usual drink, I think
Of Larkin’s “The Old Fools”.
And I cast around for something to say
About my so ordinary day
Conkers Found in My Desk Drawer
I found 2 conkers in my desk drawer.
I could return them to the forest floor
Where they would rot and be one
With fruits and flowers long since gone.
Autumn is in the air,
Yet I do not care
To return them to the ground.
A thought, perhaps profound,
We are all bound
To join Mother Nature’s great store
When we, as leaves fall
And become as one
With generations long gone.
Conkers may be put away
In a drawer.
But Autumn’s fall
Says all things must decay.
Out of Tune
As I sat composing poetry
On a windswept afternoon
In the garden.
I heard all the windchimes
Sounding out of tune.
And then came the rain
To mock me
And my poetry.
Superior
I can be snobby and proud.
I lose myself in crowds
But rarely feel part of them.
Sometimes I feel myself superior
To other men.
But when my final breath
Is lost in death
There will be
No inferior or superior
Just common dust
Piano Tuner
She spoke of the blind man
Who came to tune the family piano.
He thinks her name was Emily.
But men’s memories play tricks
And time slips
Unnoticed away.
He can not say
Whether she played the piano.
Perhaps she said
But his man’s mind
Was on bed.
It was an old tune
They played
Constrained by time.
He finds a blind piano tuner
He never met.
And Emily on his mind.
And lost in introspection
He searches for a connection
And recalls their night’s conversation
Followed by bed.
Summer Rain
A summer rain falls.
And birds sing.
The earth smells fresh.
But I recall
I have bills to pay.
Yet returning home
To my working day
I carry birdsong
And the rich earth
In my heart.
Nature’s art
Feeds my poetry.
Yet she
Outshines all poetry.
The Night’s Companion (a poem written with the aid of AI)
She walks through the city’s gaudy glow,
Her unquiet grace in torpid midnight air,
Heels write stories only the lonely know
Of longing, forced laughter, and mutual despair.
Her sadness hides behind a smile.
She offers warmth for those who pay the fee,
Yet look behind her carefully constructed style
And you will see another she.
She’s practiced in the art of polite chat,
Of weaving silken moments, bright and brief,
Her eyes—two lanterns—never showing that
They sometimes flicker shadows dark with grief.
And in her step the wise will see
Others who have long left the player’s empty stage.
Sometimes, in her honest times she may truly see
That she has made her own mind-constructed cage.
(The above poem was composed using Microsoft’s Copilot, then modified by me. I meant to retain the poem as originally produced by Copilot. However, due to an oversight by me, only the present poem remains. This is unfortunate as it was my intention to publish both poems on my blog in order that my readers could take a critical look at the poem as originally composed by AI, and that modified by me).
Disjointed
Your perfume lingered in my living room
After you where gone.
The memory of skin against skin
Lives on.
Some would call it sin.
Perhaps, when all is said and done
One man’s fun
Is another’s sin.
The sky did not fall in
On me or you.
I am generally comfortable alone.
But I have the phone
Should I need you.
Your perfume will linger again
And I will recall
What some call the fall.
Perhaps pleasure and pain
Are somewhat the same.
But, if I am only dust
Why does Paradise Lost matter
K Morris - Poet 